XXXV.
Sounds of muffled grunting and objects breaking filled Zach's home while his neighborhood was still, quiet, and paused. Nothing came from the house, but the sound of glass shattering and grunts came from a specific room. It almost sounded as if he was fighting someone, and they were destroying everything inside. The room was at the end of the upstairs hallway-- right near Zach's room. The doorknob on the door wasn't just an ordinary doorknob-- it had a padlock above it.
The light flashed red-- indicating the room locked from the outside, and whoever wanted to come in had to have the passcode. Something shattered from behind the door, accompanied by frustrated grunts. Zach had thrown an empty beer bottle across the room in complete defeat from himself. White walls surrounded the room, holes in them as if someone had punched through them with their fists or tool. It was the only room in the house without windows and mirrors-- the single room in the house without a mirror, as well--. The pieces of expensive vases scattered along the floor and broken beer bottles as well. Just as he threw the last beer bottle at the wall, the grip he had on the neck tightened that the bottle broke-- slicing his palm just a little bit as the sharp shards fell.
"Fuck," Zach bellowed out in pain, immediately grabbing his hand to try and stop the blood from falling out. He balled his hand into a fist and punched the wall vigorously, blood dripping down and screams escaping his mouth. He turned the light off and walked out the room before the padlock locked the door.
Zach walks to his bathroom, casually as if blood wasn't dripping from his hand, except there was no pain coming from his hand. He opened the cabinet doors from under the sink and pulled out a roll of bandages. Then, Zach sat on top of the closed toilet lid, turned the faucet on, and ran the cut under the cold water. Once he stopped cleaning the wound, he dried his hand with a napkin before pulling out the alcohol and some ointment cream. He poured the liquid onto the injury, winced from the burning, and gently dried it up again; he put some ointment on it before wrapping his hand with the bandages.
He cleans the traces of blood off his sink with his other hand, turns off the light, and heads to his stairs. As he's trodding down the steps, his front door swings open, revealing a hungover Chase. Zach almost has a heart attack when the door swung open, and he finishes going downstairs.
"Do you have any beer?" Chase asked, closing the door behind him before stopping in his tracks and chuckling to himself, "why would I ask that?"
Chase continues to walk into the house, disregarding Zach's startled stance and passes by him, looks down at Zach's injured hand, and asking, "What happened to your hand?" without stopping his walk to the kitchen.
"Nothing," Zach says defensively, following behind him in disbelief, "you almost gave me a heart attack."
"Well, good thing I didn't, right? Then I wouldn't be able to steal your beer," Chase chuckled as he opened the fridge and pulling out a beer bottle.
"Honestly, why am I friends with you?" Zach asks, more to himself than to Chase.
"You know, I ask myself every day about you," Chase smirks as he takes a sip of the drink, "Mm, this is good."
Zach stares at him, contemplating if their friendship was worth saving or if murdering him was actually worth it.
But then he would miss him, and then the thought of murdering his best friend was gone.
"Whatever. I'm going to my room," Zach said before grabbing a beer himself. Without saying another word, Zach exited the kitchen and skipped up the door, not knowing that a clingy Chase was following behind. Zach threw himself on his bed, pulling his covers over his body as he picked up his phone from the floor.
