Mister Daire Downstairs

Prologue - Part II

Prologue. Part II

I enter my two bedroom apartment, and momentarily remember to check my e-mails. I had put up an advertisement to lease up the second bedroom. It had been over three months, and there was still no response, but I was hopeful.

I don't bother with opening my suitcase – I have no interest in dealing with all that muddle. Because I know that if I open it up, I won't be able to rest until I clear the mess up entirely. Easing my body onto my bed, I lie down and inhale. This apartment needs a good old fashioned cleaning up.

I could really do with some coffee, I think and grumbling, I sit up again and drag my feet to the kitchen. But my grumble turns into a livid groan when I hold up the milk jar. It's turned sour. Can't expect anything else if you're away for six days. But in light of the sour milk, I see something else – a perfect object for a prank.

Oliver loves to make himself some tea after he returns home. He is very proud of how he makes his tea – he believes it's some sort of wine or sake. If I change up his milk, no matter how many times he makes his tea, it's going to go bad.

He'll be frustrated.

I might find some happiness in his agony. It's nothing sadist, just harmless teasing.

So I hop over to my room, and walk to the corner, with the jar in my hand. Crouching, I place the jar on the floor, and with a few groans, remove the replaceable tile, big enough for me to go into Oliver's bathroom, and low enough for me to hop on back to my apartment as well.

I only discovered this beautiful piece of help a little more than two years ago, after Masie moved out, and I shifted rooms. And ever since then, it's only been easier to trouble Daire.

I jump, and land a little lazily – I have not yet recovered from my drowsiness, and for a swift moment, I'm nervous if I'll even be able to go back to my apartment. But I decided not to worry about it, and move ahead with my plan. I carry the jug out of the bathroom straight to the kitchen, and notice a few packed cartons. There isn't much visible because his kitchen's built in a corner, and I only share the shape of my eyes with a cat, not its curiosity.

It could be another set of novels, or his old encyclopedias that he's decided to donate – he's a charitable man. Either ways, I continue with my plan, and take an empty kettle, pouring down the sour milk in it. I tiptoe to the refrigerator, just because, and my eyes take in the view of his fridge. I quickly spot the milk, and take out the bottle, pouring it down in my now washed jug. Then pouring the sour milk from the kettle into the bottle, I place it exactly how it was in the fridge, and quickly wash the utensil.

With the jug filled with fresh milk, and my heart content, I glance at his clock – seven fifteen. It won't be long till he comes back, and is met with a surprise.

An hour later, exactly at eight twenty, I'm sitting on my couch, with an empty blue mug still in my hands, in the drawing room. I didn't exactly see Daire from the window, but that isn't capable of proving anything. Because I go to my room and check the ground from the window. You don't get a very good view from just the first floor, but I'm very clearly able to see that his car is parked neatly in its usual spot.

So I wait.

And I keep waiting.

Until it's the next morning. The Saturday alarm buzzes off at six thirty, and because of the tiredness I'd carried along with me, I had slept on the couch itself. I wake up and before I yawn, I frown.

Why hasn't he come?

But I try to be rational.

Maybe he didn't have his tea last night. But he'll most definitely have it at breakfast. And then it strikes me – what if he genuinely believes that the milk got accidentally spoiled and not actually planted by me? He won't come up without a perfectly reasonable accusation anyways.

And then I groan. I ruined it. I should have done something bolder, braver, something that would scream 'Leticia did this!' in his face. Instead, I stuck with a forgettable, domestic little prank.

I've been born and brought up in Canada, but yet the true meaning of pranking is unknown by me – do you aim to be let off scot-free, or do you specifically intend to let the other one know who's pranking them? And if the latter isn't pranking, then what is it?

Because that seems to be what I've been doing.

I can't imagine not letting Oliver know who's been making his life bothersome – me. Never.

And he knows it. Anyways, I hope so. So though I give it time, it's the only thing I can ponder upon when I brush my teeth, take a bath, dry my hair, burn my breakfast and still eat it. I haven't got any e-mails regarding tenants, and there aren't any interesting notifications about anything either.

Sighing, I glance at the clock – twelve fifteen. Waking up late, even though it's a weekend, no. That – it's just not what Oliver does. No one just changes up their routine in six days when their bothersome neighbor who lives upstairs and secretly likes them goes away on a work trip. Oliver wouldn't.

Realizing that if I don't confront this situation right now, I'll only be more irritated later on, I stand up and drop my mobile on the table, and walk straight out of the door. I don't stop until I'm outside of Daire's apartment, and frankly, I have no idea what I'm going to say to him when he – if he – opens the door.

Still, pulling my hands into a fist, I ring his bell, and then knock the door. Daire's apartment's bells were faulty. In the four years I'd known him, he had had to go without a bell more than eleven times.

I almost suddenly realize that I'm in my pajamas. After bathing, I'd just put on a clean set. It's Saturday, who's even going anywhere?

The door soon opens and reveals a short tough-built blonde guy I'm sure I've seen before. It's not Oliver, but – I think I know him.

"Yes?"

My eyebrows are furrowed, because I just can't place a finger upon it. So, like intelligent people, I demand. "Who're you?"

"Uh- Sam, Samuel Elm."

And then it hits – Oliver's colleague, his best friend. That's him, that's Samuel. But-

"Hi – um, sorry, uh -where's Oliver?"

He grimaces. "I'm sorry."

What he says next drags the life out of me.

A/N: hey guys, I hope you enjoyed this one :) did you see Taylor Swift's Era Concert Movie?? me and my friends had such elaborate plans to dress up and everything, but we wanted to go  a little later after the release because of school, but the movie stopped screening T-T 

See you soon! Do comment and vote <3