The Doorknob

The Flat

I slam the door behind me, but groan in frustration when it catches and shuts slowly; it sounds more like a muffled whump than the satisfying slam I was going for. I click the deadbolt shut and slide down, back against the door; my duffel bag drops to the floor beside me.

Despite the fact that I'm now living in my own flat, I've taken a year off just like I wanted to, and my parents aren't nearly as pissed as I expected them to be, I can't help but feel stressed and flustered. I'm no longer careening down the wrong path, but I certainly have no idea where I'm actually going.

I let my head fall against the door, focusing on the pressure on the back of my skull, when I hear a thump from the kitchen. Amazing, I've been here for less than a minute and someone's already broken in.

I stand, leaving my bag but deciding to grab my keys to function as some sort of weapon. My first footstep causes the warped wood flooring of the lounge to creak loudly, and I curse myself for making a noise - until I realize it literally doesn't matter how lightly I step. It seems that every inch of the floor groans under my shoes, and I give up the attempt at secrecy after the third creak. The intruder probably heard me come through the door, anyway.

I make my way through the small lounge toward the...empty kitchen? Nobody's standing there, but a partial wall and counter block my view of the lower half of the space. "Hello...?" I say hesitantly. Maybe the thump was just a figment of my overactive imagination, a product of my stress. Maybe I have noisy neighbors. Maybe the old building was just making noises of its own accord. I creep toward the half-wall separating the kitchen and lounge, ready to attack. As if I've ever been any use in a fight in my entire life, the voice in my head laughs bitterly. I prepare to attack anyway, adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream as I round the corner of the counter to find...

Nothing. There's absolutely nothing. My heartbeat slows slightly, and I lower my outstretched hand, loosening my death-grip on the keys. I chuckle at myself. "Wow, if this is the first five minutes in this flat, I'm in for quite a rough year." My voice, low though it is, fills the empty space; I can breathe again.

I make my way back across the lounge, pausing at the door to double-check the lock - I know I'd clicked it shut, but I can't help my nerves - before kicking off my shoes, grabbing my small duffel bag, and making my way to the sparse bedroom. A queen-sized bed and junky wardrobe are the only items in the space, the bare mattress calling my name despite its lack of sheets and duvet.

My brain feels numb, now, the adrenaline draining out of my system and leaving me exhausted - emotionally, mentally, physically. It's barely 8pm, but I can't be bothered to care about anything at the moment. I drop the duffel bag, pulling out a thin blanket and fitted sheet. I manage to at least get the fitted sheet on the mattress properly before collapsing into the bed fully clothed. I figure I'll be warm enough - it's barely autumn, so I'm sure I'll be fine without the blanket.

----------------------------------------------------

I wake up in the middle of the night - I assume, it's dark - groggy and just a bit chilly. My long-sleeved shirt is too thin, and my jeans don't quite trap my body heat. Despite that, I just don't feel motivated enough to get up and grab the blanket I'd left discarded on the floor, so I curl myself into a ball on the mattress and try to fall back asleep - it happens far faster than I expect, I usually spend hours trying to calm my mind enough for some fitful rest, but the stress of the day pulls me under.

--------------------------------------------------

I wake to an uncomfortably bright light shining through my window, and I forget where I am for a moment. When my memories from the previous day catch up with me, my heart jumps in my chest - is that the sun shining in? Do I have a view from this window? I don't remember being particularly thrilled about this flat, aside from the manageable price, but maybe I've missed something. I throw the blanket from my shoulders and make my way to the window - no, not a view, I sigh. Just a reflection of the sun off the windows of the building across the street. The real view is a grubby street and a couple unremarkable buildings, as expected.

Wait, I backtrack a few moments, before I'd allowed my excitement to catapult me from the bed. Was the blanket on me last night? I thought I decided not to get up and get it...maybe I changed my mind and just don't recall...I elect not to go too far down that path, my brain still not prepared to think that hard.

Instead, I shuffle over to my duffel bag, grabbing a travel toiletry kit I'd brought to tide me over while I wait for the boxes my parents had shipped from my house to arrive. I didn't have enough to warrant a moving truck, but I had too much to bring with me, and my parents had agreed to ship my larger items for me. So I'll be making it work with just a few items of clothing, a few toiletries, and no pillow for the next couple days.

Stripping out of my wrinkled clothes and tossing them into a lump of black in the corner, I make my way into the adjoining bathroom and turn on the shower. At least the water works well, and heats up fairly quickly. I try not to take too long, though. I haven't found a job yet, and only enough money saved up for a couple months' rent and utilities.

As I shampoo my hair, I reflect on just how damn lucky I'd gotten with this place. It's not in the best location, but it's surprisingly cheap (for London, anyway) and it sure as hell beats staying with my parents. I love them, really, but I am not about to sit and listen to them remind me daily to get out there and get a job or pester me about when on earth I'll go back to school. I need space, and this place is about as close to perfect as I could've asked for.

----------------------------------------------------

I open the door to release the steam into the rest of the flat, grimacing as my reflection in the mirror clears up. I look exhausted, purplish bags sticking out rather obviously on my light skin. Sighing, I opt to forego the usual hair-drying and straightening routine in favor of getting some coffee. I can do it later, if I feel like it.

Towel around my waist, I head back through my room to the duffel bag. I reach in, grabbing fresh pants, black jeans, and a dark gray jumper, then return to the bathroom to change and at least make my wet hair somewhat presentable. I recall seeing a coffee shop around the corner from my apartment building, so I should be able to get away with a quick trip and make it back to the flat without my hair going curly.

Once I'm satisfied that I'm close enough to presentable, I grab my phone - shit, only 23% left - and curse myself for being too exhausted to remember to plug it in last night. Sighing,
I pocket the phone, vowing to charge it later. And my wallet...I think for a moment, mind refusing to function without caffeine, before I recall I'd had it in my pocket last night.

I turn toward the lump of clothes in the corner of the room and am surprised to see quite a bit of the white Muse logo is now showing - I guess I didn't realize the way I'd thrown it, so it was almost laid out flat across my jeans. I shake my head, tossing the shirt aside and digging through the pocket of yesterday's jeans. When my fingers close around the black leather, I pull it out and check the cash I have on hand. Not much, but it should be enough.

I grab my keys from the hook by the door, undo the deadbolt, and step into the hall. The place is surprisingly quiet, and I can't tell if I should be relieved or stressed by this fact. I lock up, jiggling the doorknob, just to check that it's fully locked, then make my way down the hall to the stairs that will lead me down to the street.

I swear, as I walk away, I hear the doorknob jiggle again, though I'm nowhere near it; I brush it off as another "old building" or "I'm too tired" sort of thing and trudge my tired ass down the stairs. I really need that coffee.