Demons at the Door

No dark magic here.

The thumping on the front door alerted me that He Who Shall Not Be Named was here, again.

"Riiiillleeeyyy!" He hollered through the wood, confirming his presence and that he was drunk.

The pounding continued whilst I laid in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, refusing to look at the clock on the bedside table, because I knew those numbers would mock and taunt me with how few hours sleep I had left. 

"RILEY! OPEN UP!"

Here is a note for all the men out there that have done a woman wrong...

Do not and I repeat. Do. Not. Come around in the middle of the night whilst drunk to apologise or 'speak'. No sane person is going to willingly open their front door and allow you into their home whilst you are screaming at an inanimate object and slumped against the door jab.
It also helps to accept your guilt and not to pass the blame onto the other party. It's not your girlfriends fault that you can't keep your D in your pants.

"RILEY PLEASE BABY!"

- Pet names do not help either. It only irritates us.

"I'M NOT LEAVING!"

- The promise of more torturous calling isn't something we want.

"I'M NOT LEAVING HERE UNTIL I SPEAK TO YOU!"

- Ahh the ultimatum. Well shit, now I definitely feel the need to jump up out of bed and open the door, ready to be met with an onslaught of alcohol and babbling. 

"I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU!"

- It only makes us think about the entire life you've had before our relationship and how absolutely insane you sound.

Now we've all seen the video to Katy Perry's - Part of Me. We all aspire to have that strength, hell I still hope to find it. But in all honesty, all I've found myself is tired and relieved. 

Tired from putting up with his endless bullshit and excuses and relieved that I haven't got it in my future. 

I can't see myself becoming a fearless marine anytime soon, but I can definitely see myself moving onto something better.

"RILEY!!"

Sighing, I reach across to the bedside table and grab my phone and earphones. Pushing them in, I go through my phone and find a selection of songs that I know will block him out until my battle-axe neighbour, Mavis, comes out with her rollers in and broom to beat him away from the door. I settle deeper into my pillows at the prospect of her giving him a good whack.

My eyes glance over the recent text message from Rachel, who rang me earlier to let me know that Zak had requested his house to be cleaned an extra day a week. When Rachel had informed him that the third day would be covered by another cleaner, he refused and insisted that I be the one with access to his home, only. Which now means my working week will change to accommodate him.

Rachel did probe for information, but I simply told her everything I knew, and that wasn't a lot. I sensed she was a little miffed when we ended the call, but I truly didn't know anything about the man and her reaction when I said that I didn't know him.

It surprised me that she would even ask, as she has always promoted the privacy of her clients in the cleaning company. If she wanted details then she could check the paperwork he filled out, right?

As music begins to filter in, I set my questions aside. Closing my eyes, I slowly fall back to sleep.

***