The steady dripping sound of water into the third full bucket of the day is driving me insane. I had hoped, when the vacant apartment above mine had been filled, that the tenant would be... quiet. Of course, nothing could ever be as quiet as when that apartment was empty, and it would be unreasonable of me to expect that level of silence. But the blaring music, the heavy footfalls, and the mindless shouting have disrupted my peaceful haven of a home.
Not to mention, for the third time this week, the overflowing of some appliance that causes a steady drip from my ceiling. Maintenance is coming to look at it later this week, to make sure that my entire ceiling doesn't cave in. If it does, I hope it brings my new neighbor with it.
I spend ninety nine percent of my time absolutely exhausted; I don't have time for anything else. School is slowly crushing me; having just turned 20, I have been able to get a year ahead in my studies and I am now in the grueling college years. Papers and dissertations and assignments dominate my waking hours and have even started creeping into my dreams.
In my quest to advance even further, get ahead of the curve of life, I also have interviews all this week for jobs that will cut my school hours in half and still give me the same amount of college credit. For that to happen would be ideal, but the process leading up to it has been stressful. I overthink everything.
Tonight, at nearly midnight on the night before my last interview (for the one job I am most hoping to secure), that stress is taking a toll on my insanity. Stress, coupled with the dripping noise that seems to get louder with every passing second, has me resting my head on the cold hardwood of my kitchen table, two seconds away from snapping.
Upstairs, I hear a door slam loudly and someone yell an unintelligible word before I hear several loud thumps and a loud crashing noise. Blood boils in my veins as I shove away from my table and stride across the tiny apartment, slamming the front door behind me. I take the stairs two at a time, which puts me at the offending door in less than two minutes.
Not hesitating or even caring, I pound on the door. No one answers, though I can clearly hear someone moving around inside. With a huff of frustration, I knock again, standing back to fold my arms angrily across my chest.
"Just a second!" A desperate sounding voice speaks from inside the apartment. "Shit!" Someone groans. I step forward a little, concern now piqued in my system. What is going on?
Before I can let my imagination run wild, the door is pulled out of the way and I nearly jump back at the sight in front of me.
He's a man. A boy, really, but... a man. His hair is purple and the black clothes that cling to his body are soaking wet; the only thing that keeps him from slipping in the puddle of water that covers the floor is the fact that he is clinging on to the door.
"Can I help you?" He huffs, aggravated.
"Um. Can I help you?" I glance down at the water around his feet and he slides a little, regaining his balance on the door.
"Nope. I've got it under control, thanks." He rolls his eyes as he moves to shut the door in my face.
"Wait," I throw my hand out, blocking the door. "The water all over your floor is becoming the water all over my ceiling. Clearly you don't have it under control."
"I don't need your help, lady. This isn't your problem." I flinch at the way he called me "lady," though he is clearly older than I am.
"It is my problem," I snarl. "Your floor is my ceiling, dude. This is the third time this week."
The boy's feet slide a little on the floor and he grabs onto the door again, effectively pulling it backwards. He does not mean to grant me access, but I step inside anyway, flashing him a purposefully condescending smile.
