Michael has been knocking on my door for ten minutes. He hasn't spoken, but I know that it is him. I am pretending not to be here, a useless maneuver, given that my car is parked outside.
"Kate," Michael says, pounding again. "Open the door please."
"I'm not home!" I call from the kitchen.
"Katherine," Michael huffs. "Please let me in, I need to talk to you."
"Nope," I say, plopping myself down on the couch.
"I have a key," he whines through the crack in the door. I ignore him, knowing that it is an empty threat. I do believe that Michael understands boundaries, but I am about to test that theory. "Kate?" He asks again. I ignore him. "Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment right now?" Yes, Michael, I am. "God damn it, Kate, you're really pissing me off," he huffs from the hall.
I laugh to myself and pull a blanket around my shoulders. Michael is still knocking as I put my headphones in and turn up the volume, hoping that he knows that I'm listening to One Direction purely to spite him.
...
Over an hour later, I pull my headphones out and it is finally, mercifully silent. Just to be sure, I tiptoe to the door and look out the peephole. Michael is nowhere to be seen. I feel a sort of vengeful satisfaction for standing my ground.
It is just after ten o'clock, and I have an exam tomorrow morning in my 8 a.m. class. I walk into my kitchen and grab a glass, filling it with apple juice. I take a long drink, rolling my shoulders and trying to release the tension from my body. It has been a very long day.
I am about to switch off the kitchen light when a drop of water falls from the ceiling onto the counter directly in front of me. No. I look up at the ceiling, water steadily dripping from the corner where I know Michael's dishwasher to be.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I shout, knowing that he can hear me. Michael yells something unintelligible back and I hear his hurried footsteps on the ceiling, splashing through the water. I slam my apartment door behind me and take the stairs almost at a run, anger in my bloodstream.
"Michael!" I pound on his door. "Open the damn door!"
I hear his voice yelling back from inside the apartment. "Oh, so it's okay when you do it!" He shouts.
"Shut up and open the door!" I yell, not even caring who I wake up. The door is wrenched open and Michael is standing in front of me, his black clothes sopping wet and sticking to every line of his body. He is wearing a backwards black baseball cap over his wet purple hair, the puddles on the floor even larger than last time. "Michael, what the hell did you do?" I yell.
"Why are you always yelling at me?" He yells back. "God, Kate, just leave! I don't fucking need this, I don't need your help!"
I just huff and push him out of the way, splashing into his bedroom and grabbing blankets off his bed to sop up the water. "Don't do that," he groans. I just throw a look at him and toss the sheets angrily over the puddle, watching the water soak into them.
"Seriously, Kate?" He groans. I grab another blanket from his couch and hold it over the puddle, raising a challenging eyebrow. It really isn't necessary, but he is pissing me off.
Michael lunges towards me, reaching for the blanket, but he slips in the water and crashes into the puddle on the floor. I laugh, half out of spite and half out of real amusement; he looks like a drowned kitten.
Michael reaches up in an angry attempt to rip the blanket out of my hands, but I don't let go in time and I crash onto the floor next to him, the slightly soapy water soaking into my sweatpants.
