Tweetie

32

Ryan laid restlessly.

The day was long, a little too long for his preference. But, laying in his dark box of a room for the first time in weeks, he realised that it was finally coming to an end. It couldn't come soon enough. He knew it wouldn't, unfortunately. And like all the other nights he spent in the flat at home, the life in the flats above and below him proved him right.

He had no idea how anyone could party for so long. It was never-ending. The people above him partied all night. They screamed, laughed, chanted and banged hard against the floor that was unfortunately also his ceiling. The people below him argued and yelled back and forth, neither showing any sign of losing their voices even as glass shattered on the walls and floors, thrown by aggressive hands.

His own flat wasn't any different. There was usually yelling, never from him, and there was always the sound of things being broken when he was around.

The sounds were agonising. They stopped him from sleeping and stopped him from hearing. He needed to listen closely for the footsteps in his own home, he needed to hear what doors opened where and when the flat became quiet enough for him to get food without the risk of being seen by a woman in a drunken haze. But how was he supposed to hear all of that when his neighbours were so damn loud? It made him bubble with aggravation, bundling his fingers into tight fists as he held his duvet close to him and put it over his ears, wanting to hear nothing at all.

He knew he shouldn't have gone home, he knew he should have accepted Fox's offer to let him stay another night, but he didn't want that sort of guilt to make him feel any worse than he already did.

He already knew that things were going to get worse once Amelia told her mum about what had happened, about how heartbroken she was when he 'broke up' with her, despite never dating to begin with. But he had solace in the fact that his aunt didn't know yet, so her anger wouldn't be quite so bad if she caught him.

Another glass shattered in the home beneath his and he flinched.

They were smoking weed in the flat above his again and he sunk. How was he supposed to smell the alcohol? How was he going to know when she was home and when she had drunk enough to be beyond reasonable?

These were the times when he needed his friends most. He needed the familiarity of tiny details that they never found him weird for noticing more than others did. He needed to see the flash of purple from Oscar, hear the steady footsteps of Fox's old trainers, Leo's books and pencil case rattling in his bag, smell Joel's acrylic paint and spike of lavender oil that always lingered with him. Hell, he would have even appreciated Robin's heavy breathing and smell of paper and coffee. He just needed something.

He wondered if it would have been better if he left before anything did happen.

And, in his mind, it seemed safer than staying where he was... But he couldn't. The anxiousness bundled in his stomach like knots tied over and over again in the same place until they were just a ball of them. He couldn't untangle them, he couldn't bring himself to leave the darkness of his room or the violence of his flat.

So he decided that even if he was hungry, on the verge of dehydration and desperate to leave the box of a room, he would stay. He needed to stay and he needed to be so perfectly still that his bed sheets didn't even ruffle. It wouldn't be enough, and he knew it wouldn't as he heard the front door open then slam closed. But, he needed something to grasp onto with hope so he could deny the obvious fact that once again, his apartment would be no different to the ones above or below him.