Flat 51

The buzzing sound of my alarm immediately set my mood to ‘scary face’ the next morning. I rolled out of bed, barely catching my balance in time as my feet hit the floor, and slammed the ‘off’ button on that stupid clock. For a second I forgot where I was, wondering why I wasn’t being shaken awake by Rick and being yelled at to clean my beer bottles up off the floor. Oh yeah, Emily White… Flat 51. I stumbled to the door, suddenly remembering that I wasn’t wearing any clothing. I pulled on a pair of gym shorts and decided to forgo the shirt, purely out of laziness.

I ran a hand through my hair, walking into the kitchen and opening the fridge. I pulled out a mini orange juice and began to sip it. After that I grabbed a cup of hot coffee from the coffee maker, which must have been set to an automatic timer, because when I turned around to face the living room I was greeted by quite a scene. Emily was passed out on the couch, tangled haphazardly in a flannel blanket. There were four boxes of poptarts sitting on the coffee table, three cans of soda, and an empty gallon of chocolate ice cream. The telly was running, but whatever she’d been watching was long over. What time is it? I glanced over my shoulder and read 10:00 A.M. on the oven.

Emily stirred, then bolted upright, struggling with the tangled blanket. She started to panic, unable to free herself. I rushed over to help, holding her arms down and pulling the blanket from her body after a few seconds of defensive instincts from her. I sat on the edge of the couch and held her wrists together, waiting for her to recognize me. Finally she squinted, and recognition filled her eyes.

“Shit, sorry Harry. I don’t… I don’t know what happened. I guess I just panicked or something. Sorry.” She went on about it until I shook my head.

“You’re fine. Look, I-” I froze, noticing the dark marks on her right arm. There were five perfect bruises on her upper arm. I replayed the moment of weakness from last night, remembering pressing her roughly to the car… This was me? “D-Did… did I do this?” I asked, gently running my fingers over the spots. She shivered and hugged herself, goosebumps forming on her skin.

“You’re cold! I need a hot cup of coffee. How about you? Do you want some coffee?”

“Emily.” She stopped and stared at her hands, folding them neatly in her lap.

“You didn’t mean to. I saw it in your eyes. It was an accident. You didn’t know what you were doing.” She wasn’t angry? How could she forgive something like that? No one had ever treated me like this. No one, not since the damn car accident that took my mum and sister from me. It almost broke what was left of my heart to see the tears brimming in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. She smiled and suddenly reached up and ruffled my hair with her hand, then jumped up and pranced to the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee. Then, to my shock and disdain, I blushed. I balled up my fists, embarrassed, and turned to see her laughing.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I met you,” she giggled. I rolled my eyes and grabbed a packet of poptarts from a box, reading the label. “So, you’re an oreo crème boy, huh?” she grinned, flopping down beside me on the couch. Apparently she’d moved past last night’s events…

“I guess,” I replied, not realizing it mattered.

“I prefer chocolate. I swear, if the planet was made of chocolate I’d eat it. I could live on chocolate. I really wanna try chocolate-covered bacon, but I haven’t had time to make it and apparently no one in frickin England has even heard of it.” She took a big gulp of her coffee and stood up to throw out the ice-cream box and put away the poptarts. “What’s your plan today?” she asked as she began folding the blankets.

“Better yet, why were you sleeping on the couch?” I asked, coking an eyebrow. If she could interrogate me, I could do the same to her.

“I was mad at you for slamming the door in my face,” she muttered, glancing at the floor, then to my eyes, as if searching for some kind of hostile reaction.

“Well, you shouldn’t have been asking all those questions in the car,” I snapped. She jerked her head up and glared at me. Hey, I wasn’t going to take the crap for her emotions.

“You’re blaming me?! I don’t control your actions, Model Status! You can’t just come into my apartment and make moves on me and then tell me it’s my fault!”

“Well if you don’t want me here, I’ll just leave!” I shouted, getting up and stomping to my room. I slammed the door extra hard to express my anger and back-flopped onto my bed.

“Well, fine!”

“Fine!” I screamed back. I heard her own bedroom door slam shut. I need to do something. My blood was practically boiling. This always happened with flat mates. They couldn’t keep to their own business and we ended up fighting all the time. I rolled off the bed and began to do pull-ups on the trim around the closet door, as it was wider than code. After a while I switched to press-ups, and realized two hours had gone by when I heard a soft knock on my door. I ignored it and sat back against the wall, breathing hard.

“Um, Harry?” she called gently. I waited her out. She was just going to give me the speech about how it wasn’t going to work out, and that I’d have to leave tomorrow morning. I was used to it by now. I’d be homeless again, living in my truck. Great. Another flat mate that fucking hated me. “I… I don’t want you to leave.”

Notes

I WANT YOU TO ROCK ME, ROCK ME, ROCK ME, YEAH
Throwing it back to TMH... I finally superglued my headphones back together so I can use them now... DON'T JUDGE ME! We had tacos for dinner.

Em XO