Page 4 of Don't Fall

I wait until I hear the door close and know they’re both inside safely for the night before I go back to bed. Nearly called the cops two hours ago when the party spilled out into the common area, also known as my front door step. Then I remembered, I’m not old enough to be that asshole yet. So, I went back to bed.

Until I heard shouting, which turned out to be singing.

And I went back to bed.

Until there was cursing and door slamming, which turned out to be sober boyfriend getting irritated with the task of babysitting.

So, I went back to bed.

This last go around, I woke up because I had to take a leak (in hindsight, having a drink of water every time I was up, just because, was not a great idea). Since I was up, I figured checking in with the partiers was the responsible and nosey new neighbor thing to do.

I was just settling in at the peephole, located at a convenient angle to the door across from me as well as the stairs, given the kitty corner lay out of entry ways up on the landing, when I spotted two women struggling to get up that last flight of stairs. I was nearly out the door to help them before I decided that being the weird naked neighbor at three AM approaching drunk girls was not the lasting impression I was hoping to make around here.

Given how close they were to reaching the top, there was no point in trying to get dressed in a hurry. Instead, I opted to supervise. From a distance. And out of sight.

Now that I know everyone is safe and the party is definitely over, I have no plans to wake up for anything other than my alarm clock.

Except, my night is obviously not going in that direction.

My face has barely touched my pillow, when I hear someone at the door.

“Goddammit.” I push up and move back to my feet, grumbling the whole way, “Freaking drunk girls. Freaking college kid neighbors.” And fucking Olivia turning my life into this shit.

When I hear what sounds like the lock clicking, I speed up. I turn the corner to the living room, just in time to see her walk in.

Our eyes meet.

Her eyes drop a little lower.

She screams.

Because I’m still naked.

A shit-storm ensues. I’m yanking the first thing I can get my fingers on into position in front of my crotch (the first thing turns out to be a throw pillow from the love seat) meanwhile, she’s shouting everything from four letter words to cries for help and requests for 911 calls as she makes a very calculated move for the umbrella tucked in the corner beside the coat closet, and begins swinging it at me with full force.

“Whoa!” I duck just in time. “What are you doing?!” But she just keeps on coming, leaving me no choice but to abandon my efforts to stay covered for an attempt at staying un-clobbered instead.

Dropping the pillow leads to two things in my favor. One, she’s temporarily distracted. Again. And two, I have two free hands with which to grab the umbrella and disarm my crazy attacker chick.

Stumped, the crazy chick glares back and forth between myself and the door, clearly uncertain which to approach.

I help her out. “Get out. Unless you want to stick around while I make that call to the cops you were screaming for a second ago.”

“Are you insane?!”

“Bold words from a crazy person who broke into my apartment and started swinging an umbrella at my head!” Now that I’m not longer under attack, I make the time to walk over to the kitchen table where I left the laundry basket, and pull on the nearest pair of sweatpants I can find. I’m almost not surprised when I turn around to find she’s followed me.

“I’m not the one who broke in,” she screeches, “and I’m definitely not the crazy one here!” Though she does seem less convinced of this when she comes to a stop in front of me, taking in the whole room.

“You’ve been here long enough to do laundry? What are you? Some sort of a squatter?”

I close my eyes and count to three. I’d like ten, but three is all I have time for. “Look, I know you girls have been partying really hard tonight, and things get a little confusing after that much fun, but this is my apartment. Not yours.”

She stares at me and I get the odd sensation she’s silently counting as well.

“First of all, I’m not drunk, and while I’m exhausted enough to believe that I may have temporarily lost my mind and wandered into the wrong unit, that still doesn’t explain why my key fit or why this place is filled with all of my shit.” Her pitch rises even higher as she spreads her arms out to her sides, indicating that everything in sight is hers. “My shit. ALL. MY. SHIT. Plus, YOU! Why do I have you? You don’t go with anything in here!” Exasperated, her flailing arms collapse at her sides.

Then, the door swings open, and drunk girl from before comes stumbling in along with sober boyfriend right behind her. “We heard yelling,” the guy announces.

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