The Music Won’t Cut it

I was sitting at the kitchen table with my computer open when my roomate walked through the front door. He looked at me with a slight grin on his face and his eyes were bright and red. He’d been gone since eight this morning, my other roomate had said, and it was now 2:30 am.

I put my headphones on and turned up the music. I knew what was coming. I soon could hear muffled F-bombs flying around around like it was World War 3. It seemed serious. He was yelling about something involving his best friend, repeating it over and over again. No matter how many times she asked him to stop, he just kept going, making his way to the kitchen, pacing about, and telling us what he was going to do.

My chest was tight and I was afraid. He said he was going to kill him.

“Katie, my best friend set me up,” he said.

“He called and said ‘say goodbye to Kalli baby.’ My own best friend. Do you understand?”

I waited for the cab to my sister’s on the front step while the rain seeped into my hood. It was cold enough that slush was slowly starting to accumulate on the ground. I’ve lived in this apartment for almost a year now, but I think last night was my cue to start looking for a new one.