First Time

68

Aiden

I wake up when my head brutally hits the floor. When I open my eyes, I am staring at an empty bottle of what used to be aged whisky. Now there is not a drop left in it.

After initial confusion, I realise where I am. I force myself up and sit back on the sofa that I've just fallen off. After spending all day out in the cold searching for mum yesterday, I must have just crashed onto the sofa as soon as I got home.

I yawn and rub the sleep out of my eyes, then finally have a look around. The living room is an absolute tip. It's littered with empty alcohol bottles, broken glass, used needles and ash everywhere. The Christmas decorations are all torn and scattered. The room is stuffy and stinks like shit.

What a fucking mess. My anger towards mum simmers slowly.

I get up and pick my bag up off the floor. As I make my way out of the room, I fish my phone out of my pocket to check the time. However, it's still dead and I realise I completely forgot to charge it.

Shit!

On my way to the stairs, I catch a glimpse of the other shit tip that is the kitchen. Piles of dirty dishes, takeaway packets and rotting food left on the sides and of course, the lock on the liquor cupboard smashed and the cupboard raided.

Did mum have a party in here with all her junkie friends or something?

I shake my head as a conscious effort to ignore it all for now. I lift my foot to climb the first step but freeze.

A trail of blood stains the carpet on the stairs, leading all the way up. Large, noticeable splashes of dried-up crimson liquid. The walls at the side of the staircase are dotted with rain drops of blood. I follow the trail all the way up to the bathroom door.

Holding onto the door handle, I brace myself. I take a deep breath then push the door open. My eyes and mouth widen with shock. My bag falls off my shoulder as my muscles limpen. The bathroom is absolutely covered in blood. Melissa's blood. Dried up puddles on the floor, splatters all over the walls and bathroom furniture and handprints and smears on the edge of the bath, sink and on the back of the door.

It looks like the scene of a gruesome crime.

It is the scene of a gruesome crime.

Before I have a moment to process what I'm looking at and what to do about it, a loud, persistent banging on the front door startles me.

Fuck!

I quickly shut the bathroom door and race down the stairs. The person bangs on the door again.

"Hold the fuck on!" I yell.

Fearing Ann standing on the other side of the door, I try and think of an excuse as I ensure the doors to the living room and kitchen are closed.

Palms sweating, heart pounding, I unlock the front door and open it.

To my relief, the landlord stands in front of me, one foot perched up on the threshold and arms folded. His frown is so intense that it pops a vein out of his shiny, bald head.

"Hey kid," he looks up and down at me with this sorry and disgusted look on his face, "Is your mum home."

"No, not right now. Why?"

"Well, I've received several noise complaints. Your neighbours have been reporting you to the council. Obviously since this is my property, I'm getting the shits."

The audacity of these crackhead neighbours when they make just as much noise.

"Ok, well, we'll keep it down."