WHEN I finally blinked awake into the morning, the first thought that crossed my mind was murder.
And not just any murder, really. A specific murder. A murder that had anything and everything to do with the music that was ruthlessly ripping to shreds any hope of my well-deserved sleep.
"Please, no, no, this cannot be happening," I groaned into my mattress, pulling my pillow tight over my head in a pathetic attempt to block out the awful sound. "Not again, not today."
It did not work. Nothing worked. Everything was awful.
I drew in a deep breath to soothe the swelling fury that was growing inside me, but it was hopeless. Hope had officially been tied to cement blocks and drowned out in a river of steady beats and guitar riffs.
In through the nose, and out through the mouth. We are calm, cool, and collected. We will not murder anyone today.
When I squeezed my eyes shut, forcefully willing myself to fall back asleep, I almost managed to convince myself that it was actually working.
Until I had to admit that the irritating thump of bass was still very loud and still very there and still very much tempting me to commit homicide.
"Go away, please, if there is any good in the world, please, I promise I'll never illegally download anything ever again," I tried to bargain with whatever entity that would listen, burying myself deeper within my blankets.
The next thought that crossed my mind was where I'd be able to find any medieval torture tools on short notice. I bet a spiked mace could fix my problem. Craigslist, maybe?
Groaning for the umpteenth time, I flung my pillow across the room, hearing it crash into my desk chair but paying it no mind. My eyes were trained on the ceiling in a glare, because that was all my body could muster. Moving seemed like a terrible idea, but sadly, inevitable. The racket of outside continued to bleed in through my shut window, the glass creating no protection from my sanity, and I cursed him.
Him who I knew was the reason for this awful happening, like most of the unfortunate events that had cursed my life as of late. Him who, one way or another, was going to end up with a mace in his face. Because I was as determined as I was eBay savvy.
Someone was going to die, and the asshole next door was first on my list.
I ripped off my thick duvet, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes with the heel of my palm as corrosive rage burned in the pit of my stomach. My retinas were burning against the light, and like clockwork, another groan spilled past my lips.
With only pure hatred motivating my body, I dragged myself over to the window, pulling the blinds up to be met with the familiar sight of my neighbourhood. All green lawns and elm trees in the heart of suburbia. This, unfortunately, included my new next door neighbour- also known as The Antichrist, or the person who was blaring his music unspeakably loud on a Saturday morning.
I usually just called him the worst person alive.
Shoving my window open, I stuck out my head. My bedhead and polar bear pajama t-shirt were just afterthoughts to the meticulously planned homicide unfolding in my mind.
And there, unsurprisingly, I found Reese.
In all his light brown hair and tanned skin infamy, aviators perched amongst the pretentiously tousled waves of his hair, stood Reese. He had these infuriating dimples digging into his cheeks, and all I wanted to do was carve them out. With a sharp object. Preferably a machete.
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