The Bitch Next Door

Chapter 1

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Crash.

From deep within me, a groan forms and erupts out of my throat with ferocity. My back arches and my hands fly to my face, sending the pillows scattering across the bed.

I'd piled the pillows high on my head, trying to drown out the noise.

It didn't work. Even with my brand new earplugs in.

No matter what I do, this fucking bitch's drumming wakes me up every night.

I hate her.

Life was great last month, until the bitch moved in. I live in a cute house that's been divided into two apartments. Mine is on the ground floor. I get the backyard. The basement has a shared laundry room, but I've never seen her down there.

My fucking neighbor lives on top of me.

Of course I renewed my lease a few weeks before she moved in. I love my place. Loved my place for real. I've lived here for three years, and it feels like home. It's probably worse because it is a home and not just another apartment. My home has been invaded and completely changed by a bitch.

I've never seen her, ever. I don't know what she does all day, or how I've never seen her coming or going — because believe me, I'm always on high alert for a sighting. There's nothing I'd like better than to meet her in person so I can tell her how horrible she is to live underneath.

The sound-proofing in this old house in pathetic.

In the evenings, I get to hear her thumping around like she's jogging on the spot.

One time I heard her front door close. Naturally I ran straight up the stairs and banged on her door. When she didn't open, I started screaming and kicking the door. Nothing. I gave up. Just like all the other times I gave up.

In the nights, I get to hear her drumming.

One night, she even drummed for three hours straight. I was crying after the first hour. By the third, I'd rolled up in a ball in the bathtub and buried myself in the cushions from the couch.

Yes I've tried knocking on her door. Repeatedly. I don't think she cares. I've put notes under the door, I don't think she reads them. Or more likely, she doesn't care.

Bang, bang, boom, bang.

The green numbers on my clock shout three fifteen at me. Is there a worse time to be awake?

Rummaging around under my pillow, I find my phone and wake it up. The brightness from the screen is blinding. With my eyes squeezed shut, I turn down the brightness on the screen as low as it will go. It still blazes like the sun.

With one eye squeezed shut, I slowly manage to get the other eye open enough to read the screen.

I google "world's best earplugs."

I already own all of them. The world is in desperate need of new earplug technology.

I google "best over the counter sleeping pills."

I took two before bed tonight.

I google "Maximum safe amount of sleeping pills to take."

Random people on the internet assure me I won't die if I take another one. It's not like I have much of a choice. I have two important meetings in the morning.

Boom, crash, crash, bang.

Resigned, I fling my comforter back and get out of bed. I pad off in the direction of the kitchen to get more sleeping pills.

If I didn't suffer from such bad hangovers, I'd take a Marilyn Monroe cocktail of rum and pills every night. Maybe I'll start. What's worse, the sleepless nights or the hangovers?

Bang, boom, crash. Boom, boom, bang.

Why does she think she's Taylor swift? Can she not hear what I hear?

Fucking bitch.

Crash, bang, bang. Crash, crash, crash.

Good lord, not the non-stop symbols again. I can't decide if they're better or worse than the drums. Why can't she play the flute? At least if she's not terrible that could pamper me to sleep.

I've complained to the owner, via my agent. I hate that I rented through an agent. I've never actually spoken to the owner, and I'd really, really like to give him or her an earful. Giving my agent an earful just doesn't have the same therapeutic value.

All the agent ever says to me is, "The owner will speak to her about it."

Thanks. That helps.

I open the cupboard and take out a glass. As I'm filling it with water, the bitch really outdoes herself. She thinks she's playing the encore of a performance at the Astrodome.

Water overflows my glass, and I slam it onto the counter, sloshing water everywhere.

I snap. Without even bothering to turn the tap off, I grab my broom and bash it against my ceiling.

I carry on bashing it through my kitchen and into the living room, until I'm directly under the fucking drum set.

It's so noisy that there's no way she could hear my bashing over her banging, so I start timing my broom bashing with her beat.

"Fuck you, bitch!"

I fling my broom up with all my strength. It goes straight through my ceiling and hits the floor boards. Whatever, I don't even care. I carry on with her beat.

Boom, badda boom.

Bang my broom and yell "What's the matter with you?"

Boom, boom, crash, bang.

Bang my broom and yell "Shut the fuck up!"

Boom, da, boom, crash.

Bang my broom and yell "I'm trying to sleep!"

Why do I feel like I'm performing in a kpop band?

A neat little hole is forming in my ceiling. Fine, better access to the floor boards.

We continue our percussion duet. Plaster and pieces of ceiling debris rain down on me. Still we continue, until my throat is raw and my arms ache.

I can't believe the bitch didn't pause once. She didn't give any indication that she even heard my efforts to shut her up. And unless there's a one way sound proofing going on, there's no way she didn't hear me.

What a fucking bitch.

It's nearly four, and I'm fully awake after the broom thumping. There must be something I can do.

Sitting on the sofa, I open my laptop and dim the screen down to a tolerable four am level. I start typing:

Dear Bitch,

You are the most selfish person on the planet. Your late night drumming is ruining my life but I don't suppose you are capable of thinking about anyone but yourself.

I have lived here far longer than you, and it would be unfair if you are the reason I have to move out and leave my previously ideal home.

I don't know what your problem is or why you won't answer your door and speak to me like a normal human being. Would it be so hard for you to simply talk to me and work out a solution? The solution being you stop drumming in the middle of the night. Or perhaps soundproof your apartment?

The owner has been informed about your intolerable behavior. If you do not change, I will be forced to involve the authorities.

I am more than happy to discuss this matter in person, you know where to find me.

Sincerely,

Your sleep deprived neighbor.

Satisfied, I run into the entrance hall, zip up the stairs and shove the note under her door. I head back to bed and bury my head under the pillow.