night and day [h.s]

nine

                 

Voices were what he heard first when he gained consciousness, a girl's voice and the gruff voice of his landlord. His eyes shot open upon realization and he sat up, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth and sniffing. His neighbor and the landlord stood off to the side of his head just outside his door.
"Here," the landlord said and handed her a key. He crossed his robe across his body and sashayed to the elevator. "Don't lose your key again," he mumbled a few more words but they were unimportant by this point.

He just stared up at the girl who he felt he should really know. There was a bucket of eaten chicken wings just some inches away from his foot and she was smiling at him. And on the tip of his tongue some name wanted to emit. Naomi...? Nicole...?

She held out a hand and he gladly took it. When he felt how soft it was, a memory placed itself in his head of her standing over his sloppy body in this hallway.

Oh.

He got really drunk and came back here. He remembered now.

He hoped he didn't throw up in front of her because he would never face her again. But the hallway contained no signs of expelled embarrassment.

She searched his face for a minute and then spoke, "You were drunk and we sat together in the hallway talking and eating chicken wings because you lost your key. I'm Nyala."

Nyala placed the cold key, in contrast to her warm hand, in his. It was like a handshake without all the formalities.

"Um thanks."

It was an awkward air between the two. Like he just caught her walking out in the one nightstand they just had and – oh my god, he really shouldn't be thinking about that right now. He just wanted to sleep off the rest of his hangover on his lumpy mattress. With some weed and juice, it'd be a relaxing rest of the day.

He inhaled sharply, breaking their stare, and pushed the key into the lock. Harry walked inside and once again, shut the door on her.

He didn't realize how much he relied on his job to fill the emptiness of his life. The TV screen was filled with hundreds of shows that'd occupy him until noon of the next day yet he couldn't. All he saw was a screen with colorful bars that was the universal sign for no signal. And it was only twelve.

He sighed and rolled over to stare at the chipped door. God this was a shitty apartment. This was a shitty life. He couldn't get the nerves to go out there for another job interview to even pay next months rent. He had no friends. And he couldn't bother to get his shit together to apologize to Nyala. Harry could only remember snippets of the drunken conversation he had with her. But from what he recalled she was so nice and he was so undeserving. She waited in a hallway with a drunk until morning. Wow, he couldn't remember the last time someone was this nice to him in New York.

It was a cold hard callous city he wanted a fresh start in. Or to bury himself where no one would find him.

But either way she deserved something, and he was too chicken to go over there and apologize for being such a dick. Being a dick was easier than saying what he really wanted to. It was so hard to bring the words to his mouth sometimes. When they came in a disorganized disaster rather than an orderly line, he would regret his existence the rest of the day.

Well, actually he regretted his existence period but there were times where it was better. Times where putting a smile on his face sober wasn't as painful or the haunting voices of the past weren't taunting him about his predictable future now. Where were those times when he needed them? Now it was just an endless vortex of black despair.

H

"Hello?" he answered.

"Meet me downstairs," the voice said and hung up.

He let out a groan and rolled over on the couch. Not wanting to face the world, even if it was his drug dealer. But he pulled on a jacket and headed downstairs. The cold winter air was blowing through the doors as he reached the last step downstairs.

It was Nyala. Or at least he thought it was her who was in the hood. Her back was towards him and she drew the black hood up as she walked out the complex doors into the New York day. To think about it, he's never seen her out in the daytime. He's always ever seen or heard her at the late hours of the night. Maybe it's because he's out a job that keeps him occupied for 8 hours a week and now he has nothing except four grey walls, acid, and a three story drop.

He shut his eyes.

"Here." Three shabby fifties were placed in the palm of his hand. They were crinkled at the corners and red was sprayed on the bills. He hoped to whatever entity was up there that James was not handing him dirty money. How could you hand bloody money to your landlord with a straight face? Did James do this sometimes? "Sorry about the mess."

Sorry about the mess? He was glad to know someone's possible brain splatter was just a mess to James.

i didn't think this story was going to get much attention but thank you for the votes i have so far and comments! :) anyway, leave a comment if this is making sense to you bc i've been revising and i feel like this is a fucking mess.

anyway anyway have a happy rest of your day

oh and ps sorry if you thought this would have much more smut than expected but i'm not the type to have my characters fucking in like the first chapter w/o them at least knowing a lil something bout each other

but it's going to be here in this story so stay tuned