Drunk on Love

Chapter 1

There is a knock on the door, I ignored it as I always do when someone knocks on my door, but the knocking went on and it went on for a long time. I knew there was only one person who would consistently knock on my door knowing that at some point it would annoy me and I would open up.

"Coming!" I yelled from my dressing room as I grabbed a pair of slippers and threw them on into my feet while running through the living room. The knocking went on, "I'm coming, I'm coming," I said repeatedly.

I opened up just to find that I was right, again, the only person who would knock on my door until I opened. He was standing in his pajamas although it was almost three o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon. He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes and his hair was all messed up, covering his forehead, falling on top of his bushy eyebrows.

"What now, Thomas?"

He smiled at me, not a huge, honest smile, but that childish, half smirk with his faded brown eyes that could make any girl drool over him. But I knew better.

"Are you out of beer again?" I said in a sarcastic tone.

"Oh, come on. That's not the only thing I come over for," he answered in that low, harsh voice of his. He walked pass me and into the room, he moved as if he had a terrible hangover and he covered his face from the sunlight that poured into my London flat through the silky drapes.

"Actually...it kind of is," he threw himself into the couch and put his feet on my coffee table, letting his bare feet touch the collection magazines I had displayed on the table.

"Maybe I came over to change that this time."

"Oh, did you?" I closed the front door and walked over to the coffee table, removed his disgusting feet from it and reorganized my magazines.

"Maybe I wanted to get to know you better."

"I've lived across the hall from you for 5 years, you have never been interested in 'getting to know me'."

"That's not true."

"Really?" I gave him a sarcastic look, "what is my last name?"

He looked confused for a moment and then he said, "You know, we haven't got to the middle-last name conversation..."

"Okay, what's my first name?"

"Umm..."

"Seriously?" He looked embarrassed now and I was starting to get really annoyed. "Just grab a beer and get out." I stood up and walked into my room without even caring if Tom would leave or not. He later walked into my room and leaned his back against the door frame. "What are you doing?" he asked as he crossed his arms.

I was picking some clothes out of a suitcase and folding them on my bed. "It's called unpacking; people go on trips, they pack, people come back from their trip, they unpack. So there is one thing you know about me."

"You are an unpacker?"

"I go on trips."

"Oh, I didn't knew you liked to travel."

"Of course you didn't. We've never had a real conversation in five years."

"I feel resentment in your tone."

I looked away.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, seems like you hate me."

"I don't hate...it's just..." I hesitated for a moment, I wasn't sure what I was about to say, "...I know guys like you, okay?"

"Guys like me?"