The screaming, just like every other morning, wakes me early. Disgruntled and dazed, I find my eyes staring at the ceiling, my room still dark. I turn my head and through a blurred gaze, focus on the glaring numbers of my alarm clock. 3:46am.
Fantastic.
Slurred, drunken words filled with raw hatred and rage can be heard through the thing wall, with enough force to shake my room.
"You worthless peesh of shit! I fuchkin' hate you!"
Already the remnants of my dreams are fading into nothing as the sound of my heart pounding fills my ears. I blink a few times, clutching at my duvet as I chew on my lower lip, unable to avoid the chaos of my neighbours. I hear several loud bangs and a young male voice yelling in pain. I grab my pillow and slam it down on my face, pressing hard in an attempt to block it out. The familiar, miserable sensation of helplessness washes over me and I clench my hands into fists.
Unfortunately, I can still hear it all too clearly. I groan weakly and roll out of bed, forcing my body to reach up and stretch, feeling my muscles contract with the movement. I can't help but envy mum and Charlie. Both their rooms are on the opposite side of the house. They can't hear anything.
I rub a hand over my face and reach across for the ever-present running outfit I keep beside my bed. Baggy joggers, a vest, hoodie and once-white trainers; then it's just a matter of pulling my hair up into a tight ponytail. All the while my brow remains furrowed as I listen to the shouting.
As I walk out of my bedroom, I pause to grab my MP3 from the dressed, the noises becoming more and more incoherent by the second. I tip-toe down the stairs as quietly and carefully as I possibly can, thankful that mum's a heavy sleeper. She wouldn't exactly be pleased to know I was out running at this time but sometimes it's the only way to escape the neighbours.
Daniel Brady was once a healthy, happy child with a normal enough life. We were even friends once. We used to run amuck; climbing trees, making mudpies, collecting snails and frogs - normal kid stuff. That all changed the day his mum left him and his dad. She left them around four years ago - and the worst part? She left them for a younger, richer, hotter guy. I've heard enough through the paper-thin walls to know almost every detail of what happened.
His dad lost the plot. He turned to alcohol, to drugs and to beating his only child whenever he wanted. His wife was all he'd known, they'd been childhood sweethearts, going on thirty three years strong when she up and left him.
So, the nice young lad I knew growing up? He turned into a beast. A bully, a menace and a delinquent. He started failing in school, picking fights with anyone who blinked at him the wrong way and even going as far as terrorising teachers that either try to help him or cause him problems.
Seeing - or more hearing - the life he lives at home, is it any wonder? My heart hurts for him. Despite the many times he's picked on me, called me names or mocked me for the pleasure of others, I can't find it in myself to hate him. I know the hell he calls home. How can I hate him when that's what he has to deal with, daily?
I pause outside on short drive that leads up to his front door. The only light on is Daniel's and I can see shadows shifting from behind the curtains. The shouting seems to have at least subsided a little; for now. I still can't face going back up there, listening to the vulgar, cruel things he'll call his son. Or worse still, listening to Daniel cry when his dad finally leaves him alone and staggers off to pass out in front of the living room TV.
I'll never be able to get back to sleep if I go back up there. Instead, I run.
Daniel has a tendency to love making my life difficult. Why me? Why do you think? Because I live next door to him. I hear everything, I know everything, there's nothing he can hide from me; and Daniel loves to hide things. That's the problem really; he has an image to uphold. He's supposedly the toughest guy in school and that means he doesn't want people knowing his weakness - that he's human and can feel fear, that something out there is bigger and scarier than he is.
The fact that I know angers him more than anything; therefore he's cruel to me at any chance he can in an attempt to threaten me into silence. The thing he doesn't seem to understand is that I would never do anything to hurt him. It's not in my nature to be cruel, to hurt others for enjoyment or for any other reason. Mum always taught me about compassion, about caring for others and most importantly - empathy. It's why I can never hate Daniel. Yes, I can be frustrated and angry with him, yes I can be hurt by his actions, but I could never hate him or cause him anymore pain than he already deals with. I just wish he could understand that.
I haven't given up on him, I know there's still some good in him, it just needs to be found. I know it. After hearing and occasionally being there to witness what his dad does to him, I don't blame him for wanting to take all that pent up rage out on everyone else. It's obviously not the best way to deal with it, if anything he should be getting help from social services or maybe even the school.
There's not really anything I can do to try and persuade him right now, not when he doesn't want to let me in, I just feel like I need to do something. But what could I do? I'm powerless without him accepting help.
I feel a small chill down my spine while I imagine how much worse things could be if he knew our bedrooms were directly beside each others. That I could hear every stifled sob, every whispered prayer, every shuddering breath... oh yes, things could be much worse if he was to ever find out.
I pause to try and catch my breath, hunching over with my hands on my knees. I hadn't realised how hard I'd been pushing myself. My chest constricts painfully as I focus on slowing my breathing, calming it down. In my ears, I hear soft and haunting lyrics, "Telling Leila stories spoken, 'bout how all her bones are broken, hammers fall on all the pieces..."
Thanks shuffle, not exactly the kind of song I'd like to be listening to right now. My eyes sting and blur as tears threaten to spill over the horribly sad words. I blink furiously to get rid of the, change the song to something more upbeat and start running again, determined to leave my thoughts behind this time.
