I smoked until I was full, until I felt sick, and just collapsed on the floor. It was the first time I’d ever put a cigarette in my mouth. My body shook from the cold. I understood nothing.

Next to me was a stack of empty coffee cups. I crawled across the floor toward the water, but the bottle was open, and now, in this small, already hazy room, there was also a puddle. London…

Weak and in pain, a dull ache in my side, I fell face-first into the filth (as in life).

Where should I go? Where can I hide so no one’s there? Where can I disappear to right now?

No one’s here. No one is nearby, and no one cares about anything. Who even needs me? No one. No one. No one gives a damn.

I’m so sick of it.

I don’t want to. I don’t want anything from anyone. I won’t leave the house again. I’ll just be on my own.

KNOCK AT THE DOOR

“Why is it that every time I decide to reject the world and become a monk, someone always comes along and ruins it?”

Someone is pounding at the door, making incomprehensible noises. The doorbell blares like crazy.

I open the door. It’s my classmate, Quentin. He steps forward and falls onto me.

“You don’t have any girls here, do you?” he asks, looking around.

I stay silent, not understanding what’s happening.

“Waaaaater… wateeeer!”

Quentin reaches out and sees water amid the mess and trash. His eyes widen. He moves forward and, exhausted, falls into the puddle and starts drinking directly from the floor.

“You’re drunk!” I say.

“Yeah, I’m drunk!” he yells.

“Get up!”

“Get uuuuuuuup!”

“Screw it,” I mutter, walking back and lying down again. “You break into my place while I’m doing the most important thing on the planet—hating the whole world—you interrupt me, and now you’re joking? Get out, Quentin, goooo out!”

Quentin doesn’t care what I say and starts singing.

“Shut the hell up!” I snap.

“Bebebebebe…” he makes a face but falls silent.

“Oh godddd. Why did I even let you in?” I groan.

“Why are you like this… You’re just like everyone else. I hate people,” he says, his eyes filling with tears.

Seeing his miserable but somehow pitifully cute face, I feel sorry for him and move closer.

“Alright, alright. What happened?” I ask.

“I…” he hiccups, starting, his eyes filling with more tears, looking both pathetic and funny. “…I… GOT DUMPED!”

“Ahhh… a giirl…”

He doesn’t even notice me and starts rambling.

“I always loved her, ever since middle school we were together. Then I went to college, and she went to another high school. But I still cared for her: bought flowers, chocolates! And she, she…”

“She cheated on you?” I ask.

“SHE SAID SHE DOESN’T LOVE ME ANYMORE AND THAT I’M BORING AND UNINTERESTING AND SHE FOUND A NEW COOL GUYYYYY. THE NIGHT BEFORE MY BIRTHDAYYYYY!”

Quentin bursts into tears. The puddle grows larger and larger as he starts to drown in it.

“The night before your birthday? Is it your birthday today?”

“In a few hoooours,” he says in the voice of a wounded child.

“Oh god, I’m about to throw up.”

“Reychik, are you okay?”

“Stop calling me that. If you shut up, we can do something. I’ve got an idea.”

“Ideaaa…” His eyes widen, his face stretching into a huge grin.

“How about we just forget about tomorrow?” I suggest.

“You’re saying?” His eyes grow even wider.

“Yeah, yeah, exactly,” I smirk.

“Reyyyychik, you’re perfect!” Flowers and awe appear in his eyes.

“Hehhh,” I smirk, my nose getting longer than Pinocchio’s.

Both of us immediately get up and leave the house.

And… we forget to close the door.

Comments