The following story contains strong language. Reader discretion is advised.
I bought a knife yesterday.
Callie, my neighbor next door, came home late again. 2:18 in the morning. I know because her crying woke me up and I checked the clock before falling back to sleep.
Callie’s a whore.
Her pimp wakes us up four hours later.
“Get your ass up, bitch,” we hear him scream through the thin cement wall.
Callie doesn’t answer, but I hear her moving around in her apartment. Not a wise move. “Samson don’t like to be kept waitin.”
Fucking Samson. Wears Armani, drives an Escalade. Christ, his fucking shoes cost more’n I make a year. Dick-head. He pounds the door again, harder this time. The whole building can hear him, but we bury our collective heads under our pillows and hum. He’ll be gone soon and we can forget about Callie till tomorrow morning when Samson comes back. Except I can’t bury my head under my pillow.
There’s a knife there.
“How you hook up with that guy?” I asked her once when we both happened to be in the basement laundry.
She answered by pulling her stripper outfits from the dryer and running upstairs.
He’s beatin on the door non stop today. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM
He slaps her hard. I hear her moan and say she’s sorry. Can she have the morning off? She’s tired. I hear her yelp. Probably has her by her hair again. My head hurts. Could be lack of sleep. Could be because I’m pressing my head against the knife. I didn’t realize I had moved it out from under the pillow and put it on top.
“Why don’t you leave that guy?” I asked her once when we happened to both be down by the mailboxes. Her’s was empty. She smelt like sweat. Jasmine and sweat. I bet she was pretty once. She turned to leave and wouldn’t look at me.
“I can help you.” I said.
She paused for a moment before continuing up the stairs.
“You can’t,” she said with her back to me and her head lowered. “I can’t.”
She’s home again but not alone. Her screams wake me, that and the rhythmic pounding of her bed hitting the wall. It’s over in less then two minutes. It’s 1:49am.
My eyes snap open to the sound of Dick-head beating on Callie’s door. “Wake the hell up bitch.” He keeps pounding and pounding and pounding and pounding and pounding and pounding.
Just once I wish he’d knock on my door instead. My hand hurts. I’m holding the knife white-knuckled.
“Leave her alone asshole! People are trying to sleep!” The pounding on Callie’s door stops.
He’s beatin on my door now.
What are you gonna do about it Mr. Tough Guy.
Author’s note: This story was written from a prompt provided by one of my favorite sites, WriteAnything. I hope you enjoyed this story. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think of it.