Don't talk about it, Be about it

AN: This story contains sexual themes and strong language

I was woken abruptly by the sound of music, extremely loud conversations, and laughter. "3:47?" I grumble, squinting to gaze at my bright phone screen, "That's later than last week." I tried desperately to fall back asleep while covering my ears with each side of my pillow, but I soon gave up. I rose from my bed and walked to my closet, where I put on a pair of jeans and a jacket before exiting my apartment. I repeatedly pounded on my neighbor's door and rang the doorbell. The door took a while to open up, and on the other side stood a man —no taller than I was— holding a bud light beer bottle in his hand. He grins and leans against the doorframe.

“So what brings a pretty, little thing like you doing here?” He says, clearly wasted by the way he slurs some of his words. “Not you, that’s for sure.” I push past him, into the apartment. My eyes darted around the complex, there were a lot of things going on at once. Dancing, Keg stands, flashing lights, beer pong, shotgunnings, gossiping, lap dances, and some full-on make-out sessions. “Might as well have some fun myself.” I thought, eyeing the bar unit on top of the counter. I walked over to the kitchen, dodging and dancing around the wobbling, intoxicated young adults and lust-filled couples. I took out one of the few wine glasses left and filled it nearly to the brim with red wine, “Hopefully this will be enough to knock me back out.” I say, taking a sip. The drink was dry and had a small trance of citrus; after swishing it in my mouth for a little bit, I was able to identify the type of citrus I was tasting. It was orange, but not in the sense that it tasted like orange flesh; rather, it tasted like the orange’s peel, bitter and a little bit bland. It tastes great when you mix it with the sweetness of the grapes they used in this stuff.

“Cathy!” I glance over at the sound of my name. “You finally decided to live it up a little, huh?” She signals to my glass. “Actually no, Amy. I came to ask you why you’re having another VERY LOUD party at 4 in the morning.” She groans, “This again. I told everyone to keep the noise level down but they just wouldn’t listen and who am I to tell them again? I’m not their mom. So I didn’t know what else to do.” She takes a swig out of her beer bottle. “Have you ever thought about NOT having a party at 4 in the morning?” 

“Oh shut up, at least it wasn’t as early as last week’s, wasn’t it? You got some sleep didn’t you?” I place down my glass. “Yeah, I got some sleep but not nearly as much as I need to function throughout the day. I have work at 7 in the morning, did you hear that WORK. And so do most of the other tenants here, coffee doesn’t work miracles like everyone says it does. Just because you work on your own time doesn’t mean everyone else does too.”

“It’s not like I throw my parties every day. You still have 6 out of the 7 days to have a full night's rest.”

“That may be true but still you’re ruining people’s sleep schedules and work performances by the number of parties you throw a month. My pay raise has been pushed back because I come to work tired and in a bad mood every week.”

“Well, I haven’t gotten a single noise complaint yet, so my parties can’t be a big deal.” She takes another gulp of her beer bottle. “That’s because nobody wants to take the time to fill out a proper noise complaint, but do you know how many times I hear the other tenants talk about your room number? I can’t even repeat the things they say about you.” I take a sip out of my glass. “Well if they have a problem with me or my parties they can say it to my fa-!” Her shouting was cut-off by a wave of vomit spilling out of her mouth and onto my nightgown. 

I gasped in shock and disgust, dropping my wine glass on the floor, its liquid spilling over the glazed tiles into a crimson puddle, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, a few people saw while some turned around after I had screamed but they all had the same reaction, a very long “Ew.” or “Gross, man.”. The vomit reeked of stomach acid, alcohol, and everything you would find on a charcuterie board. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

“I’m-I’m sorry!”

I couldn't get out fast enough; everyone in the apartment had cleared a path to the door; I could hear Amy following me as she apologized repeatedly, I didn’t dare turn around, I didn’t want to hear it right now. 

I swing open my apartment door and lock it as soon as I get in.

“I’m sorry,” Amy said, voice muffled by the wood between us, “for everything. Not just the vomit.” She sits by the door. “I...I didn’t consider how my actions would affect other people. I thought that everyone was just overreacting about my parties and how often I threw them, but after hearing about the damage my parties did to you and your work-life, I felt so guilty that I tried to convince you and myself that most of it wasn’t my fault. I wanted to believe it was out of my control even though I was the one planning and throwing the parties every week. I was lying to myself, I didn’t want to know that the other tenants hate me, I just wanted to see myself as a good person but I’m not…Aren’t I?” She sucks air through her mouth. “I promise I’ll try..I promise I’ll be better. I’ll throw fewer parties and be mindful of the noise level. Do you forgive me?”

I opened the door with my soiled nightgown in hand, “No. I don’t forgive you.” Her eyes widen, then she looks down, “It’s okay, I understand-”

“Yet.” She looks back up at me. “You have to prove to me that you’ll change because at the end of the day don’t talk about it, be about it.” Amy’s eyes light up and a small smile forms on her lips. I start to walk toward the elevator and Amy gets up to follow me, “Let me help you with that. I have some extra coins you can use.”

“Thank you.” Amy and I take the elevator to the laundry unit.