21

He sat alone in the corner of his dark apartment. Truth be told, the meager dwelling didn't even really qualify as an apartment. It was more like a large closet with a bathroom. He stared at the wall in front him and listened to himself breathe. How long had it been since he had slept? Two days? Three? He couldn't remember. He glanced at the cell phone that sat on the floor next to him. Four thirty in the morning. He didn't care. Time hadn't really mattered to him for a while now.

The sounds of the building he was in might have really gotten to him if he was anywhere near being coherent. But since he wasn't; he didn't really notice. The constant yelling and the occasional screaming played out like a laugh track to a show no one was watching. Something that could have been a gunshot had happened earlier. He hadn't even glanced in the direction it came from. As far as he was concerned, they could all compete to the death to see who could shoot who first. As long as everyone left him alone.

The realization that he had been sitting there in that one spot since the sun went down came creeping into his head like smoke from a sewer grate. He vaguely remembered talking to Derek and how badly that conversation went. Jerk. Just who did that guy think he was? Every time he called, he wanted something. Favor after favor. He didn't owe Derek anything. Or did he? Had he borrowed money and forgotten about it? He did that sometimes. Derek was the only person he spoke to. The only human link he had to the rest of the world was a guy that he couldn't stand and had never trusted. For some reason that thought made him smile.

The smile gave way to soft chuckling, and before he knew it he was laughing so loudly he was actually drowning out the violent cursing that was coming from next door. Usually he would have banged on the wall and yelled at them to shut up. Now all he could do was laugh. He laughed until tears welled up in his eyes. And then he remembered that he was out of drugs and the laughter shut off like someone had flipped a light switch.

That's what Derek had wanted. The money for the last score. Usually Derek didn't give anything away to anyone, no matter how good of a customer they were. But he had practically begged Derek for it. Promised that the first bit of money that came his way, he would give to him. And just to shut him up, Derek had agreed. And then Derek called asking where his money was. And he had told him something about not getting blood from a turnip. He remembered how he had broken out into laughter at that, even as Derek screamed at him over the phone.

Realizing that he was coming down and soon would be in a really bad way, he struggled to his feet. His head swam and he almost fell back down, but he managed to raise an arm and place it on the wall next to him. Steadying himself, he placed his right foot out in front of him and stopped. Learning to walk again. Was that a song? He thought it was. He'd have to see if he could remember the lyrics later. Right now, he had to make it to the bathroom.

Teetering his way down the hallway that really wasn't a hallway, he stopped and stuck an arm inside the bathroom and slapped the wall a few times, looking for the light switch. He found it after a few attempts and flipped it up. Nothing happened. He flipped it on and off a few times. Still nothing. He was pretty sure he wasn't that far gone that he wouldn't realize light if it was flickering on and off. He left the switch in the up position with his palm resting over it. How long had it been since his electricity had been shut off? He could swear he had lights on earlier that day. Or maybe not.

He unlocked his phone and using the light from the screen managed to stumble inside the tiny bathroom. The light played off the walls in a way that had a strobe effect. It reminded him of being at a club. What was that girl's name he had met a few nights ago? Allie? Amanda. Something with an A. He'd have to call her. He wondered if he had even remembered to get her number. Or had he given her his. He stopped moving all together and tried to remember. Tried to focus. He closed his eyes and couldn't even picture her face. Oh well. So much for Amanda. Or whatever her name was.

He opened his eyes and the light had fallen on the bathroom mirror. He stared at himself. He remembered he had put on the shirt he was wearing Thursday night when he went out to drink. It was a green t-shirt that said "Not tonight ladies, I'm only here to get drunk." He wore it every Thursday. But today was early Sunday. He guessed he should change clothes soon. But first he should shower. But before that he had to figure out how to get the electricity back on. After he scored again, though.

He squinted and tried to see his own face. He hadn't shaven in at least a week. His eyes were so red that they almost glowed. His lips were dry and cracked and when he tried to stick his tongue out to moisten them, it stuck to the roof of his mouth. Water. He needed water. Eager for an excuse to not have to look at himself anymore, he dropped his eyes to the faucet and turned the knob. At least the water still worked. He balanced the phone on the edge of the sink and while swaying slightly back and forth, managed to scoop up a few handfuls of water and splash his face. On the third one he gulped some of it. Then another handful. Water dripping from his chin he reached for a dirty towel that was crumpled up on the back of the toilet and wiped his face off. Looking at himself in the mirror again he smiled a bit. It wasn't pretty, but it was an improvement.

He dropped the towel on the floor and grabbed his phone off of the sink. He took a deep breath and turned to walk back out into the hall. One foot forward. Then the other. He made his way into the small corner of the apartment that served as the living room, dining room and half of the bedroom and stopped. The banging had started again. Pounding on the walls next door that seemed to shake the entire building. Did those people ever sleep? Probably not. Maybe he should go over and visit sometime. Maybe they were into the same stuff he was. They obviously were up to something if they were awake at four thirty in the morning.

He stood in one place, right hand against the wall holding him up while the left clutched the phone that was his only source of light. As soon as that banging stopped he would try to find his wallet. Derek's number was written down on a receipt in there. Eventually he would program the number into his phone. First he would have to figure out how to do that. He didn't have any contacts saved; not a single one. Everyone he met was temporary. Why bother?

It took about five minutes of the relentless, loud pounding before it began to dawn on him that it was coming from right outside his apartment. It wasn't someone banging on the walls in the apartment next to him; someone was knocking on his door. Over and over again with what sounded like a kick thrown in every few knocks. That realization was almost too much input for him to handle and he slid down the wall and sat with his back against it. Who was here? No one knew he lived here. Had he told Derek where he lived? Maybe someone had followed him. That and the festering knowledge that he was soon going to be sober and out of drugs sent paranoia crashing over him in waves. He began to tremble.

"Open the door! I know you're home, dude. Open the door now!" The voice from right outside the door was obviously male and it was even more obvious that it was very angry. He held his breath; certain that whoever it was could hear him breathing. After another full minute of constant banging and cursing, he exhaled and lay down on the floor. He flattened himself out and didn't move a muscle. Whoever it was would go away. As long as they couldn't see him and he didn't make a sound, they would go away.

No sooner had he finished that thought and closed his eyes tight that everything stopped. The knocking, the cursing; even the noises coming from the other apartments went silent. They had left. Whoever it was had thought he really wasn't inside and left. He lay there with his eyes shut and smiled. He was just about to begin the job of getting back on his feet when his front door came crashing in, wood splintering everywhere and the sound of metal shearing away as the deadbolt broke loose from its housing. Too terrified to open both eyes, he peeked out of one and saw Derek standing in the doorway, crowbar in hand.

"I told you Saturday night. I told you I wanted my money Saturday night." Derek wasn't yelling the words; that would have somehow not been as bad as what was happening now. He was softly whispering them, staring at the cowering man on the floor. "So since you don't know how to follow directions, it's time you learn a lesson. You don't come between me and my money." Derek crossed the distance between the front door and the spot where the terrified man lay in three steps. Standing over him, he sneered as he spoke. "You're pathetic. I'm doing you a favor."

The first kick hit him square in the stomach, sending every bit of oxygen rushing out of his body like it was running from the attack before getting assaulted again. The second caught him on his right temple. All at once the entire room lit up and bright, twinkling stars danced around like he was back in the club under the strobe lights with Amanda, or whatever her name was. Realizing that if he didn't at least try to defend himself that he was surely going to be killed, he brought an arm up just as the crowbar came down in the direction of his head. The blow should have broken his arm, and honestly if it had he wouldn't have even felt it at that point, but somehow he was able to grab the crowbar and yank it out of Derek's hand. He rolled out of the way as Derek's foot came crashing towards the space that his face used to occupy and swung the crowbar as hard as he could. He caught Derek right on the ankle and sent him to his knees, howling in pain.

All at once he was sharp and sober; more focused than he could remember being in weeks. He jumped to his feet and with the crowbar still in hand; he walked slowly until he was directly behind Derek. He knelt down until and whispered in Derek's ear. "Who's pathetic now?" It wasn't until he had the crowbar lifted up over his head that he saw from the corner of his eye someone coming through the doorway. He never even had to time to react before the other assailant was stabbing him. As he went to the ground, he saw the two of them running out of the apartment. He lay down on the dirty floor of his dirty apartment and stared at the ceiling. He was bleeding badly; he could feel it. He started to pass out and his head rolled slowly to the side. Right before he lost consciousness he noticed his wallet was on the ground right next to him, open. He smiled a bit when he realized they had tried to rob him, only to find he was flat broke. Then he saw his birthdate on his I.D. Why did that resonate so much, especially now? His smile faded as it came to him just as he went under.

"My name is Aaron McCormick, and today is my twenty first birthday."