by Adam Gilmour
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\nThud.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s 4 a.m.<\/p>\n
Thud thud thud.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s around my head, reverberating off the bed frame: the heavy bass thump, beating away. \u00a0The rhythm comes in slow, inconsistent blows, making me guess. \u00a0Each beat thuds and then lingers, like methodical punches, delivered with relish. \u00a0With satisfaction.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s 4 a.m.<\/p>\n
I have to be awake in four hours.<\/p>\n
At 4:15 a.m., I shall go and complain.<\/p>\n
The shelf above the bed, a thick wooden plank, fixed to the wall of this apartment which I cannot afford, only accentuates the vibrations. \u00a0I sit up to listen: the thudding is still there, but it is quieter. \u00a0I fall back against my pillow and I am being beaten up again. \u00a0I try lying the other way, with my feet towards the bed head. \u00a0This means re-placing pillows, and turning around the duvet. \u00a0Once I am rearranged, I am even more awake.<\/p>\n
I lie here in this alien position, trying to get comfortable. \u00a0My alarm clock is on the bedside table, next to where my feet now are. \u00a0The room looks different from here. \u00a0I know that when I open my eyes in the morning, I won\u2019t recognise this new scenery and, even if only momentarily, I will panic:<\/p>\n
Where am I?<\/p>\n
Here I am.<\/p>\n
I must somehow try to sleep while knowing this.<\/p>\n
I lie still. \u00a0I listen. \u00a0The music\u2019s still there. \u00a0Just quiet enough to ignore if I was asleep already. \u00a0Just loud enough to be irritating now that I\u2019m awake.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s 4:05 a.m. \u00a0In ten minutes I shall go and complain.<\/p>\n
I try to think what Chloe might have meant earlier on in the night when she said, as she knocked back yet another fluorescent shot, that I needed to get out more. \u00a0I get out enough. \u00a0Just because I had left them all to it when they decided to move from the Black Dog to Lloyd\u2019s doesn\u2019t mean I\u2019m socially challenged does it? \u00a0I don\u2019t go in for all that Hard House, all that dancing they have in Lloyd\u2019s. \u00a0I get enough of that when I go to bed at night.<\/p>\n
A comfortable position seems just out of reach because I know that lying this way is unnatural and malodorous: my face is where my feet normally are, and five inches away from my head is the laundry basket. \u00a0Why should I have to lie like this? \u00a0Every bed I have slept in, I have always slept with my head towards the wall. \u00a0Nobody sleeps like this.<\/p>\n
I have to sit up to see the clock.<\/p>\n
4:07 a.m.<\/p>\n
I wonder when they work. \u00a0To be able to do this, five, six nights a week. \u00a0How do they pay their rent? \u00a0I think it\u2019s a couple. \u00a0It sounds like a couple. \u00a0I saw the guy once. \u00a0He had a number two cut and a gym bag. \u00a0He was strolling down the corridor to his door, phone trapped between a craned head and hunched shoulder. \u00a0I was on my way out. \u00a0I locked my door, tried pushing it to be sure, once, twice, like I always do. \u00a0I looked up and made to nod at him as he went past, but he just carried on and let himself in, like I wasn\u2019t there, swearing at someone down his phone in calm disbelief.<\/p>\n
No. \u00a0No you fucking didn\u2019t. \u00a0Never.<\/p>\n
I think I can see the first tinges of dull daylight coming in through the open blinds. \u00a0Outside, black is changing to dark blue.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s no good. \u00a0I can\u2019t position myself. \u00a0I re-rearrange the bed, putting everything back the way it was. \u00a0I can\u2019t deal with the thought of that momentary morning shock. \u00a0Back to the Thud… \u00a0Thud…<\/p>\n
4:09 a.m. \u00a0Six minutes. \u00a0They might stop in that time.<\/p>\n
No! \u00a0No you fucking never!<\/p>\n
How would I phrase it? \u00a0He wouldn\u2019t be above telling me to where to go if I got it wrong. \u00a0I\u2019d have to be careful, not too aggressive, not too meek. \u00a0Don\u2019t stutter. \u00a0Don\u2019t shake. \u00a0Deep voice. \u00a0I can feel myself hyperventilating already.<\/p>\n
Chloe should be home by now. \u00a0I feel like I should message her and see if she got back okay, but then that might seem like I\u2019m caving in. \u00a0Her friends had probably spent the last five hours saying things about me because of the way I left. \u00a0I had every right to be abrupt. \u00a0The way she and Craig were sidling up to each other in the pub. \u00a0Why stick around? \u00a0I guess that must be allowed when you start something with someone and agree not to tell your friends right away. \u00a0Craig doesn\u2019t know that I have a right to be pissed off at him.<\/p>\n
Hi, you alright. \u00a0Sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if you could turn your music down a bit? \u00a0\u2018Sorry to bother you?\u2019 \u00a0That won\u2019t wash. \u00a0I\u2019m not sorry to bother them. \u00a0I\u2019m fucking sorry they\u2019ve bothered me, and they should be sorry too.<\/p>\n
4:13 a.m. \u00a0Two minutes.<\/p>\n
Alright, mate. \u00a0Do you reckon you could turn it down a bit?<\/p>\n
I\u2019ll have to say it loud. \u00a0I can\u2019t let him say \u2018what?\u2019 and make me repeat it. \u00a0I\u2019ll stumble if I have to repeat it. \u00a0Say it once, say it loud. \u00a0Say it sharp.<\/p>\n
4:14 a.m.<\/p>\n
I will text Chloe. \u00a0She might feel bad about tonight. \u00a0Then, that\u2019ll give her an opening to text back.<\/p>\n
You get back okay?<\/p>\n
That\u2019s it. \u00a0Keep it simple. \u00a0I want to know that she\u2019s back safe, but I\u2019m still pissed off.<\/p>\n
Send.<\/p>\n
4:15 a.m.<\/p>\n
I hope she replies. \u00a0I\u2019ll only worry more if she doesn\u2019t.
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\nI knock. \u00a0I am even more awake now that I am semi-dressed in hoody and cargo trousers. \u00a0No answer. \u00a0I knock again. \u00a0I\u2019m trembling but I try to stifle it, breathe normally. \u00a0No matter how I stand in the corridor, my limbs feel awkward and heavy. \u00a0I put my ear to the door. \u00a0Waves of bass strike against it, rattling it in its frame. \u00a0They can\u2019t hear me over the music. \u00a0I knock again, louder. \u00a0I wait.
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\n4:21 a.m.<\/p>\n
Chloe hasn\u2019t replied.<\/p>\n
The heavy beat still thumps away, vibrating off the bed frame.<\/p>\n
At 4:30 a.m., I\u2019ll try knocking again.<\/p>\n
Nine minutes.<\/p>\n
They might stop in that time. by Adam Gilmour Thud. It\u2019s 4 a.m. Thud thud thud. It\u2019s around my head, reverberating off the bed frame: the heavy bass thump, beating away. \u00a0The rhythm comes in slow, inconsistent blows, making me guess. \u00a0Each beat thuds and then … Continue reading
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\nADAM GILMOUR, 27, lives in Manchester, England. He is currently studying for an MA Creative Writing at Manchester University. He tries to have a varied taste in literature and reading, but generally leans towards John Wyndham, J.G. Ballard and Chuck Palahniuk as favourites. When not writing or studying or reading, he spends most nights working behind the bar of a Japanese restaurant. You can find him at nothatwouldbetooeasy.blogspot.com<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"