The clock was stuck on 15:67am and it was Thursday on Sunday. Time taunted me.
I sighed, rubbing at my burning eyelids. I hadn't slept in about two days. The words on the computer screen melted and formed into one stupid, horrible, black mass. The beginning sucked.
Everything that I had written so far sucked.
Everything was taunting me.
I glared at my cell phone. Everything in me told me to call Katja or Odette. To get my mind off of this… failure.
After a few moments of bickering with myself, I grabbed my mobile and dialed Kat's number in a frenzy. Anything to get my mind off of writing… Forget the fact that she lived next door and I could use the exercise.
I liked spending money.
"Katja Nagel speaking," came her German accent. It was so pretty.
"Harrison! What are you doing, fuckface?"
She loves me. Really.
I tapped the end of my pencil against my chin and sighed, "Writing is so boring. And you know you're my favourite person to procrastinate with. So… can I come over, whore?"
"Of course you can, manslut."
I closed the phone without saying good-bye (it was rude, but we've always done that) and shut my laptop. To this day, it baffles me as to why I take writing commissions. I pretty much fucking hate writing. But, I guess I'm good at it. I get at least one hundred dollars every month from commissions.
I grabbed my keys (because it was awkward and embarrassing to lock yourself out of your own apartment), shot one last glare to my computer, and it was out the door I went.
I have the worst luck.
As soon as I shut my door, I collided with someone. It wasn't hard enough to knock either of us over, but it's the principle that counts.
"Watch where you're going, asswipe!" I shot. That was my normal reaction in situations like this. And, I swear, no matter how old I get, calling an unsuspecting passer-by an "asswipe" will never get old.
"Maybe you need to watch where you're going, prick," came the reply. I turned to see just who this guy thought he was, but I stopped.
It was a kid.
I quirked an eyebrow as he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his emo-bitch jacket. I hated little emo bitches (obviously), but he was… cute. Even if I did go for guys my own age.
"Tut, tut. Such language from the mouth of modern youth," I mumbled. When I was his age, I wouldn't have dared to say even "hell" where anyone could hear.
The kid (he's more of a teen, but still…) rolled his eyes, "Like you're so high-and-mighty. Calling someone you don't even know an 'asswipe,'"
He flicked his bangs out of his eyes before stomping off. I mentally cursed his own holier-than-thou attitude. And I swear he went into the apartment beside Kat's and Odette's, but I'd never seen him before in my life. And… you'd think I'd notice my two-doors-down neighbour.
In spite, I tossed my own fringe mockingly, then walked the pitifully few feet between my apartment and my friends'.
Flinging open the door in a flourish, I announced, "Your devilishly handsome gentleman caller has arrived!"
"Then get your ass in here!"
I smiled. Way to go, Katja.
She was lounging on her couch when I got there, watching some retarded show about teenagers and their angst. Psht.
I sat, propping my feet up in the La-Z-Boy. "Why do you watch this? We're not in high school anymore."
Oh, that was a brilliant answer.
"Speaking of high school," I commented slyly. "Did you know you had a new neighbour?"
She raised an eyebrow to show that she didn't have a clue.
I linked my hands behind my head, "Yeah, I ran into him today. Literally."
"Good job, hotshot." Har. That sounded so weird coming from her.
"He seemed like a punk," I paused for added emphasis. "He called me a prick."
Katja's hands fluttered to her throat in mock-surprise, "Heaven forbid."
I threw the plush pillow that was behind my head at her. She was such a smartass. But, I loved her. We'd been friends for about twelve years. And we dated throughout my high school career.
We broke up, though, when she decided that she was a bean-flicker.
For those of you that don't know, that means she's a dyke now.
"Other than being a douche, was there anything interesting about him?" She flipped through the channels, bored. Kat didn't work (other than that from-home shit), so she pretty much spent all day in front of the TV or computer.
Thank god for satellite.
I sighed (I noticed that I did that a lot) and thought back to when I bumped into the kid. "He was rather tall. Taller than I was ten years ago, anyway. And he had weird-coloured hair."
Katja raised her eyebrows as she turned to look at me, "Weird, how?"
"Weird as in not a normal hair colour." Duh, I tacked on the end of it. Mentally, of course.
She threw the pillow back at me, which I easily caught because of my skills. Oh, yeah.
"I know that, fuckass. What colour was it?"
"He had black bangs with maroon… the rest of it," I chuckled. Sometimes, I was the best at explaining things.
I winced as she growled lowly and wagged her eyebrows, "Isn't maroon your favourite colour, Harrison?"
"It's… uh, burgundy, actually." I avoided her gaze.
Kat laughed, "Same difference." She tacked something in German to the end of it. And, even though she had taught me some of the language, I feigned innocence.
"I didn't quite catch that." I looked out the window, trying to make my voice as apathetic as possible. It didn't work.
"Do you think he's hot?" Her eyebrows danced and I knew I was caught.
It wasn't like it was love at first sight or anything, but I could still think that he was adorable (not to mention the fact that he could verbally defend himself was a big turn on), right?
I snorted in laughter, "He's at least ten years, or more, younger than I am, Katja."
"So," I turned my head back to semi-glare at her. "That right there is pedophilia."
"Hare, you're twenty-nine. If he's ten years younger than you are, that makes him nineteen," she smirked in victory. "Therefore, not jailbait.
She had a point
"And," she pointed out in a singsong voice, "you're blushing."
She knew me too well.
"Admit it, Harrison," Kat turned over on her stomach to gaze at me. "You have a thing for younger guys."
I glared at her, despite the fact that she was utterly and completely… right.
"I mean—" she quickly countered. "When you and I started dating, I was in eighth grade. A year younger than you. And that Timothy-guy you dated, he was five years younger than you. Oh, and don't forget Odette's ex, who was six years younger. And—"
I cut her off with the pillow, "I get it. Jesus."
"I'm not Jesus," she giggled. "And there's nothing wrong with that. You and that Tim-kid were fucking adorable."
"Until he cheated on me."
She frowned, "He just wasn't the right one."
I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. I did that a lot when I got frustrated. That and sighing.
But I saw her frown morph into a smirk, "Maybe that new neighbour is the one."
I didn't have to say anything. A look was enough to shut her up. I resumed looking out of the window, and getting lost in my thoughts. Most of them, I had to admit, were of that kid. That stupid, fucking, amazing idiot.
"Earth to Harrison," Katja laughed. "Daydreaming about fucking him?"
"It's not like that," I glared out the window. I felt my face heat up, but I tried to ignore it.
"Oh, Hare, it's exactly like that."
Okay… so maybe it was.