A loud crash jolted the young man from his slumber, and his still tired eyes were immediately blinded by the rays of harsh sunlight streaming through the cheap blinds that could never really seem to cover his window. As his vision slowly returned, he surveyed the room to see what the cause of the ruckus could be. He wasn’t surprised: the dumb bitch had knocked over the lamp from his nightstand. He let out a sigh of frustration. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. These chicks were always breaking shit or screwing stuff up one way or another.

He sat up, swung his legs over the other side of the bed, and stretched his skinny arms. He could hear her turning to look over at his bare back. She said something. He didn’t care what; it didn’t matter anyway. He stood up and walked over to his desk, which was cluttered with papers and empty cans, except, of course, for one spot: the business area. The smudged mirror lay there like beautifully like a placid lake, its surface broken only by islands of pure white sand. He picked up the straw that lay at the side and got ready to start his day.

After his brief stop to refuel, he limped over to his bathroom and splashed some water on his face in an attempt to wake himself up before the blow kicked in. As he gazed into the mirror at his eyes, nearly obscured by their adorning black circles, he felt a pair of arms grasp his waist from behind. He looked over his shoulder and saw the tantalizing golden waves of hair that had lured him into this nightmare in the first place. She was fucking talking again. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he thought. “Why the fuck is she still here?”

Ignoring her babbling, he left the bathroom and walked over to the fridge. He had three light beers left. He knew that was going to be nowhere near enough for dealing with this shit. As he grabbed one and moved to plop himself down on the couch, he stubbed his big toe on a snare drum that had been carelessly thrown there the night before. He swore loudly, moving past the girl as she rushed to check what was the matter.

The couch was filthy. There were enough residual crumbs on it to feed a small child for a day. To say that this man had never done anything charitable would be a gross misstatement, for he housed multitudes of needy vermin at no cost to them. He sighed with relief as his heart rate started to finally rise. His Colombian coffee was beginning to do some good work. He began to search through the piles of soiled clothes and chip bags for the television remote. No dice. He did a quick scan of his living room to see it lying just in front of him at his feet. After a few fruitless attempts at trying to monkey it into the grasp of his toes, he groaned in defeat as he bent down to pick it up. There was nothing on. There was never anything fucking on. She still wouldn’t shut up.

He became aware of the sound of running water somewhere in the apartment, but this wasn’t out of the ordinary, as the walls were so thin that the neighbors could be heard jacking off at all hours of the night. Someone was probably just taking a shower. The desire to rip out his ears grew stronger as the bitch kept yammering on about this and that. He still refused to give in and even give a half-hearted mutter at her through his dried out lips.

He finished his beer and tossed the can over his shoulder. Fortune had been kind enough to leave his Xbox controller directly next to him, so no searching was necessary for him to turn on the console and boot up Fortnite. He fucking loved Fortnite; he could play that shit all day. And that was the plan. Eventually, she’d get bored and leave. Hopefully. But for the time, he was still fated to edge ever closer to complete insanity as her mindless drivel continued. He could still faintly hear the water. It may have gotten a bit louder, but it was hard to tell.

After a few failed games, he went back to the kitchen for another drink. Something stronger this time. He was pissed that she was still there. At least while she was in the bathroom, he could finally enjoy some relative silence. He figured while he was there, he might as well make good use of his intoxicants, and so one drink turned into about four. Maybe five. Counting shots was never his strong suit. He was a drummer, not a mathematician, after all. He stopped by his desk for another bump before settling in for some more epic Fortnite. She must have been taking a huge crap or something, because the bathroom door had remained closed this whole time. He could still hear her on the fucking phone, though. Jesus.

The two hours of sleep that he had gotten that night were just beginning to catch up when the coke hit again. He made a note that he was running low and should probably pick up again that night. He wished that she would turn off the fucking shower; he didn’t want to pay a bloated utility bill just because some slut liked to take her time. She had gotten some fucking water on the floor too, that messy bitch. He could see it puddling through the crack under the door.

He pulled out his phone and threw on some porn. He figured if Fortnite wasn’t going to get her out of his place, maybe that would. He dozed off with his dick in his hand. When he came to again, he felt damp in his shorts. He was pissed, but this wasn’t really out of the ordinary. In all fairness, he rationalized, he was still drunk when he got up, and the hair of the dog wasn’t helping. The small pond of water had grown to reach about four inches in depth, completely covering the floor of the apartment. He simply took off his pissed shorts and threw them on the floor with a splash. He went and banged on the door to the bathroom, and the bitch was still on her phone in the shower.

As he sloshed through the water, now waist deep, on his way back to the couch, he cursed his past self for falling for that bimbo in the first place. He’d do better next time. He sat down, small waves cresting against his torso as he grabbed his floating controller. He’d play some more Fortnite. That always made him feel better.

Her chatter got louder and louder as he continued on. He just wanted her to fucking stop. He wanted to yell at her to shut the hell up. He wished that he could just bash her skull in, but he could never bring himself to hit a woman. Her words swelled to a roar as the water reached his chin. His brain felt like it was melting between the drinks and the blow. He wanted more. He half-walked, half-floated back to his desk. The mirror was floating on the surface. He had about half a gram left. He took it all and licked the glass clean. She was still talking. It was louder than anything he’d ever heard. As he went to sit back down on that fucking couch again, that goddamn fucking couch that he’d spent half his life on, he could still hear her. Her yammering somehow unmuffled by the water that now had risen to the ceiling. His heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to scream. He wanted to lash out or do SOMETHING.

But he didn’t.

He sat there staring at his TV. He sat there playing Fortnite.

And a few minutes later, his limp, lifeless body was bobbing against the ceiling.