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“This really is a comfy sofa! Especially without the plastic wrap,” I teased.
“You know what old people say, they don't make 'em like they used to. Well, that's true for a few things, I think! This sofa being one of 'em.”
“It sure is! Alright, let's get our Walking Dead on.”
We put on the show, settled down on the big, plush sofa and started to enjoy the evening. As we had hoped, the sound of the show managed to drown out the strains of music coming through the walls, and soon we'd all but forgotten about the party going on in the apartment next to ours.
After we'd watched two episodes, Leslie started yawning, and her eyes looked as if they were about to close, with her eyelids hanging heavily.
“I'm tired, real tired,” she sighed. “All the effort of moving, carrying stuff, unpacking, cleaning… I think it's finally gotten to me. I’m gonna head to bed.”
“Aw, but, Les, we've just opened a second bottle of wine! And it's our first night together in our new place. You can't just fade out now!”
“Sorry, Bee, I'm just dead tired. You know I haven't slept much the past few nights, and it’s really catching up to me.”
“Well, who am I gonna watch Game of Thrones with then?”
Leslie rolled her eyes. “C'mon, Brooke, you know I only half-watch that anyway. Most of the time I sleep through it. I’m not crazy about it like you are.”
I knew she was right—she didn't care much for it. She watched it with me kind of like I watched Sons of Anarchy with her. I didn’t much like it, but it was only fair.
“And besides, haven’t you already watched the entire thing twice? I don’t know why you wanna watch it again, seriously.”
“Because it's like—”
“The best show ever, I know, I know. You’ve told me like, a million times!” she laughed as she got up from the sofa. “But really, Brooke, I'm spent for the day. I feel like one of the zombies from The Walking Dead. The combination of wine and exhaustion over the past few days has really knocked me out. I'm off to bed, girl.”
“Alright, alright,” I conceded. “See you in the morning. Sleep well!”
“Will do. You, too, when you eventually make it to bed, Night Owl.”
I watched her trudge off to her room and sighed as she shut the door quietly behind her. Here I was, sitting alone in front of the TV on a Friday night, with a bottle of wine. It all seemed just a little bit sad, suddenly. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t going to be every Friday night. Or is it? A shudder ran down my spine at the thought. I brushed it off as quickly as I could and started up an episode of Game of Thrones.
Leslie was right; I'd already watched it all the way through, twice. But hey, it really was my favorite show. I'm a sucker for a story with unexpected surprises and twists. And boy did this series have them. More than that, it had genuinely interesting and fascinating characters set in a world full of sorcery and magic. I have kind of been a closet geek-girl since I was a little kid, but because fantasy and sci-fi had always been seen as such a teenage boy kind of genre, I'd never had any female friends who were as into it as I was. Well, to be honest, who were into it period. Oddly enough, none of the guys I'd ever dated had been into it, either. Especially Andrew. He pretty much loathed it with a passion. We had never been able to relate at all on that level.
Come to think of it, we didn’t really relate on a lot of levels.
In fact, I felt like I could relate to fictional characters more than I ever could with Andrew. Arya Stark, for example—a headstrong, quick-witted girl who valued intelligence and independence far more than the conventional “girly” things, like beauty and dresses. That was me. I didn’t need to get all dolled up to feel like I could impress a man. I wanted more than a physical connection. Arya was also thrust into a totally different world in which she was moved around from place to place and had to rely on her own determination and grit to survive. She never got the chance to have any close friends because they were removed from her life by forces beyond her control. I could relate. I could totally relate.
I got comfy on the sofa and pressed play. At that moment, I heard noise outside in the hall. I paused the show so that I could hear what was going on a bit more clearly.
It was Emerson and Chris, of course, and their bevy of bimbos. They were all laughing raucously and talking in loud, boisterous voices. Clearly, they were all wasted. Probably heading out to continue partying at a club somewhere. I shook my head, although a little bit of… something I couldn’t qui
te explain… twisted inside me at the thought of those girls pawing at Emerson's hard, muscular body and grinding against him on the dance floor--
Stop it, Brooke! I took a deep swig of wine and resumed playing the show. Game of Thrones would keep me company and entertain my mind in a far more effective manner than any brainless muscle-head. Let them go out and get wasted. Whatever.
I leaned back and let myself get whisked off into a different universe.
That is until I fell asleep.
I'm not sure how late it was when I woke up, but it must have been some time in the early hours of the morning. I felt a little disoriented, a shock of sudden panic hit me waking up in a completely unfamiliar place. It took a few seconds before I remembered I was in my own place, my new apartment.
I turned off the TV, heaved myself off the sofa, and stumbled to my bathroom, still feeling the effects from all the wine I'd drank. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and got undressed. Then I slipped into bed, snuggling up to my sheets and pillow, the only familiar things in this new room.
And that’s when I heard it.
Bumping. Vigorous, regular, rhythmic bumping. It was coming from the room next to mine. Something was being knocked against the wall, with quite a fair amount of force. I listened for a second until I heard yet another sound on top of it.
