The couple who live above my apartment fight almost every night. Most of the time, they start up at about one o'clock, and keep at it for an hour or two. Sometimes they fight until four or five in the morning.
I can hear what they're saying most of the time. If I'm awake anyway, I'll listen in and comment to myself. Usually, it's about his drinking, smoking, and cheating. He never admits to that last one, but she always brings it up, so I figure she must have some sort of proof.
Some nights, I just drown out the sound with music. But I'd gotten to used to it, that usually I could tune it out without any help.
I didn't notice the voices over the storm that night. The rumbling voices were so well timed with the thunder outside that it was hard to tell what was human and what was nature.
I was up late, trying to find inspiration, like I always do when I am having writer's block.I sat at my kitchen table in the dark, sipping tea, watching the lightning shoot across the sky like an angry whip lashing the earth.
Something smashed upstairs, and that's when I noticed the voices. They were different this time: lower, only one rising up in anger every so often. The other was just steady and persisitent. I strained my ears but couldn't hear much.
Then, as sudden as a flash of lightning across the sky, there was a louder crash, and then a scream. A crash of thunder. I jumped.
I looked at my ceiling, wondering what was going on. It was silent now. The rain seemed to hush, as if it knew something I didn't, and didn't dare speak above a whisper.
I waited. I didn't know why, but I waited. My tea was getting cold.
There was a knock on my door, and I jumped again. Tea spilled out of my mug. Running to the door, I tried to calm myself down. But I had no idea who would be knocking this late at night. I opened it, and there was the girl from upstairs, standing ghostly pale and calm in the flickering hallway light. She seemed to be swaying.
I tried fighting off the chills that threatened to surface. The weather just had me nervous.
"Want to come in?" I finally said, not sure what else to say. She nodded. I brought her to the kitchen and made her a cup of tea.
Then, we just sat for a while and chatted. We laughed, gossiped, and sipped tea. It was the longest I'd ever talked to her, and realized we had a lot in common. She didn't bring up the fight, and after a while, I forgot all about it.
After about half an hour, there was a lull in the conversation. We just sat in silence and watched the storm in the dark. Clap! I jumped, and laughed, embarrassed.
I looked over, but the girl from upstairs was staring blankly ahead of her. Her face looked sullen now, empty and void. She didn't even hear the thunder outside. She took a sip, but her mug had been empty for a while.
Instantly, the atmosphere became tense. Something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
She set her mug down on the table without looking at me. There were small dark marks where her fingers had been. It looked like paint or something.
I opened my mouth to ask what had been on her hands, but lightning illuminated the room for a split second, and I saw what it was, the same second the girl noticed.
"Don't worry," she said quietly. "Blood doesn't stain ceramic."
...