Hurtful Words

It was when I got home from work that I realized Max hadn’t given me a key. As I dragged myself up the stairs I could hear that same humming from the television and rolled my eyes. I pounded on the door. “Max!” I shouted, trying to be heard over the noise in the apartment, “Max, open the door!” I dropped the grocery bags I was holding to the ground in frustration. “Max,” I whined, beating at the door again, “you didn’t give me a key, you asshole!”
“What’s going on down there!?” I heard a gruff voice call from the stair well. I kicked at the door in annoyance when I noticed the handle jiggle and it finally opened.
“Don’t hurt yourself, princess.” It was Max’s friend, holding a lit cigarette, smirking at me as I bent down to pick up the groceries and pushed past him into the apartment.
“What, I don’t get a thankyou?” he asked, slamming the door closed. I didn’t say anything, putting the groceries down on the table as soon as I reached the kitchen. The guy followed me. “Where’s your key, anyway?” he asked, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, watching as I began to put the groceries away.
“I don’t have one,” I mumbled crouching down beside his legs to put a box of cereal I had bought in the cupboard. The apartment was hazy with smoke and the television was still blaring as the ‘temporary’ roommate lit up another cigarette. I groaned in frustration when I noticed the dishes I had washed the night before were sitting in the sink, dirty again. I shifted around the kitchen uncomfortably under the watchful eye of Max’s friend. “Do you want something?” I asked finally, standing across from him with my hands on my hips, slightly annoyed. He smirked at me before taking another deep drag on his cigarette and pushing himself off the counter with the palms of his hands. He crossed the kitchen, standing inches away from me. I could feel his hot breath on the top of my head; he was a good six or seven inches taller than me. I was about to say something, glancing up at him for a second, but decided against it. He reached around me, still wearing that obnoxious smirk, grabbing an apple off the counter behind me. “No,” he replied simply and left the kitchen. I shook my head and went back to putting the groceries away.

It was almost an hour later when I heard from the roommate again. I assumed he had gone off to his room after the incident in the kitchen and took it upon myself to turn the television down and make myself a cup of tea. I was sitting on the sofa, watching the news when he stormed through the lounge. I let my head fall back so I could see him, although he appeared upside down. He was shrugging into a jacket as he stomped past. “I’m going out,” he huffed. I was a little surprised he even acknowledged me before he slammed the door behind him.

Once the news had finished I decided to continue to tidy the lounge, still littered with trash. I disposed of the empty drink cans and fast food packaging before wiping the coffee table clean and sweeping the floor. I was just making a start on the dishes when Max walked through the door. “Honey, I’m home!” he called out, throwing his keys onto the table.
“Hey,” I muttered, scrubbing a plate clean. Max could tell I wasn’t in the best mood because, without warning, he appeared inches behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, squeezing me tight. “Max,” I whined, trying to squirm from his grasp. He refused to let go, resting his head on my shoulder.
“How was your day?” he asked softly, swaying back and forth.
“It was fine,” I mumbled, continuing with the dishes. He gave small growl, frustrated with me for not paying him more attention.
“Max!” I gasped as he dipped his hand into the water and splashed me with it, “Stop it!”
“You stop it,” he laughed as I turned to face him. He held my wrists in the air above my head to keep me from swatting him with the dishcloth.
“I need a key,” I told him as he let me go, throwing the dishcloth over the back of one of the chairs around the small round table, leaving it to dry.
“For what?” he asked without giving it too much thought, opening the refrigerator.
“Your apartment,” I replied, stacking away the clean dishes.
“Oh, right,” he said. I shook my head at him, a small smile crossing my face. “What’s with all this food in here?” he asked, scratching the back of his head.
“I went grocery shopping after I finished work,” I told him, standing on my tiptoes to put the pile of plates I had away. I was surprised that two, or perhaps one if Max had been out all day, people could dirty so many dishes in such a short space of time. When I finally I had the plates on the shelf I turned around to find Max staring at me, a goofy grin plastered across his face. “What?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at him.
“You’re too wonderful,” he said, “you know that, right?” I rolled my eyes.
“Well, I might be wonderful but I’m starving,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning against the stovetop. “Cook for me,” I whined.
“Oh yeah?” he laughed, “And what am I supposed to cook for you?” I bit my lip gently, pretending to think it over.
“Pizza?” I said finally.
“Good idea,” he agreed, grabbing the phone and flopping down on the couch, dialling a number he seemed to know by heart. “Hey, did you clean up in here or something?” he called over to me, the phone pressed to his ear, waiting for the person on the other end to answer.
“Yeah,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck and yawning. “Your roommate’s an asshole, by the way,” I told him, walking through the lounge to my room. He was about to respond when someone answered the phone and he got caught up in ordering pizza.

I returned to the lounge a half hour later after having a quick shower and getting changed into a pair of baggy, grey pyjama pants and an old, faded band shirt I had found on the floor of Max’s room. “Hey,” Max greeted as I walked past the sofa he was now sprawled out on, flicking through channels with the remote. I went into the kitchen grabbing a glass of water, leaning back against the sink as I sipped from it. “Hey, what are we doing for Christmas?” I asked, pressing the rim of the glass to my chin, gazing at the front door across from me.
“I don’t know, why?” he asked continuing to search for something to watch.
“I was just wondering,” I replied, finishing my glass of water, “It’s in, like, a week or something.”
“Shit, really?” was all he said as he got up to answer the door. I presumed it was the pizza guy as I walked over and sat on the floor by the sofa. Max paid the guy and closed the door again, setting the pizza down on the counter and rummaging through the refrigerator for something.
“Well, let’s have your Mom over for dinner or something,” he suggested.
“I’m sure she’d just love that,” I replied sarcastically as he set the pizza box on the coffee table with a six-pack of beer. I was surprised his roommate hadn’t already consumed it. I took a slice of pizza, leaning back against the sofa while Max passed me a can of beer having already opened it for me.
“Where’s Ronnie?” he mumbled around a mouthful of pizza. I shrugged, too involved in whatever was on T.V. to pay him much attention.
“Who’s Ronnie?” I asked, looking up at him.
“You’re kidding, right?” he replied, not taking his eyes off the T.V. I shook my head. “My roommate,” he said, “or should I say our roommate, the asshole?”
“Oh,” I got up off the floor, sitting next to Max on the sofa, “what’s his name?”
“Ronnie,” Max repeated, “Ronnie Radke.” I put my beer down on the coffee table.
“I know him,” I said.
“Well, yeah,” Max laughed, “you live with him.” I shook my head.
“That’s not what I meant,” I replied, “I know him. I’ve met him before.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he said, finishing his pizza and opening a second beer, slinging an arm lazily around my shoulders, “he used to come out with Dane and me sometimes.”
I remembered. He looked so different now, I didn’t even recognize him. He had been standing in our kitchen one night before Dane and Max went out. Dane never really liked him much. I had wanted to go with them to the strip that night so bad. ”He’s bad news,” Dane had said, ”I don’t want you coming with us.” Ronnie was meant to graduate the year before Max and Dane but he dropped out.
“Dane had a problem with him,” I said finally.
“What?” Max asked, glancing at me before looking back at the T.V.
“Ronnie,” I told him, “he had a problem with him.”
“Holy shit, Lindsey,” Max said, laughing slightly, “you really do remember him.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, not nearly as amused by the situation, “Yeah, I do.”

It was a quarter to midnight when the movie we were watching finished. I was halfway through my third beer but I let Max finish it. “Now I remember,” I began to say, lifting my head out of his lap, “why I don’t drink that stuff.” Max gave a small laugh and straightened up a bit. I’m sure I had put his leg to sleep. “I think I’m going to go to bed,” I sighed, stretching my arms above my head and getting up off the couch.
“G’night,” Max mumbled, flicking through channels again.
“Night,” I replied, sauntering off to my bedroom. I tried giving my Mom a quick call only to get the answering machine. I left her a message and turned off the light, falling asleep what felt like seconds after crawling into my bed.

I couldn’t tell how long I’d been asleep for when I heard the front door slam, jerking me awake. I could hear the muffled voice of Max trying to quiet what sounded like a drunk Ronnie. I noticed as their voices increased in volume slightly as they moved across the lounge towards Max’s room. “Where have you been, anyway?” Max asked.
“What do you mean where have I been?” Ronnie slurred in reply.
“It’s, like, three in the morning, you reek of booze,” Max hissed, “I mean, just look at you. You can’t even walk in a straight line!”
“Okay, you’re not my mother, Max,” Ronnie snapped. I heard a soft thumping and guessed that Ronnie had tripped over something.
“Shh!” Max murmured, “You’re going to wake Lindsey.” Ronnie scoffed. “What did you say to her, anyway?” Max asked.
“I didn’t say anything,” he replied, stumbling along the corridor.
“Bullshit,” Max countered and pushed Ronnie into the wall. At least that’s what it sounded like. I got out of bed and walked over to my bedroom door, opening it a fraction, peering out. I could see Max with his hands at the collar of Ronnie’s shirt. Ronnie was laughing, his eyes barely open.
“What did you say to her?” Max asked, shaking him. Ronnie grimaced and tried to squirm from Max’s grip.
“I don’t have to be nice to every fucking girl you bring home,” he spat.
“She’s not just some girl, Ronnie,” Max growled, letting him go.
“I don’t have to listen to this shit,” Ronnie sniped, "So, fuck Lindsey. And fuck you." He staggered along the wall for a moment before slouching to the ground. Max looked as if he was going to say something else but, instead, he shook his head and walked into his room, slamming the door behind him. I opened the door a little wider, looking down the corridor. Ronnie was leaning back against the wall his head buried in his hands. I took a step backwards, causing the floorboards to creak as I did so. Ronnie looked up in my direction and our eyes met, but only for a second. He opened his mouth to say something but I cut him off. “Goodnight, Ronnie,” I said softly before closing the door and climbing back into my bed.