Ananda

The alarm goes off at 6:45. I turn over uncomfortably in bed, lean over my boyfriend, and turn the alarm off. I’m one of those people that have three “warning” alarms before my actual “you’ve got to get the hell up” alarm. I get dressed and am putting my eyebrows on when Phynn leaves. The fire door slams shut and I wince as whenever the door slams in the morning, someone wakes up and gets annoyed.

I hear muffled shouting and seconds later I get a text from Phynn: “I’m going home.”

“WTF” I text back as I grab my keys, slide on my slippers and rush to the staircase making sure no doors slam in the process.

He’s sitting on the staircase, tears in his eyes. I sit next to him and hug his waist. Someone in my accommodation had shouted at him for letting the door slam. I was sad that he was sad and angry that someone had made him sad. I get my phone out my pocket and type on the flat group chat:

“If you’re gonna shout at someone for letting the doors slam–fire doors that slam on their own–how about you don’t do it in the middle of the night.”

Moments later, after crying and hugs, I got a message back accusing me of the loud sex other housemates were having in the middle of the night and saying that letting the door slam was selfish and lazy. This message caused me to have a huge panic attack and burst into tears. I utterly hate living here and can’t wait to move out next year. ♦