On a normal day, in a normal building, in a normal world the intense banging at my door would be taken for a murderer trying to break in and kill me. In a normal world.
I groaned, reaching to check the time on my cell on the side table. Sure, it was almost noon but I was not a morning person and had personally planned on sleeping in and being lazy around the house all day. I already knew who was at the door so I pulled my robe on and shuffled down the stairs to the front door, squinting from the brightness attacking me through the open curtains.
"Go away!" I yelled peeking through the tiny peep hole, all I could see was an orange blob talking on the phone steadily kicking my door.
"Open the door, I need ya" Ed's voice echoed in the tiny hallway. I chuckled to myself as I undid the locks and opened the door just enough to peek my head out. Ed was standing there, in yesterday's t-shirt, laughing on the phone with someone. He wiggled his eyebrows at me before telling whoever was on the phone with him to hold on.
"Jules, why are you asleep, you're such a lazy sally," he mocked trying to push the door open, I didn't fight him. "Get up, I need you to go somewhere with me." I shoot him a 'hell no, do you see me right now?' look as I closed the door behind him and proceeded the couple of feet to my tiny kitchen to make some toast. "Sod off" he laughed to the person still on the phone.
"No, uh uh." I yawned, my back turned to him. Ed Sheeran was my neighbor, well my sister's neighbor as I was currently bumming it at her place while she was gone on assignment in France, so I claimed the place as my own. Ed was an orange haired singer and songwriter who was quite popular over here in the UK. I could gauge his popularity by the number of photographers outside our building on any random day or by the number of times I heard his songs on the radio. We quickly bonded over our love of sneaking into tiny hole in the wall Open Mic Nights and his love for my cooking. He himself was quite talented, I had to admit, and most importantly he was a really great guy who hadn't let his fame go to his head. Why else would I let him into my flat knowing I looked like hell and hadn't even brushed my teeth yet? Besides, he knew I didn't care he was famous, and I think that was why we got on so well. He knew he could just come hang out like a normal person whenever he wanted and I wouldn't put his business in the papers. We were the only two living on this floor so we pretty much had an open door policy.
"No, seriously, some mates are having like a little get together house warming thing and I don't feel like looking for a date so just come with me. Super low key, lots of drinks, it'll give you a chance to put on some pants and leave your flat for once," he joked and I shot him my middle finger, my dry toast hanging from my mouth.
"Do you have any jam?" I asked him, crumbs falling from my lips.
"Yeah? Whatever, come on, please. You owe me!" I gasped, ignoring his plea and making my way over to his apartment across the hall.
"I do not! And I have a lot of work to do," I lied. "You know antisocial! And like, don't even know what you guys are talking about half the time with all of your made up words! Besides, you have a new girl every day, what happened to that blond girl with the wonky boobs?" I rummaged through his cabinets, finding nothing. "She looked kind of smart. I don't even have anything to wear and like, who doesn't have grape jelly? Seriously, oh my god I would kill for an egg McMuffin right now." I moaned, taking another bite of my dry toast and letting my eyes roll to the back of my head. He just stood there and laughed at me before putting the phone back to his ear and walking into the other room.
Ed and my sister Jane were constantly trying to get me out of the house but I was quite keen on playing out the romanticized life of a tortured writer. The truth was after graduating college six months ago, I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life so I fled the US for a life of adventure and fish and chips here in London with Jane. Now, three months after landing abroad, I hadn't written one word of my future Pulitzer Prize winning novel and made my money writing a little lifestyle column for my sisters magazine. This wasn't my first time in the UK though, in fact growing up me and Jane visited family at least once a year up until I graduated high school. I loved Europe, I loved the buzz in the air and the constant flow of real culture and accents, something we lacked in Los Angeles, were we mainly grew up. But we travelled a lot, our parents divorced when we were young and their way of making up for it was taking us around the world. We made up in happy family memories with trips to the Egyptian pyramids and snorkeling in Australia. That, I reasoned, was why we Carmen girls were considered nomads. We didn't like commitment, we didn't understand stability. Jane got a job with one of the biggest travel magazines in the world almost right out of college and she's lived all over the globe in the last couple of years. I realized I had been staring idly into space when Ed walked back into the room, throwing his phone onto the couch.
"Come on Jules," he said walking into the kitchen and jumping up to sit on the counter opposite me. "You'll like these guys, they're good. They've been touring for like the past six months so they're just trying to have fun and see some mates." I thought for a second before just shrugging my shoulders and grabbing a juice sitting on his counter. His label kept his kitchen stocked while he was off tour so I liked to steal as much as I could when I was over.
"Fine, whatever, as long as I can get drunk." I gave him a cheeky smile heading for the door.
"Nine thirty! Dead on! And look fucking decent" he joked before I slammed the door behind me.