The keys clattered into the ceramic bowl by the door as Kia stepped into her apartment, sighing in relief. Her rain-soaked shoes and damp socks were the first to go, discarded in a pile by the entrance. She undid the ponytail holding up her dark hair, shaking out the strands that had stuck to her neck during the chaos of the night. The sticky smell of the pub clung to her skin—a pungent mix of beer, fried food, and stale sweat. The shower called to her, promising a clean slate after hours of serving rowdy customers and dodging obnoxious regulars. The bathroom light flickered faintly as she turned it on, but Kia didn't care. She turned the water on and stepped into the warmth, letting the steam rise around her. The rhythmic patter of water against the tiles drowned out the memory of the night—the grating voices, the clang of glasses, and the sticky residue of the bar counter under her hands. She scrubbed at her skin, erasing the clinging traces of the evening until she finally felt like herself again. Clean, refreshed, and wrapped in a towel, she padded back to the living room.
Friday night was behind her, and Saturday meant freedom—her day off, a chance to unwind and enjoy the silence. She grabbed the remote and collapsed onto the couch, pulling her blanket up as the television flickered to life. The news came on first, a parade of headlines scrolling across the screen. Kia barely glanced at them—political drama in the United States, missile tests in North Korea, tensions with Russia. It was all noise, and she had no interest in letting the outside world intrude on her moment of peace. The anchor mentioned strange lights near London's west—witnesses claimed they might be drones, perhaps Russian, but Kia didn't even blink. She brushed it off as political nonsense and flicked the channel to an old action movie. Familiar explosions and dramatic one-liners filled the room, replacing the news with comforting predictability. Kia let herself sink into the couch, wrapping the blanket tighter around her.
As the movie played on, she reached for a mug she'd left on the coffee table earlier, only to find it empty and cold from the night before. Her sigh was soft but loaded with frustration as she shuffled into the kitchen to fill it anew. The kettle hissed quietly as she waited, the faint warmth of the water helping her relax again. Everything in her apartment was still. The only sounds were the hiss of the kettle, the distant dialogue from the TV, and the rain tapping against the windowpane. Kia's shoulders finally began to loosen as the familiar rhythm of a quiet night replaced the clamor of the pub. She carried her tea back to the couch, letting the heat seep into her hands as she settled in.
The knock came sharp and deliberate, cutting through the background noise of the action movie. Kia groaned, tearing her gaze away from the television. She already had a sinking feeling about who it was. Dragging herself off the couch, she moved toward the door, the familiar irritation bubbling in her chest. Sure enough, a quick glance through the keyhole confirmed her suspicion—it was him. Trevor. The creepy guy next door.
In the six months since Kia had moved in, Trevor—a good ten years her senior—had already managed to cement himself firmly into the "nuisance" category. He had a knack for popping up at the worst times, always with some offhand comment about her appearance that made her skin crawl. Worse still, he'd asked her out a handful of times, each rejection brushing off him like water on a duck. Subtlety, clearly, was not his strong suit. "Oh, for God's sake!" she muttered under her breath, her hand gripping the doorframe tightly. Can't this tosser ever take a hint? she fumed internally, the thought of opening the door filling her with equal parts dread and irritation.
"Kia, lovely, are you in?—of course you are, you're always in!" Trevor's sing-song lilt carried through the door, laced with the smugness she'd come to expect. She felt her jaw tighten as her mind briefly entertained the satisfying idea of slamming her knee into his groin. But then she remembered the landlord's strict warning: no confrontations, no trouble, and definitely no "altercations." The thought of losing her lease kept her fury in check, though just barely. Kia inhaled sharply, steeling herself before unlocking the door. The warmth of her tea was still fresh in her hands, but the heat she felt now had nothing to do with the mug. "Yes, hi, can I help you?" she said, forcing her voice into a polite, if strained, tone as the door creaked open just enough to block his view inside. Trevor's face lit up in what he probably thought was charm but came off as something closer to leering. "Ah, there you are, love! I was just popping by to see how you were doing, you know. Keeping you company on a lonely Friday night." His grin stretched wide, revealing teeth that didn't help his case. Kia's grip tightened around the edge of the door. "Thanks, but I'm fine. Really." Her words were clipped, laced with an undertone that even he couldn't ignore. Still, she knew he wouldn't give up easily.
Trevor's greasy black hair clung to his forehead, slick with whatever cheap product he'd overused that day. The overpowering stench of body spray mixed with tanning lotion hit Kia like a wall, but she barely flinched. She was used to it by now—used to him, his unwelcome visits, and his over-the-top attempts to charm her. It was just another Friday night with Trevor being Trevor. "Listen, mate, I've had a busy night, and I am not in the mood—" she began, her tone sharp but steady. Trevor cut her off, as he always did. "Whoa, whoa, wasn't asking, sugar lips!" he said with a grin that he probably thought was irresistible. Kia resisted the urge to roll her eyes, her patience already worn thin. His breath reeked of wine, the sour tang unmistakable. Clearly, he'd been drinking again. She could see the faint smudge of lipstick on his collar—someone else's poor attempt at tolerating him earlier in the evening, no doubt.
"Look, Trevor, I am tired, so good night!" she said firmly, shutting the door on him without waiting for a reply. The satisfying click of the lock was all she needed to move on. She didn't bother lingering by the door or worrying about his reaction—she knew exactly what would come next. Sure enough, the banging started almost immediately. His fist pounded against the door, each thud reverberating through the apartment. "You tart!" Trevor's slurred voice bellowed, loud enough to make her wince. "You wouldn't know a good man if it bit you on the arse!" Kia didn't even turn around. She grabbed her blanket and settled back onto the couch, letting the action movie drown out his ranting. It wasn't the first time Trevor had thrown a tantrum, and it wouldn't be the last. She'd learned to tune him out, just like she tuned out the chaos of the pub.
The banging lasted a few minutes before other voices joined in. "Shut the hell up, Trevor!" one neighbour shouted, their voice muffled but unmistakably furious. "Some of us are trying to sleep, you idiot!" another chimed in, their tone sharp with annoyance. Kia smirked to herself as the banging slowed, then stopped altogether. She could hear Trevor muttering something unintelligible, his footsteps retreating down the hall. The neighbours' collective outrage had done what she couldn't—sent him packing, at least for now. She sank deeper into the couch, the tension in her chest easing slightly as the familiar sounds of the action movie filled the room once more. It wasn't peace, not really, but it was close enough. For tonight, that would have to do.