Chapter 10: Thin Walls, Thick Skin

The city library closed at eight. It was only a half-hour walk back to the apartment—another reason I liked living here.

The walk home was my time to unwind, earbuds in, city lights blurring past. I’d watch the sun set behind the skyline, thinking that maybe, just maybe, I’d made the right call moving here.

As soon as I walked in, Lillian greeted me.

She waved from the kitchen, a big smile on her face. "Hey, you’re just in time!"

"Have you eaten?"

"Uh, yeah, I have."

I lied out of habit, but my stomach growled, betraying me. She laughed and handed me a takeout box.

"Have some more." She handed me a meal box. "My boyfriend brought it—there’s one for everyone. I heated it up for you."

"Thank you."

A handsome guy poked his head out of Lillian’s room and waved at me.

He looked friendly enough, and I nodded back, trying not to seem awkward.

I was actually starving—I’d only had a breakfast burrito for lunch and skipped dinner. I opened the box: a Domino’s pasta bowl. It was my first time eating anything from Domino’s besides pizza, and it tasted amazing—expensive, too.

I ate slowly, savoring every bite. It felt like a little luxury, a reminder that good things could happen even on the toughest days.

After ten, everyone went back to their rooms. I lay down on my narrow bed, ready to rest my brain after a long day.

The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the fridge. I closed my eyes and tried to let the day go.

"Mmm—"

That moan was like a drop of water in hot oil.

My eyes snapped open. Was I hearing things? Nope. The sounds kept coming, louder this time.

Then a few suppressed giggles leaked out from Lillian’s room, reaching my ears.

I pressed my pillow over my head, but it was no use. The walls were thin, and every laugh and sigh carried straight to my bed.

"No, it hurts, ah..."

The show had begun…

I stared at the ceiling, wishing I could teleport anywhere else. The symphony of noises grew louder, and I realized sleep was out of the question.

The sounds rose and fell, a chaotic symphony—like marbles of all sizes scattering across a hardwood floor.

It was surreal, like something out of a Judd Apatow movie. I wondered if this was just another part of city living nobody warned me about.

Friends, I’m a man—a young man in my twenties. I don’t know what women feel hearing these noises, but I really couldn’t sleep.

I tried counting sheep, then prime numbers, then backwards from a hundred. Nothing worked.

It was my first time listening to such human music at such close range. It was like a thunderstorm passing right over my head—from a drizzle, to a downpour, to rolling thunder, then the rain subsided, leaving me drenched and wandering at a crossroads.

I thought about buying earplugs or blasting white noise, but I didn’t want to seem rude. So I just lay there, waiting for the storm to pass.

"Whew, finally over."

I checked my phone—it was eleven. I really needed to sleep, or I wouldn’t be able to get up tomorrow. I pulled up the blanket and turned over. But the sound was still there, like someone breathing right in my ear.

I groaned and buried my face in my pillow, praying for mercy. Maybe tomorrow would be quieter.

"Mmm... again?"

I sat up with a jolt. "Seriously, again?"

Another rainstorm, drenching the me from an hour ago. How could I sleep?

I pulled out my cigarette pack, wanting a smoke, and sighed. I felt like something was mocking me—my empty eyes, empty wallet, and empty cigarette pack.

I stared at the ceiling, wondering if this was some kind of cosmic joke. All I wanted was a little peace and quiet.

Clack—the glass door slid open. It was Megan again. Seeing me sitting on the bed like a withered old tree, she burst out laughing.

She leaned against the doorframe, shaking her head. "Didn’t bother knocking this time. I knew you couldn’t sleep."

She tossed me a pack of Wrigley’s gum and grinned. "Mint. Trust me, it’s better than secondhand smoke. Welcome to city living, Ethan. You’ll get used to it—or you’ll go nuts."

I popped a piece of gum, stretched out on my bed, and made a mental note to buy earplugs tomorrow. Or maybe just text my mom and tell her: city life is wild—but I’m still here.