Run Away and Never Look Back

*This is written pretty much in real time. If my verb tenses change throughout, I apologize.

I had just finished watching this week’s newest episode of CSI when I heard a loud male scream and a crash above me. The couple who lives upstairs were not yelling in rapture tonight. This man, whom I’ve never met, screamed a profanity and then, I assume, threw something hard. Since I didn’t know what was going on, I went to my room to listen if this was just an accident (like stubbing your toe or something) and it was quiet for about a minute. Then the man started screaming again and there were more crashes. He was screaming THE profanity over and over, crying about how “you don’t know” or something. After much screaming, I heard her yelling back about how she didn’t do something and he kept telling her to, “Get out, get out of my apartment!” Insert colorful language here. There may have been a few phrases about not knowing how it feels from the man.

Afraid, I called the police. I couldn’t let this go. The operator let me go and signaled a squad car to come out. There was more screaming on his part. Before they arrived, I could hear her sobbing. I hope to God she locked herself in the bathroom.

The police have arrived and I don’t know what is going on. I don’t really want to know. I just want her to be safe. I hope she does get out and never comes back.

I’m sure I made an enemy tonight. I asked for anonymity and there are others in the apartment building who may have heard. I probably had the geographical advantage of hearing the fight – my apartment is directly below theirs.

My heart is racing and I’m scared for her. There is still walking around upstairs; creak, creak, creak. There are muffled voices from above now. It sounds like two males talking – I assume the officer is checking out the scene. Just make her safe.

I can hear doors opening and closing in the building. One of those doors needs a little oil; it squeaks.

My nerves are shot. I think it is quite possible I’ll start chewing my nails off here.

The stomping has dissipated at least. Either the man calmed down quite a bit or he’s no longer in the apartment above. I’m worried that he may be vengeful because the police arrived but I feel better knowing someone could protect her. I don’t know what happened between the two. I don’t care.

I hope she leaves him. I hope she never returns to him.

It has quieted completely upstairs. I keep expecting a knock on the door or my phone to ring. An officer called once they arrived at the apartment complex to have me open the door. I can’t tell anymore if the police are still here. From start to now, I’d say it’s been less than 25 minutes. Looking at my phone, it was 9 minutes between the time I dialed 9-1-1 and the time the officer called me to open the door. And it’s been 27 minutes since the officer called me.

The only sounds now are those of rain lightly hitting the window, the hum of my refrigerator, the tick-tick-tick of my wall clock, and the tapping of keys as I type. I think there is still someone upstairs, but the talking has ceased. My nerves are returning to normal.

And to think, I was going to write a post about the phrase of the week (which is “He’s always tooken cares of cars anyways,” if you were wondering). Or write about my problem at karaoke – the man with the phony Scottish accent invading my personal space and bathing in cologne. Seems insignificant right now.