Page 12 of Walk the Line

With that thought, I throw myself up off my bed and outside the room, not taking a minute to think this through as I march down the stairs. I’m sure I could hear him on the phone from my room, but there was also the backdrop of a song that didn’t go unnoticed so I have no idea what I’m about to be walking into right now.

The only thing I do know is that as knock harshly on his door, I won’t be backing away from this until we come to an agreement that this nonsense is going to stop.

The irony of this situation being that his music is so loud he can’t hear me knocking on his door, is all I need to process before I’m twisting the door myself and preparing to see his infuriating face.

The door isn’t opening, of course. But that only causes me to bang even harder, with both hands this time, my patience growing thinner and thinner with each passing second.

I don’t know how long I do that for, but it feels like a lifetime has passed when his massive body appears beside his now opened door. “What the fuck?”

You took the words right out of my mouth,” I say.

“Huh? I would love to be as confused as he is. It seems fun to be able to irritate my roommate all day, and act like they’re the one inconveniencing me when they show up at my door. “What’s going on here?” he continues, and I’m lucky I can even hear him above the music he’s still playing.

“Do you have any idea why I’m here right now?”

He raises a brow. “Should I?”

“Do you?”

“No…” His eyes flick between studying me and looking around the hallway, but that confused look remains etched onto his features. Finally, he asks, “Do you need something?”

“Are you being serious right now?” I say.

“I’m not someone who jokes.”

I scoff, but his words don’t surprise me. “Wow, you really do have no idea why I’m here, do you?”

“Are you gonna tell me, or…”

“Do you just have like, no self awareness at all?”

With his narrowed eyes piercing into mine, he says, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Sorry?”

He adjusts his position from leaning against the door to stranding straight, staring right at me. “Most people don’t like it when a stranger knocks on their door and still hasn’t told them why six years later.”

“There’s no need to be so dramatic, but what you doneed to do is turn that shit down.”

“What shit?”

“That shit.” I point inside his room, although I’m pretty sure it’s not at the right object.

“What shit?” he repeats.

“The shit you’re listening to!”

“My music, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a bit rude to call that shit.”

“Okay.”

“People work hard on that stuff.”

“Okay.”