Ummm so... I didn't really proof this per-say... but I'm heading out in a few to see Kick-Ass and as much as I love you guys... I also love me some Nicholas Cage so... I'll fix it later! haha just didn't want to delay the post and leave you guys hanging!
You Had A Bad Day - Daniel Powter
September 17, 2009
“I can’t believe I agreed to buy furniture with you… it seems so gay.” Brooks sighed, more to himself than to his room-mate, who was currently pulling the new couch out from the wall.
“Well it makes more sense then spending all that money renting that stuff. This way we at least own something, plus this place needed a facelift… bad.” Mike said back, too focused on his leather loveseat’s placement, to care about any snide comment coming out of Brooks. Besides, he was far too use to them.
Brooks shook his head, folding is arms over his chest and turning his back on Mike. He headed towards the window, glancing out at the rear parking lot, just in time to see Emily coming in the back door.
She’d been living across the hall from Brooks and Mike since they moved in, back in 2006; a fact she seemed to get more bitter about as time went on.
She was a huge bitch. Bitter, resentful and always in a bad mood. She was pretty, Brooks supposed, if you went for that… homely, never-wore-make-up, spawn of Satan, kind of look.
He never tried to understand her motives. Never once had she tried to get on him, Mike or any of their friends that came over, and she had no interest in the fact that they were hockey players. She didn’t even watch hockey, for gods sakes.
But the only thing about Emily, that really, really bothered him, was that she never moved. She complained all the time about having to live around ‘noisy’, ‘immature’, ‘slobs’, but she never moved.
It wasn’t like she couldn’t afford it. This apartment building catered only to the rich, something that was evident with the view, decorations, doorman and the price of rent.
If she could afford to live here, she could afford almost anywhere in the greater Washington area.
A large screech caused Brooks to turn around, drawing him out of contemplation. “What are you doing anyway?” Brooks groaned as he caught sight of the large white scratch marks that now decorated the deep mahogany hardwood.
Mike bit his lip, rubbing his socked foot on the new mark, trying - uselessly - to remove it. “I was making a walking path behind the couch so you didn’t have to go around anything.”
“We’re not fucking Sims, Mike… we aren’t gonna get confused if we have to change direction.”
“I didn’t- ugh. Why are you in such a bad mood?” Brooks exhaled loudly, instantly feeling bad about chirping on Mike; if there was one thing Mike could do, it was make Brooks feel guilty.
“I don’t know man… just antsy for the season to start, I guess. Sorry.” He added, grabbing the couch and attempting to lift it to Mike’s desired place.
Mike didn’t say anything, he just gave Brooks a small smile before grabbing onto the other side and taking a few steps back.
He didn’t have to say anything though, Brooks was always wound so tight, he went off a few times a day. He needed to relax, stop and smell the roses, so to speak.
Mike, of course, didn’t have that problem. His issue was the opposite, he was incapable of getting wound up over anything.
They balanced each other out nicely, which is probably why they got along so well; why they were able to live together and not try to suffocate the other while he slept.
No matter what happened between them, they both knew that in a few minutes it would go back to water under the bridge; stick with the status quo, and all that.
Once the living room was set up, Mike ventured out to buy groceries, leaving Brooks to set up the new entertainment centre.
He had actually managed to assemble the frame, when he realized that he didn’t have a screw driver to finish pushing the screws through. Sighing, Brooks got up, leaning the frame against the couch before heading towards the door.
He knew where he had to go, but that didn’t make the trek any better. Heading across the hall Brooks dragged his feet, trying to prolong his sense of dignity. It was a Sunday so he knew that Emily would be there; it wasn’t like she actually had friends or people that wanted to spend time with her, so where else would she be?
Sure enough, when he knocked on the door, footsteps padded somewhere behind it, and he took a step back; bracing.
When Emily’s face appeared in the door, she looked hopeful at first, but that quickly faded to a frown. “Oh.” She said, sounding disappointed when she caught sight of Brooks. “It’s you… well… what do you want?”
“Screwdriver.” Brooks said quickly, not wanting to prolong the conversation or say the wrong thing and make her angry. “Please.” He added quickly, hoping she didn’t catch the hesitation.
She stared at him, judging him for a full minute, pursuing her lips until she apparently decided to let him borrow the tool. She slammed the door in his face, and Brooks heard the bolt being latched before she moved back into her apartment.
Rolling his eyes. Brooks waited.
She appeared a minute later, holding up a screwdriver. Brooks reached for it, but she pulled it back. “I know what it looks like, so if you break it like you did my hammer, or get it all covered in gunk like my plunger, I’ll know.” She threatened before holding it back out and allowing him to take it. “You always take my tools, why don’t you just invest in your own toolbox?”
“No room for one… I’ll bring it back in one piece.” Brooks chided, rolling his eyes again as he headed back down the hallway. How could anyone be like… well, like that?
Sure sometimes Brooks got annoyed at the guys on his team for always being around, but he’d rather never have anytime alone, then spend every day that way.
He’d never even seen the inside of her place. It was probably a lair, or a cave… He shook the thought as he pushed open his door and sat back down on the floor.
Moving the screwdriver with increased caution, Brooks proceeded to finish the TV stand. He lifted it up, carrying it - with difficulty - to the other side of the room. Once it was in place he grabbed the TV and set it on the stand; stepping back and crossing his fingers in the hope that it wouldn’t collapse under the weight.
It let out a groan, but his handy work held. He folded his arms across his chest proudly, grinning to himself as the washing machine’s buzzer went off.
Brooks headed down the hall, giving a gentle shove on the slightly opened, laundry room door. When it didn’t move at all, he pushed harder, then harder; until he turned to the side, in order to put his shoulder into the shove.
When he was able to get the door opened enough to get into the room, Brooks realized why it had been so hard to get in, in the first place.
The floor was covered - literally covered - with a half foot of clothing in every direction. No, not just clothing, Mike’s clothing.
Apparently he’d decided to clean every single thing he owned, at once. Brooks didn’t bother trying to understand the motive behind it, that would involve trying to understand Mike and well, Brooks had given up on that a long time ago.
Sighing, he just shook his head, walking across the floor and scooping up the clothing as he went.
He spent almost a full half-hour reorganizing the room, trying to put everything into it’s place.
That was his biggest problem. Even though it was dirty laundry, it still had a certain place and it needed to be put there. He couldn’t leave anything alone. Brooks was incapable of just turning around and walk away from disarray. Probably because he knew full well if he tried to leave that room without changing anything, he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it
He sorted the laundry according to colour, fabric and directions, placing each one into it’s newly assigned basket. When the floor was cleared off, he began to empty the washer; throwing all the damp clothing into the dryer before flicking off the light and heading out into the living room again.
Brooks walked past the TV stand, only to pause, his brow crinkling as he tilted his head. Something wasn’t right.
When he looked across the room at the newly-built stand, he realized that it was tilting. With an angry sigh Brooks grabbed the screw driver off the floor and dropped down onto his knees, beside the stand.
He wobbled it slightly, finding the point of weakness, before fitting the tip of the screwdriver into the screw and trying to tighten it.
Making no headway, he began to twist harder, wrenching his hand around and trying to force the screw into place with nothing more than strength and sheer will.
He felt the screwdriver give, causing his hand to lunge forward, his knuckles slamming into the wooden stand. He let out a muffled curse as he retracted his hand, stretching it out and examining it closely for any long-term damage. When he was satisfied that it was nothing more than a slight contusion.
Drawing his eyes away from his hand, he caught sight of the screwdriver on the floor, or at least part of it. “Oh fuck…” He groaned, picking up the broken handle off the floor. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
“Nope! I really do have fruit roll-ups!” Mike cheered as he pushed the door open, his normally contagious grin, faltering when he saw the look on Brooks’ face. He closed his mouth, setting his armful of brown paper bags on the counter, careful to keep the groceries from falling out. “What’s up, man?”
Brooks didn’t bother answering. He bent down, retrieving both pieces of the broken tool before standing up again and showing them to Mike. “Oh… you broke your- wait, that’s not yours is it?” Brooks shook his head, walking towards Mike and setting the broken handle and tip on the counter beside him.
“It’s Emily’s.” He explained, unnecessarily; Mike had already figured that much out.
“She is not going to be happy… first the hammer, then the wrench… then the-”
“-Yah, I got it Mike, thanks.” Brooks snapped, instantly feeling bad. He had a horrible tendency of taking things out on Mike, even the things that had nothing to do with him. “Sorry…” He sighed finally, but like normal, Mike only shrugged it off as he moved around the kitchen, filling the cupboards with his spoils.
“Did you remember that we’re having the team over tonight for barbeque?”
“Ugh, no. Shit… alright well… I’ll help you in a sec but… I should bring this back…” Brooks said quietly, heading out the door and down the hallway before Mike could stop him.
He stood outside the door, an eerie reminder of all that had transpired, only an hour before. Of course, this time he was more nervous… this time he didn’t have to assume that he’d fuck up, he already had.
With a deep breath he knocked on the door lightly, with a shaking hand, resisting the urge to drop the broken tool on the floor and take off.
When she didn’t answer, Brooks leaned towards the door, trying to make out the muffled sounds behind it.
It sound like music, like a low, rock balled. He tried to make out the words, but couldn’t. He shook his head - it didn’t matter what she was listening to anyway - and knocked on the door louder.
When she opened it, her eyes instantly found the mangled remains of the screwdriver in his hands.
She didn’t even offer any words of anger or surprise. Emily held out her hand and took both pieces, before slamming the door in his face.
Brooks stood there for a minute, allowing himself to sigh. He turned and moved back towards his opened door, sheepishly dragging his feet.
Part of him was glad Emily hadn’t yelled at him, the other part wished that she had of. It was almost like he had just done something foolish and got caught by his mother red-handed.
It was always the worse when they didn’t yell; silent disappointment always made Brooks feel horrible