Frederick Hamilton - Spare Key

There was a faint murmur drifting through the wall and without thinking, Ben twisted his head and pressed his ear against it. The lady’s image floated up in his mind but despite his doubts, the pills had reduced it to a misshapen blob.

The screams his mind summoned sounded more like the mewling of kittens than anything else.

Still, he found his penis rising to life again.

* * * * *

Rachel kicked the door shut behind her and dumped the groceries on the couch, sighing in relief. As she stepped over to the kitchen for a glass of water, she flexed her fingers, wincing as the circulation restarted and pins and needles prickled down her hand.

This is just getting ridiculous, she thought as she sculled down the water, leaning back against the counter. Surely it can’t take two weeks to change a fucking radiator.

Fucking rip-off merchants.

The walk from the tram stop was killing her. Although it was only fifteen minutes, after spending the whole day on her feet, bustling between tables, it was the last thing she fucking needed. And then there were the tram trips with the fucking inconsiderate fucks who just made you want to brain them for their fucking stupidity: blocking doors so you had to squeeze past them, not even caring if you were struggling with a full load of groceries. Sitting there playing their fucking ring tones to each other, the constant little bleats and bleeps, not even caring that they were slowly driving the other passengers insane…

…Okay time to calm down, Rachel thought as she sculled another glass of water and made her way over to the couch to rest her aching feet. As she threw herself down, narrowly missing squashing the bag of oranges, she deliberately forced her mind away from the indignities of the tram trip and onto the man she’d seen next door.

New neighbour… She thought as she pondered the odd look he’d been giving her. Hopefully he’ll be a little better than the last one… not that he could really be much worse. At least this one looked relatively normal. A bit dishevelled and could certainly do with a shave and a haircut but he was sort of cute, she supposed. If you were into the scruffy type. There had been holes in the knees of his pants and the jacket he’d worn could only be described as threadbare but at least it was better than the freakish get-up the last guy got around in: the leather pants and mesh shirts, showing off the ridiculous tattoos he had. The make-up he’d worn. The patently absurd eyeliner and his, clearly dyed, black hair. And then the piercings…

But his appearance hadn’t been the worst bit; Rachel liked to think she wasn’t that shallow. It was the way he glowered at you, trying to make out like he was some sort of tough guy; edgy and all that, but really just coming across as a complete and utter tosspot…

And then there was the fucking music: blaring out of the speakers at all hours, the fucking parties that went on to the early hours of the morning. As far as she’d been able to tell, he’d had no job and when she thought of the hours of sleep he’d cost her; the zombie-like days she’d spent at work; it made her blood fucking boil…

But you don’t have to worry about that now. He’s gone so there’s no point letting it get to you…

It was difficult though. It was beyond her comprehension that people living in such close proximity could be so inconsiderate of their neighbours. At least the new guy looked semi-normal, although the way he’d stared at her had been mildly disconcerting. It would be just her luck that after two months of blissful peace from next door she’d get another freak moving in.

Come on, be charitable, the voice chirped up and Rachel acquiesced. She pushed off the couch, snagged the bags of shopping and hefted them to the kitchen to put away. You only saw him for a second. Who knows, maybe he’s just shy or something?

That’s true, she admitted. At least he smiled back at her. It was better than the leering glare and cat-call she got from the last prick.

Rachel winced as she saw the mouldy remnants of last week’s vegetables in the bottom of the crisper. She knew she should really get around to cleaning it but at the moment she just couldn’t be bothered. She still had to wash her uniform, ready for tomorrow, after that fucker at table twelve had spilt soup all over her; no doubt, Maree, her bitch of a supervisor, would give her hell if there was even a hint of a stain.

Better do it now, she thought as she lobbed the fruit onto the bottom shelf instead and stacked the remaining groceries away neatly in the cupboard. Even with the thought fresh in her mind, she paused briefly to open the bottle of white wine and take a quick swig. For fortitude, she grinned even though she had been trying to cut back. She just hadn’t been able to resist the lure of all those shiny bottles when she’d stepped out of the supermarket and passed the liquor store. It didn’t really matter if she got a little tipsy anyway - it wasn’t like there would be anyone to judge her. Besides it was, and had been for a while now, her deep-seated belief that alcohol was the only thing that allowed human beings to tolerate each other in close proximity. The only thing that allowed them to overcome all the petty annoyances. It had certainly saved that bitch Maree from a slap or two. Somehow, after a nice bottle, throttling the whining tart just didn’t seem worth it.

Rachel could already feel the calming effect of the alcohol and as she headed for the washing machine - despite her recent resolution to drink less - she made a conscious decision to polish off the bottle that evening. It’s just what I need, she thought as she stripped off her skirt and lifted the stained shirt over her head, a nice night on the couch, a couple of DVD’s and a bottle of wine. Should tide me over nicely until the weekend.

As she stood in her underwear, pouring detergent into the machine, her mind drifted back to her new neighbour. He really wasn’t half-bad looking. She recalled his muscular frame and his intense blue eyes. Maybe a session with Walter would be in order as well tonight, she thought as she realised she was dwelling a little excessively on the man. Must be getting a little antsy… Well it has been three months.

DVD first though, she thought, that’ll put me in the mood.

She left the washing machine to its chugging and headed back to the kitchen for a wine glass.

The light was flashing on the answering machine as she passed on the way back to the couch and even though she doubted it would be good news, she pressed the button. When the thickly-accented, over-loud voice of the mechanic boomed out of the speaker, Rachel had to resist the urge to hurl the glass into the wall. Instead she forced herself to sip slowly at the wine as she listened to him rabbit on about how there had been yet another delay with the parts and hopefully they’d arrive tomorrow.

Great, another day of tramming it, she thought, biting back her irritation. Come on now, none of that, don’t let it ruin your evening, the voice gave its usual pep talk and Rachel determinedly picked up the DVD case and read the back. Slaughter Orgy , it proclaimed in lurid green font. It was a film she’d been wanting to see for a while and as she read the back, she had a fair idea who she’d like to see participating in the film’s antics.

Fucking mechanics, she thought as she made her way to the DVD player.

* * * * *

Ben sat on his inflated lilo, his back pressed to the wall, studying the bottle of pills as he slowly rolled it back and forth between his fingers. He knew he should take more soon but instead took another swig of his bourbon. The images were gaining clarity in his mind and he was intrigued by their slowly sharpening focus. There was a growing feeling of giddiness in his stomach; a gnawing excitement that was thickening his penis and leaving his mouth dry. The red was bleeding through the blurred edges; exhilarating as it suffused into the fog and even though he knew it was wrong, that it was how he used to be; Ben couldn’t bring himself to stop it. He just wanted to enjoy it for a moment longer. Then he’d take his pill. Maybe just until the eyes formed; until he could see that glorious look of recognition, that now it was her who was powerless in front of him. Not vice-versa. She was at his mercy and he could do what he pleased to her…