‘I promise you, ‘ she said, thrusting a finger at me, ‘you’re going to die.’
She was factually correct. I would, at some point, die. However, it wasn’t going to be because of her and it certainly wasn’t going to be soon.
‘I’ve been in touch with the Police, they think you are a criminal.’. She said, still thrusting, her face screwed into a mask of disgust.
I didn’t believe her, there’s no way she went to the police, besides, what she didn’t know, is that I had already been to the police, I went to hand myself in. She’d got under my skin and made me believe that I was, in fact, a criminal. Turns out the police don’t agree, you can’t be a criminal if it’s between two consenting adults. I felt a bit stupid leaving the police station if I’m honest. But it was also a huge relief to know I wasn’t, in the eyes of John Q Law, a criminal (well, not about this anyway, the night I spent in Soho three years ago ended with marginally criminal activity, but there was no where open and I really needed to go).
‘You’re going to die.’ she said again, turning away, ‘Soon. I know people.’
‘Listen, ‘ I said, I had to fight not to roll my eyes, ‘I think it’s best if you just leave.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do!’ she spun around, ‘Criminals don’t get to tell me what to do.’
‘OK, then stay, or go, I don’t mind actually, but you’ll need to replace, or give me the money for the TV’. I pointed at the TV, well, the remains of the TV. It had a shoe, my shoe, sticking out of the screen. ‘and deal with your anger issues.’
‘Don’t fucking you tell me!’ she cried, angry now. Her English was bad when she was angry, I stifled a smirk, I didn’t want my other shoe thrown through the window. ‘Don’t you tell me fucking things about angry!’ spittle flew from her mouth onto the floor. I looked down, this was going precisely how I imagined it would.
‘What would you like me to do?’ I asked.
‘I. Want. You. TO FUCKING DIE.’ she spat, each word punctuated by her feet stamping across the room at me until she was close enough to jab me in the chest with an extended finger. ‘Just fucking die.’
‘I can’t do that, I don’t know how to die.’
‘I can help.’
‘Look, you’re threatening my life now, how is that OK?’
‘You made me like this.’
‘I made you threaten me?’ I asked, we’d been here before, I ceased to be incredulous at her ridiculous statements. ‘How? Am I sitting on the remote control?’ I patted my pockets and looked around on the sofa theatrically. If I was going to get spat at and jabbed, I might as well enjoy myself.
‘OH, YOU GO FUCK OFF!’ she shouted, hurling herself through the open door into her own room, slamming it hard behind her. Dust fell from the doorframe, I clearly wasn’t a very good landlord with that much dust.