So, nearly twenty days ago, I was in my apartment. Talking to my Dad on the phone.
Walking downstairs, out the building when my neighbour stops me. Screaming, in my face. “You think you’re better than me, cunt? Always walking around all the fucking time, you fucking cunt. You fucking think you’re better than me??”
I, by this stage, had gone into customer service mode. Blank face, even tone, apologies and suggestions for improvement. (“I could get rugs and a shoerack?”)
Obviously, this is not showing enough fear. He rushes towards my face, fist cocked. I’m oddly calm. All I can think is ‘huh. He’s going to punch me in the face.”
He doesn’t. He just stops short. Continues to yell, abuse me. Walking around in my house is a crime, it’s true.
After the runner rugs go down, it calms. He’s nice to other people I know, but I don’t ever see him.
Until last night, he tried to kick down my door. This time I’m watching the TV too loud. It’s almost 10pm. The screaming at us goes on for twenty minutes before I call the police. My friends were shocked. I think they thought I was exaggerating.
This morning in my mailbox, a restraining order. He’s not allowed to
- or otherwise interfere
But apparently living in the same building is still okay.
Today I asked if that could end. I have to go, or he does. The real estate agent says they’ll tell him tomorrow he has to go.
With 90 days notice. Three months of having to walk by his (their) door on my way in and out of the house. Wonderful.
I’m guessing that these will be dark, awful days. They will start tomorrow.