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This is the Worst

“And this better be the last time, you two! Next time, I'll call your parents!”

I really wanted to say "Fucking go ahead" back, but that would have prolonged this conversation for several more minutes, so I had to endure this affront in silence. Instead, I just stared blankly at the almost half-full pack of Marlboro Reds, which had just disappeared around the corner in the hands of the literature teacher. This is the worst.

“What a fucking bummer. So... what now?” Łysy looked at me, resigned.

“I dunno, I guess I'm going back to my crib. It kinda sucks without smokes.” I grabbed my old, black backpack from the floor and slung it over my shoulder.

The boy muttered something under his breath and followed my lead. Soon we left the grounds of my elementary. Our homes were in different directions, so we split our ways.

By a stroke of luck, I caught the bus two-five-six, which would drop me off almost right at the entrance gate. It stopped at the bus stop. I always had to pass anyway, so from time to time, I had the chance to catch it, as long as I wasn't coming back late.

Inside, I tactically managed to sit right between a bum at the very front and another one at the very back, so I wasn't hit by either of their stenches. I dug out my earbuds from my backpack, which had been rolling around between crumpled notebooks and an uneaten sandwich since I lost their case a while ago. I shoved them into my ears, connected them to my phone via Bluetooth, and played that new Ali Baba track I’d been obsessively listening to all week. The whole way, I tried not to think about the fact that I didn't have a ticket. My brother once told me that if you think about something, it will happen. "Attraction force," or something like that. I'm not sure if it makes any sense at all, but better safe than summoning a ticket inspector with the power of my mind.

I got off at the stop in front of my block and, after walking maybe a hundred meters, turned into a dark gateway. The sensor light, as usual, didn't turn on. Mostly because someone kept stealing the bulbs, and everyone had tacitly decided to give up replacing them every two weeks. It was only a passageway here anyway. I emerged into a large courtyard, surrounded on all sides by gray, four-story tenements. To my right, a group of kids was running around, pushing and fighting over the only working swing. Until recently, there had been two, but about a month ago, I broke it with my cousins while trying to see if doing a flip on it was possible. It was, though at the cost of the swing and a mild concussion. Totally worth it.

I passed the asphalt basketball court and the dilapidated gazebo with a grill next to it. Gran had plans to grow some plants over it, but everything kept dying, so she took a break. I finally reached tenement number three. In front of the door was a stone platform and a small intercom panel. I held my phone up to the plate on the wall, and a few seconds later, the door buzzed, signaling I could enter.
The smell of dust and cold hit me as soon as I took my first steps on the concrete stairs, decorated with colorful pebbles. Climbing the old stairwell, I passed landings decorated with plants in white plastic pots. I always wondered where these plants came from because they'd been here as long as I could remember. I never saw anyone watering them, certainly not anyone from my family, and I couldn't imagine any of my neighbors bothering to do it, given that they were months behind on their rent. I have no idea why gran hadn't kicked them out on the street yet, because she wasn't exactly known for her good heart. Not this woman.

I reached the fourth floor, with three pairs of doors. This was a mystery too. My family had long since knocked down the walls, making the entire floor one big apartment, but the doors remained. Though only one of them was actually used.

I went inside. The door was open, because who in their right mind would break in, knowing who lives here? The smell of tobacco, which had long since soaked into the apartment walls, though somewhat comforting, reminded me only of the wound left in my heart by the half-empty pack of Marlboro Reds taken by the nasty embrace of the literature teacher. This is the worst.

I took off my shoes, tossing them into a corner, and headed deeper into the house.

"I'm hoooome!" I shouted, crawling into the living room.

The only response was the TV, playing some historical show about Hitler. I swear they played the same episode every day, and my grandpa still watched it. Well, "watched" is a strong word. He was now sleeping on the couch, taking up the whole thing. My shout must have woken him a bit because he mumbled something incomprehensible and rolled over to the other side. The table was littered with empty beer bottles. Of course, they were empty. Well, it was past noon, so he must have gotten drunk. He'd be fine. Actually, Edi wasn't my real grandpa, but I called him that because he was old and lived with us. In reality, he was my gran's fifth ex-husband. So far, the last. I don't even know which of the other four grandpas is my real one, but maybe even more puzzling was why Edi still lived here, even though they'd been divorced for three years.

Since no one else bothered to greet me, I headed to my room, stopping by the kitchen to grab an energy drink from the fridge.

When I crossed the threshold of my room, the door slamming behind me, I didn't really know what to do with myself. The deafening silence started ringing in my ears, making them twitch nervously as if trying to shake off the unbearable noise. So many people live here; where the fuck is everyone? Why is it so quiet?!

I dropped my backpack off my shoulder. I opened the window, climbed onto the sill, and sat so that my legs dangled outside. The can hissed as I pulled the tab. I took a sip, looking at the barely visible sunset through the gray, dark, and completely cloudy sky. I reached for the cabinet next to the window. Behind my collection of colorful energy drink cans, I usually kept cigarettes I'd stolen from my gran, just for emergencies. Empty.
In my mind, I saw the pack of Marlboro Reds with half its contents, which had forever left me in the wrinkled claws of the literature teacher. This is the worst.