The true horror stories in Modern Paris Part 3

If it was ever disclosed, my complete profile would reveal all sorts of minority groups, starting with my gender and race.  I have been harassed on many levels throughout my life, but I lacked the stomach and power to carry out revenge.  This was a blessing in disguise because retribution eventually manifested itself, which inspired me to share on this blog.  I quote many others before me that 'True horror is hidden within man'.


Incapable of escaping the suffering, I was at the mercy of my anti-social neighbour upstairs.  I prayed for the morning to come sooner when Leila would have to go to work.  She did and her high heels kicking the floor subsided, but right before she left, she had set her washing machine for another long cycle again.  Beaten, I lost consciousness.  I woke up with a lot of sweat.  Weak as I was, my survival instinct kicked in.  I managed to get up and hobbled down to the nearest grocery shop to buy some fresh orange juice.  I drank 2 litres at one sitting. 

Now what?  Complaining to Leila's landlord did not work out for Mr KIND.  Besides, it would only fuel Leila's morbid desire to prey on the vulnerable.  It was her only way of mitigating her own sense of inferiority she is subjected to by other Caucasians in her miserable life.  I had to pretend that her washing machine did not bother me so as not to encourage her further, but to do that, I had to book a hotel to get over my flu.  The hotel fees are exorbitant in Paris, mainly if you did not book in advance.  It was really unfair, but it gave me a pause and time to do some research.  Apparently, in Paris, you can call the Police if the noise persists after 22:00.  One would be liable for a fine of 90 euros each time someone called on them.  Fortunately, the washing machine's noise was included.    I went home wondering why Mr KIND. had not resorted to this mean.  

When I reached the stairs, I felt heaviness in the air.  Aura does carry weight, you know.  A pleasant person brightens up the place while those with a dark atmosphere oppresses.  My premonition turned out to be correct.  A man was standing by the window in the middle of the staircases.  He was not tall and had dark hair.  When he turned around and saw that I was a woman, his shrewd eyes broke into a condescending smile.  Then her voice was heard from above.  'Hey, that's our new neighbour I was telling you about.' Leila then turned to me, 'he is my fiancé.  We'll be living here.'  

The fiancé, I shall refer to him as such because I could not pronounce his name, the big man offered with a forced sweet voice to carry my grocery.  It contained a bottle of juice and a loaf of bread only.  Besides, I did not see him coming down the stair to get it.  Shamelessly fake who believes he can pass himself as a gentleman by a gesture of empty kindness.  Leila was observing me, evidently to see how much damage she had inflicted on me by her washing machine antics.  'How is your flu?  Feeling better?' I suppressed my anger and replied quietly.  'It was not as bad as I thought, so I've just returned from a lovely short holiday.' The disappointment in Leila's eyes was disgusting.  

I was going to call the Police should the washing continue to the later hours, but the image of Leila's fiancé was somewhat unnerving.   Besides, that night Leila did not do her washing.  Probably she had tediously done so during my absence, only to find out that she wasted her electricity for nothing because I was not there to suffer the noise.  Her high heels could be heard on my ceiling, though.  It conveyed her mood that she was irritated.  Being with her beloved one did not seem to improve her mood.  Who said that love conquers all?  Not the dark desire to harm others from the looks of it. 

Mirror that reflects your soul

The following morning her high heels left the apartment.  I was surprised to see her fiancé standing by the stairs' window in the afternoon.  I did not ask any questions, but as soon as he saw me, he started gloating on his high educational degrees back home that France should appreciate him more.  Oh, really?  Then how did he find himself living in Leila's room with no day jobs?  I would accept that to be appropriate for writers and artists only.  He went back to Leila's place and, to my surprise, started the washing machine.  Once was expected, but he repeated.  Now that is unusual in men.  My apology in advance for stereotyping, but aren't men generally pigs who hate washing?  I found it difficult to concentrate on my homework under the tedious washing machine noise, but I was further dismayed when I heard Leila's high heels come home.  Their washing machine continued until 12:00, but I could not call the Police.  Something made me hesitate.  I was only glad that it stopped and fell asleep immediately.

I was woken up by the banging on the ceiling.  It was 03:00.  The banging was repeated like 20 times.  I froze.  Then as if that had not been enough, the man started banging a piece of furniture on his floor/my ceiling.  It had to be the man because a woman could not repeatedly lift up a piece of furniture to strike it down on the floor.  My only thought was 'why?' I knew Leila was a dark character, but would a man, no matter how trash he was, go along with women's petty game?  How suited they were to each other.  And they would be sick enough to have their revenge if I ever called the Police on them.   Mr KIND, who must have seen the fiancé visit Leila, must have been alarmed too.