My true horror of battling a psychopath in Paris- Part 5

My complete profile, if it was ever disclosed, 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’.


Fate—a factor you cannot overuse in fiction lest the plot becomes unrealistically convenient.  Thus the characters have to take matters into their hands.  The readers cheer on while fully aware that it does not happen in real life.  As this is my true story, I could only wait for the universe to intervene.  I could not even move out of the apartment because the agent would want to know the reason for breaking the contract.  If I told them, they would contact the landlord of Leila, and that would tick off her fiancé.  Thus, I had no choice but to rely on a sound masking application that softens the onslaught of the washing machine and her relentless high-heel strikes on the floor without carpets. 

Then one night, a blast of disco music blocked out every sound in the world.  It was coming from a bar nearby whose manager had no respect for the thin walls of the historic buildings.  The drumming beat continued to hit me until 03:00 in the morning.  It must have annoyed Leila and her fiancé too, for even they left to stay elsewhere, and I was also packing for a short trip too.  Unlike Leila, I had no relatives in the continent, so I had to wait till a room became vacant on Airbnb.  Hotels in Paris during the holiday season are too expensive! 

Then on the fourth noisy night, there was a tap on my door.  I jumped out of my skin but realized the tap was soft.  So I opened the door and saw a demure-looking French girl.  She wanted to borrow my hairdryer because Leila had sub-rented out her apartment without telling her about the noise from the bar.  They had no problems nor scruples about taking money from this French girl who would suffer the noise in their place.  They took their dryer with them, so this poor girl was left without one in a cold winter Paris.  I let her use my hairdryer, and before I left for my escape trip, I asked an elderly lady resident in the building to rent her a hairdryer during my absence.  I had to take mine with me, for I was staying at Airbnb, not a hotel.  

Once in Wien, Austria, I caught up with my much-needed sleep and as I regained my strength, I assessed the situation.  The bar nearby should not be much problem as the owner-residents in the building would surely complain of the bar music once they are back from the Christmas holidays.  So it was back to those two anti-socials upstairs.   Perhaps I could notify the police about them and stay away from Paris for a while, but not only would it have cost me unnecessary expenses, staying away from Paris for someone other than Parisians seemed like a futile defeat.   

Leila was from a country that held a long grudge against France, but she still craved acceptance by the French.  With that denied, she seemed determined to defy anything French, including the French regulations.  She was determined to establish superiority over me, the Asian by any means.  However…something told me the things were going to be all right as I listened to the God-sent voice of angels by the Vienna Boys’ Choir.

Mirror that reflects your soul

In January, I returned to my apartment.  As I climbed up the stairs, I noticed the air was light.  I said this before, but people’s negative aura carries an actual weight.  The old lady to whom I asked to look after the French girl who stayed in Leila’s apartment passed by and wished me Bonne Année with the news that Leila and her fiancé had left.  Or rather gotten kicked out by their landlord.   It turned out that this building had a strict regulation against the tenants sub-renting out to tourists without the landlords' permission.  The old lady neighbour, notified by me about the breach, promptly informed Leila’s landlord, who immediately kicked Leila out.   This was not my intention, for I did not know the rule.  I just felt sorry for the French girl and did not want her to be miserable and WET without a hairdryer and human contact during her holiday in Paris. 

Was it kindness that saved me?  Maybe a little, but fate may have intervened through the misdemeanour of the bar next door to which Leila and her fiancé responded with greed.  They thought to extract some cash from tourists while escaping the party noise; however, the plan backfired.  I could not touch those two anti-social psychopaths, but their own greed could.  I sat down and cried from relief.  

Nevertheless, this is Paris.  It would not end without one more twist.