Bella hangs up.
I sigh as I go back to reading.
“She’s not my responsibility,” I tell myself. Only something in my gut nags me.
I glance at my phone and pick it up again, attempting to decipher the messages. I am used to deciphering children’s writing about the strangest things and words, but whatever Bella wanted to tell me, I don’t get it.
I glance at the time. It’s way after midnight.
“No, you go to bed,” I tell myself and leave for the bathroom.While I brush my teeth, images invade my mind, mostly starring Bella dying from choking on her own vomit. It almost happened once, something I do not wish to repeat. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happens to her, while I knew she was wasted. Maybe she meant that ‘you should come’ because she needed help?
I grab my phone and call her again, but she’s not answering, so I write her a message.
Coming to get you
I check the location she has sent me before; it’s a private address, as far as I can see from the maps, over an hour from here, Belgrave Road. I don’t have a car, don’t need one, don’t have a license, and I’m also a huge fan of public transport.
Not right now, though, so I call a Bolt and groan. Because that’s just the thing I like to do on my peaceful Friday night.
I try calling her again.
Nothing. So I grab my coat and put on my shoes.
When I finally reach the address forty minutes later, I can hear the music all the way outside. I walk between the very expensive-looking white houses, and ring the bell on one of the white Georgian ones, where the location shows Bella. I’m not sure if anyone might hear it anyway.
I am amazed by the neighbours' endurance. If my neighbours threw a party like that at that hour, I’d call an officer.
I wait. Nothing happens.
I bang on the door, ring the bell again, try calling Bella again, but nothing.
“Good luck with that,” calls a neighbour, an older man, maybe in his late sixties, sticking his head out of the window.
“Why is that, Sir?” I ask.
“We tried that thrice already, the noise officer came, but nobody opened, it’s the third time this month.”
“A friend of mine is in there,” I say. “I need to get her out.”
“Is she in danger?” asks the man
“She was very, very drunk.”
“Sounds something the police should take care of,” he says, andI understand where he’s going. I also know Bella will kill me if I involve the police.
I ring the bell like fifteen times again.
I wait.
Nothing happens.
I sigh again as I unlock my phone and call the non-emergency line.
I explain about the loud music, and that no one opens, that my friend is so drunk she can’t even text or speak, and that was an hour ago.
I am told they’re sending someone.
I wait. The neighbour asks me if I want a tea or a cookie, which is actually sweet, but I say no thanks.
