That party.

Her other neighbors — such kind, helpful beings — had warned her in advance, but had failed to elaborate on that one word that they had used: party.

To say that she was completely, utterly livid at the moment would have been an understatement. With her own interpretation of the specific celebration, Cat had decided to stick it out in the apartment instead of acquiescing to another one of her friend’s sleepover invitation.

Compared to having her eyes seared by a horrifying tint of hot pink, surviving the night in her own apartment while the housewarming party took place next door had seemed like a less gruesome ordeal.

But now — as the left wall of her bedroom vibrated with the blasting music and the drunken shrieking — Cat had no idea what she feared more: the complete deterioration of her wall or the possibility of drowning to her death within the overpowering mixture of Chanel No. 5 and nail polish remover.

Beyond enraged, Cat buried herself into her mountain of pillows and blankets, only to crawl back out after momentary suffocation. Not only did the mound do a poor job of silencing the dreadfully ear-piercing volume of the party, but it also took up more space than she expected it to.

Just utterly perfect.

As tentative and reticent as she was, Cat decided that suffering in silence without taking a stand was a type of injustice.

Yes, she thought with inexplicable confidence and adamant passion. This time, she would do something about her years’ worth of bottled discontent.

With determination unknown to her before, the college girl stood abruptly from her bed and grabbed a hold of a….baseball bat? Cat only allowed herself a moment of hesitant query — was she being brave or insane? — before she shrugged it off carelessly. It was highly improbable that any of the housewarming guests would notice her presence anyway unless she knocked hard enough to dent the door.

Oh, yes, she thought with a malevolent sort of relish. What a dent she shall make with the aid of her beloved baseball bat.

With adrenaline and insanity throbbing through her veins, Cat started excitedly from her pillow-and-blanket mound, only to collapse onto the floor. As she had feared, the paper-thin walls crumbled, drowning her in a wave of uncontrolled rock n’ roll and the stench of alcohol.

Perhaps her demise — through nail-polish suffocation or otherwise — was inevitable.

A collective gasp of utter shock was enough to finally muffle the blaring speakers. The skimpily dressed girl let out a shriek before dashing off into the crowd, leaving the half-undressed, gray-eyed boy sprawled upon her floor.

This was definitely the last straw.

Her eyebrow twitching madly, Cat marched towards the music-producing device, bestowing the gray-eyed boy an emphasized stomp for good measure. With as much strength and rage as she could muster, Cat raised the baseball bat and let it swing upon the embodiment of evil.

The only thing signifying the end of its life was its collision against the floor.

Rest in peace, devilish incarnation, she thought. Turning to the gray-eyed boy who gaped at her, she smiled sweetly, terribly, before opening her mouth for the first time in years.

“Would you like to be my next victim, you inconsiderate bastard?”