Return of the Killer Roommate

The night passes like a train you’re not sure you should catch. He enters because he still has a key. I should have changed the lock. There are people with him, witnesses. Good. I hear he’s not mad at me. No one is ever mad at me, but he does want to kill me. "Nothing personal" he says. "I just like being the one in charge". He moves into the apartment and I wonder how much it would hurt to jump from my window. Last time I saw him he was being taken away by the police. I called the police. He could have killed someone then, and I didn’t want it to be me. He goes straight for my room, of course. He kicks the door open and sees me immediately. I am armed with a cell phone and a clear conscience. He’s got a knife. "Hello there old friend," he says "How you been?" I don’t respond because he knows how I’ve been. "I brought some people, I hope that’s ok?" I think about shattering the window and using some of the broken glass to protect myself. All offense is labeled "defense". "Get the hell out of my house" I yell. He smiles and moves closer. His friends are chattering outside. I hear one of them talk about how crappy the foundation is. "You almost killed me," I say "you aren’t my roommate anymore". He asks me what ever happened to my nice-ness. "You blew it when you tried to hot-box the house" I say. He’d spread weed throughout the entire living room floor, and lit it up. The amount of weed alone could have put him in jail for years, but he got so stoned that day that he didn’t notice when he broke the lock on the front door and walked to the park. When the fire department arrived I was able to convince them that someone broke into our apartment and caused this mischief. He laughs. I push him lightly and he falls easily. He was hoping I could let him use the apartment for an impromptu after-party. The knife he carries is meant to cut a cake one of his friends is holding. I believe he stole it from the supermarket because he’s done that before. He realizes I’m not in the mood to party. He decides to crash a different place. Ours is not your regular friendship. He’d have to be mad to murder our relationship, and tonight he was just drunk and high. Our war is usually without casualties, but there is a wound. He killed another part of my perspective, and that means he won.