Chapter Text
Thump.
The sound resonated throughout my apartment, the place where I was seemingly attempting to sleep. It was already hard enough with the temperature somehow still freezing even though it was set to seventy-eight. Not to mention the leaky pipe that had unfortunately gotten the better of me the past week which I had spent the better part of the day trying to fix. My back would definitely be aching through rounds the next few weeks.
Thump.
That’s it. Work started at eight the next morning, I didn’t have time for this. I swung my ratty but well-loved blanket around my shoulders, checked the time once more on my too-bright phone, and decided to visit the grumpy neighbor I knew had to be at the bottom of this. At least, he seemed like a grumpy guy. I think his name was Francis or Ford or something. He mainly kept to himself, wasn’t involved in any of the apartment floor parties, and always had a scowl plastered on his face. A handsome one, but still a scowl. I always figured anyone had goodness in their heart–if you looked hard enough, but this guy clearly had issues.
The door creaked as it opened, and I peered out into the dark and strangely ominous hallway. I navigated my way, albeit slowly, to apartment 217. I raised my hand to knock, but the door swung wide open before I could.
“I told you–stop coming to my door–” he looked down before he could finish his sentence. “Who in the hell are you?”
I froze–surely I was braindead. This guy looked a mess. Bruises formed a mask around his eyes, and I was pretty sure there was blood coming from one too many places on his body. I couldn’t tell if his nose was broken or already had been. “Uh–I…–sir, I would really appreciate it if you kept the noise down as some of us have an eight hour shift at a hospital tomorrow.”
He raised an eyebrow, then proceeded to wince as it aggravated some cut he had. “Well, some of us had a pretty rough day at work already. Life ain’t all about you, doll,” He cut out sharply.
Okay, rude! I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Two can play at this game. “It doesn’t hurt to pay mind to others and be kind, doll. What could you possibly do at one in the morning sounding like it’s your personal mission to bump into every piece of furniture in your apartment anyway?”
“It ain’t none of your business.” I could tell he was physically refraining from rubbing his hand along the back of his neck sheepishly, but he soon returned his look of a statuesque frown to his face.
I sighed. “Along with the obvious question of why you look like you did hit every piece of furniture?"
A scoff and the slam of the door were my response.
“Well gee, thanks, Francis!” I shouted so as he would hear me. The hallway was chillier than my apartment, and I rushed back to it happily. The bed comforted me as I laid back in it, drained. The conversation replayed itself in my mind.
How fortunate was it for that guy that he could look so hot while so dirty and injured? It suddenly occurred to me how I looked. I didn’t need a mirror in front of me to tell me what I already knew: rumpled clothes, wild auburn hair, and eye bags that could match the bruises on Francis’ face. I shuddered. I forcefully tried to focus on actually getting a few hours of sleep. It seemed Francis had listened to me, however begrudgingly; the noises had gone silent and a peaceful quiet had overtaken the room. I smiled softly and closed my eyes.
***
The blood had yet to wash out of the twenty dollar rug I had bought not two weeks ago at some run down garage sale. Neither had it come out of the vest either. I sighed. I really needed to stop bleeding everywhere. Tonight was really shaping up to be a bad night.
First, the intel I received by beating the living daylights out of one of the lackeys of a notorious gang roaming in the Theater District proved to be faulty–the dislocated shoulder was proof of that.
Secondly, some pathetic guy came and pounded on my door–already adding to the growing migraine that I was trying to ignore–and proceeded to yell about how I had ruined his entire family or something like that. I blinked slowly. I was pretty sure he got the wrong guy, obviously my identity hadn’t been leaked with how thorough I’d been lately. I zoned out somewhere when he started talking about killing. He couldn’t have even known I was the Punisher. How come Matt couldn’t get this crap from civilians randomly blaming him for stuff? I didn’t really care to think about how he had found me, but from the looks of him, I didn’t have much to worry about. A muttered apology and a slammed door to the face had shut him up pretty quick.
Then there was her. I knew her name from overhearing the neighbors talk about what a joy she is–Cassandra Neilsen. She was already going to be a pain in the backside anyway, as much as I could tell from our argument at the door of my apartment. Who tells their neighbor to “quiet down” at one in the morning anyway? If she had just kept to herself I would’ve been dead asleep within the hour–something I was still planning to do. Just after I cleared any remaining evidence of what I had returned from previously in the evening.
I felt a smirk grow on my face, recalling her calling me Francis as I resumed scrubbing the rug vigorously. She was definitely a show of character, no matter how annoying she may be. Regardless, I still hoped she wouldn’t have to come barging down my door again anytime soon. It was already enough dealing with the Punisher work at night, and working the security guard shifts at the local mall during the day to pay the bills. I cursed under my breath as I remember the severe lack of food and beer in the fridge. I’d already used the last of my medical supplies for tonight, so I’d have to get more of that, too. The people out here doing the good work–ridding the city of the scum of the earth–got to be paid for this load of crap. I cursed again and threw the washcloth on top of the stubborn blood stain, and collapsed onto the creaky mattress situated in the corner of the room. Everything was going to ache like hell tomorrow.