Maybe Not

That's why I'll never kill anyone, because I can't live with that sound forever. I can't even live with it for five seconds. I reach out and turn off the alarm, afraid of another working day. I hate that I have to continue this shitty barista job just to pay for my studies. At least Ridge lets my sporadic rent checks slide in exchange for me running his band. It's working so far, but God, I hate mornings. I stretch out my arms, put my hands to my eyes and start wiping the sleep out of them. When my fingers meet my eyes, for a split second I think maybe my worst fears have come true and I'm actually burning in hell because SHIT! Fucker! I'm going to kill him!— The ridge! I'm screaming. Oh my god It's burning. I get up and try to open my eyes, but they sting too much for them to be of any use. This is the oldest joke in the book, and I can't believe I fell for it. Again. I can't find my shorts—God, it hurts so much—so I stumble my way to the bathroom to wash the pepper juice off my eyes and hands. I find the doorknob and, opening the door, rush straight to the sink. I'm pretty sure I hear a girl screaming, but it could have been my scream. I put my hands under a stream of water and bring them to my eyes, rinse them again and again until the burn begins to subside. As soon as my eyes start to feel relieved, my shoulder starts to hurt from the repeated blows inflicted on it. — Get out, you pervert!
Now I'm awake enough to know that I actually heard a girl screaming, and now this girl is hitting me. In my bathroom. I grab a hand towel and press it to my eyes, covering her blows with my elbow. "I peed, you sick bastard! Get out!"