Monday nights were never very extravagant. You worked open to close with your dad at his small corner shop around the block from your apartment. You helped sell produce to suburban moms and flowers to older men still keeping romance alive with their wives of forty or fifty years. It's not much, but you enjoyed it. It kept you busy. And, every time you closed, your dad took you out for dinner, one of the pizza joints still open. Afterward, he always took you home and after changing into something comfortable, you sat writing or watching tv.

Simple. Happy. Content.

That's what your life is now and you love it the way it is. You learned a long time ago to just be happy with what you're given and make the best out of any situation. It might get a little annoying to be so optimistic but being pessimistic doesn't get anyone anywhere. However, this Monday night would be making you question your optimism.

Yelling and groaning pulled your attention from your TV. It was just one person and it sounded like they were trying to kick their own door down. Your floor was relatively quiet besides one person. You never spoke to him. He was the only one on the floor you didn't actually have a single conversation with despite him living right next door for over a year. But, you heard plenty from him thanks to the thin walls and his nightly escapades.

You did, however, run into him a few times. He always looked a mess. His air disheveled and eyes sunken in. Sometimes he could barely walk straight. Basically, the definition of a walking disaster so you minded your business but now you can still hear him groaning. You're too nice to let him suffer out there alone.

You get up, sliding on your shoes by the door and head into the hall. Sure enough, he's sitting on the floor with the back of his head resting against his door. His legs are extended in front of him and just as you were walking up, the neighbor on his other side opened their door.

"Uh, hey. Mrs. Kowalski." You give the older woman a wave as you continue to walk up to Tom.

"I'm calling the landlord in the morning." She scolds.

"Yeah? Fuck do I care?" Tom pipes up, barely even moving his head to look at the elderly woman.

"All you've been is a no good,-"

"Mrs. Kowalski, I'm gonna take him, uh, please don't call the landlord." You try and reason with her. "Just one more chance, please."

She glances between you and Tom, her stare not softening. "I didn't know you were friends." Her eyes narrow.

"I don't even know her." Tom chuckles as he glances to you.

"He's drunk, very, very drunk." You say through gritted teeth as you stare down to Tom. "I'll talk to him and make sure he's quiet. Just please, we just got in some more tomatoes at the shop and they're probably best all season. I'll get you a good discount."

Mrs. Kowalski looks down to Tom and her faces softens when she looks back to you. "One more chance." She says before going back inside.

"Get up." You stick out your hand to Tom.

"Leave me alone." Tom mumbles slapping your hand away.

"You're drunk. Get up." You keep your voice level.

"Just..." Tom sighs. "Sleep."

"You can't sleep in the hallway." You squat beside him.

"I can't get inside." He laughs with the slurred words.

You roll your eyes and shake your head, mentally cursing yourself for getting up in the first place. "Give me your key."

"No, you'll rob me."

"Yeah, because that's what I'm going to do at two in the damn morning. Rob the obnoxious alcoholic neighbor. Drunk logic. I'm gonna open your door for you."

"No."

You stare at him while the scent of the floor of a bar fills your nose. He smells horrible and he has a terrible attitude, even if he's plastered. You can't wrap your head around what could possibly be so much fun about getting so wasted you can't even get your door open. Why does he do this? And why didn't you just stay inside instead of getting involved? You know he's going to be an ungrateful prick when he's sober so why bother helping him? He's an ass now, he'll be an ass later. From what you've heard from your neighbors, Tom is nothing but impolite to everyone. So, why are you even trying? Oh, right, because it would haunt your conscience.

"Come on." You grab his arm and put it around your neck. "You're heavy so help." Tom obliges and smirks at you once you've gotten him on his feet. "I'll hit you if you even think about anything." You roll your eyes and walk him to your apartment.

"I usually bring-"

"You're going to sit in the bathroom until you're sober enough to open your door." You cut him off as you walk him to the bathroom. He doesn't protest, instead, he takes his seat on the tiled floor in front of the toilet and leans his back against your bathtub. "Holler if you need anything." You say as you go to walk out but Tom's hand catches your wrist.

"You're gonna leave me alone?" Tom pouts through a hiccup.

"Well, yes." You nod and smile, pulling your wrist away from him. "I'll bring you water."

"Whatever." He mumbles and closes his eyes. You raise a brow, crossing your arms. "Oh, spinning." His eyes shoot open.

"Yeah, I'll be back later. You puke on the floor, you clean it."

"I'm fine." Tom says.

"Okay." You widen your eyes quickly and turn on your heels to leave him be.

You head to your kitchen and grab him a bottle of water. It's such a dumb decision and you know that. But, there's something inside of you that is telling you to look out for him this night. To make sure no one calls the landlord again. If they get called again, Tom gets evicted. You're not sure why you feel this need to, almost, protect him from the consequences of his destructive actions but you do.

You walk back into the bathroom and as you were going to give Tom his water bottle, his face went pale and you knew. Tom was leaning over the toilet, throwing up as you winced in disgust but moved to him and rubbed his back until he was done.

"You okay?" You ask as he flushes the toilet.

"Mhm." He hums.

"Here." You hand him the water and he takes it from you, opening it and taking a drink.

"Thanks." He mumbles, his eyes a bit bloodshot and watered.

"Yep." You nod. "Wellp, I'll be out there so-"

"You know," Tom cuts you off. "Everyone is shitty."

"What?" You furrow your brows and watch as he gestures a lazy hand out before more slurred words leave his mouth.

"Everyone. They're shit. They expect shit from you and if you don't-" He stops and for a second you think he's ready to start throwing up again but then realize, he just lost his train of thought. "I don't need anyone. I need that fuckin' job."

"Right...so, I'm gonna leave you-"

"And," Tom cuts you off once more.

You sigh and take a seat, leaning against the wall while he talks. Most of the words leaving his mouth don't make much sense. The words are either too slurred or the sentence itself is a complete mess to the point you're pretty sure he's not actually speaking English. But, you listen. You listen to him complain. And complain. And complain.

Two hours of complaining went by and he'd thrown up twice and you were ready to rip your hair out. How anyone be so negative? He was telling you all sorts of things that were wrong with the world and people and his friend and his family but none of it seemed so bad from your end. At least, the parts you could actually make out. In fact, it sounded more like he brought it upon himself. But, you just sat and listened. Sat and listened until his talking started to slow and his eyes became droopy. A few more minutes and he was completely out.

A sigh of relief fell from your lips as you got up from the floor and left Tom to sleep off his drunken state, not before bringing him a throw blanket and putting it over him, though. It's after five in the morning and you have a few options. You could try and sleep for two hours and then go to work, stay up and go to work on no sleep, or you could call your dad and go in late after you get some sleep and make sure Tom is out of your apartment. Only one of those seems to be a good decision but today isn't a night for good decisions.

You choose twenty-minute naps to be sure you don't miss Tom when he wakes up. You sleep in your living room, TV playing softly while your phone goes off right on time. Every single time. Those power naps are only helpful if you've actually slept, not if you're trying to get out of sleeping a full night's rest. Nonetheless, you suck it up. You call your dad when you know he's awake and explain you were just extra tired and needed more sleep. No problem.

It's around eleven when you've decided ten power naps were enough and you needed something in your system. But, just as you were grabbing a bowl for your cereal, Tom was walking down your hallway, into where your kitchen and front door are, his hand rubbing his head.

"Morning." You chime, a smile wide and he nearly jumps completely out of his skin.

"Bloody hell. What the fuck?" His hand moves to his chest with the scare.

"You're a ray of sunshine." You giggle sarcastically as you rest your bowl on the table, staring at Tom.

"Uh," He looks you over and swallows hard. "This doesn't normally happen. I'm the one bringing girls home." Tom runs a hand through his hair.

"What do you think happened? You woke up in my bathroom."

"Yeah," He shrugs. "I just, I thought ya know," He smirks as his eyes look you up and down.

"Gross." You grimace. "No. You were plastered and couldn't open your door. You were being loud and obnoxious and your drunk ass thought I was going to rob you if you let me help you inside your own apartment."

Tom's eyes look to your ceiling as if he were trying to piece your story together.

He was right. He never, ever ended up at a girl's place. It was a rule of his. If he went with them, they'd likely be clingy and annoying so he always brought them back to his place. This also allowed him to kick them out whenever he wanted, whether that be in the morning or right after he was finished. It didn't matter. But, then he woke up on your cold tile floor, confused and slightly disoriented.

"So, where am I?"

"You have no idea who I am, do you?" Your voice is soft and etched in bits of disappointment and disbelief.

"Should I?" Tom's question isn't out of confusion or curiosity, it's arrogant.

"We've been neighbors over a year."

"Oh." Tom says but that still doesn't seem to click. "Well, I'm off then."

"You need a job." You get your box of cereal as the words come out almost sing-song.

Tom stops his hand from grabbing your doorknob and his eyes darken with annoyance. "What?"

"Mhm. You're talkative when you're drunk. You lost your job. I saved you from getting evicted last night and I can stop you from getting evicted at the end of the month."

"Why?" Tom eyes you with suspicion.

"Because." You shrug. "The produce and flower shop around the block, Monroe's, come there around five today and I'll get you a job."

"I'm good." Tom scoffs and opens your door.

"Alright, I'll see you when the landlord is kicking you out because you don't have money."

"I don't need handouts." Tom mumbles, his back now to you.

"Seem to be pretty okay with taking from, Harrison? That's his name, right?" Tom stops dead in his tracks with your words.

"The hell did you say?" He looks over his shoulder, his lips in a straight line showing his anger.

"You talk a lot when you're drunk." Your words aren't condescending but rather, filled with pity.

"Fuck off." Tom groans but he stays standing in your doorway.

"I'll see you later today. Take a shower first."

Tom glares at you while you're holding a soft smile. He shakes his head before leaving, slamming your door shut on his way out.

This was a choice you made. Offer him a job. He's an ass, an arrogant ass at that, but there's something about him. There's something that makes you pity him. Tom is unhappy and he's angry at everyone and the entire world, at least, that's what he seemed to be earlier that morning. So, you offer him this job to try and help him. There's no reason for it. You have every right to let him do him but, sometimes, people need a break. Not a break from people they know, but from someone just being nice. You're that person to give him a break.

People are given choices. These choices affect more than themselves. A butterfly effect. But, with that, you can make these choices or let these choices make you. It's all about choices and responsibility.