[ WP ] The walls of your house start talking to you and they wo n't shut up about embarassing moments in your life .

“ Listen, I have people coming over today, and I ’ d really appreciate if you were on your best behavior. ” 
 
 Martin stood in front of his couch, staring at the egg-shell white wall behind it. No response was given to him, only the sound of a spinning corner fan filled the room. 
 
 “ Don ’ t shut up now of all times. Can you please just do this for me? ” 
 
 “ Is it a girl? ” A squeaky voice returned after a moment ’ s consideration. 
 
 “ No, it ’ s not a girl. It ’ s a bunch of people from work. One of my supervisors is going to be here and I ’ m up for a raise soon, so please don ’ t screw this up for me. ” 
 
 “ It ’ s a good thing it ’ s not a girl. You remember what happened last time, don ’ t you? ” 
 
 “ Of course, ” Martin groaned, and rolled his eyes. Even if he had forgot, he knew a reminder would be given any time a female was mentioned. 
 
 “ Because you clogged the toilet, Martin. Spent twenty minutes trying to fix it. She knew. She could tell by the smell. ” 
 
 “ I said I remembered. ” 
 
 “ Just wanted to make sure. That ’ s what friends are for! ” 
 
 “ Just promise you won ’ t relay any of your stories tonight. Don ’ t say anything at all. I really can ’ t explain to them how or why my walls like to join in on the conversation. ” 
 
 A long hmm echoed out from the kitchen. “ What ’ s in it for me? ” Came after a minute of internal deliberation. 
 
 Martin sighed. “ What ’ s your price? ” 
 
 “ No more hanging things. Hurts like hell. ” 
 
 “ Done. Deal. I have your word? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Martin. ” 
 
 “ Alright, thanks. ” 
 
 Martin spent the rest of the day in peace, getting ready for his guests. He made sure he was shaved, his hair crafted so it sat at the perfect angle on his head, the apartment cleaned to a professional degree. With 5pm nearing, he knew the guests would start knocking on his door any minute. An anxiety began to bubble with nothing left to fiddle with, no tasks to keep his hands or mind busy. All he could think about was the walls, and their ability to destroy any half-decent day. 
 
 When the doorbell rang at 5:06pm, he muttered ‘ please ’ under his breath prior to answering. There was no reply, he took it as a good sign. 
 
 After the first, a lady from accounting called Sharon, the guests began to pour in. He shepherded them out to the patio where the grilling would take place, far enough from the walls to give himself an extra layer of protection from the abuse. People surrounded him as he cooked, chatting and cracking jokes. No little groups had formed, no people gossiping between themselves in the corner. An all inclusive group had formed, jovial, and dying to eat. 
 
 “ Where ’ s your bathroom? ” Martin heard from his right, a small, balding man by the name of Jon. Martin only knew him in passing, one of the quieter people at the office, always seemingly as anxious outwardly as Martin was internally. 
 
 “ Hall by the front door, door on the left, ” Martin said as he checked on sausages. Despite knowing people had been coming and going the entire time, it was the first instance that Martin felt the regret of people coming over, certain that the wall would have something smarmy to say while Jon was relieving himself. 
 
 Martin ’ s eyes checked over his shoulder every couple of seconds, waiting to see Jon burst back outside either in anger, embarrassment, or confusion. A minute later, he saw him waddle through the living room, back out onto the patio, and continue conversation as if nothing had happened. It was another hurdle cleared. Maybe for once the wall would keep his word. 
 
 As they all gathered plates, sat down, and began stuffing their faces, compliments were hurtled Martin ’ s way. He couldn ’ t help but beam hearing positive words about himself inside his own apartment for the first time in months. Everyone stood or sat with their hands around their waistline after, attempting to relieve some of the pressure their expanding gut was creating on their pants. The party would be winding down sooner rather than later, once people had the energy to move and drive home. 
 
 “ Martin, can I have a word? ” It came from behind him. As he turned, he saw Lyle, his supervisor standing one step too close to his back. 
 
 “ Sure, sure. ” 
 
 Lyle nodded toward the sliding glass door, and began to walk. 
 
 It may have been the full stomach, or the confidence gained by not a single misstep, but Martin didn ’ t entertain the idea of staying outside to talk, following Lyle every step until they stood in the kitchen. 
 
 Lyle had leaned himself against the corner of the counters, leaving Martin to stand in the center of the room. “ You know, you ’ ve really impressed here today. Didn ’ t know you had it in you to put on such a well ran get together. ” 
 
 “ Thank you. ” 
 
 “ I ’ m not sure if you ’ re aware but Mary will be leaving soon, her spots going to be open. Your name has been thrown around. Would you be interested? ” 
 
 “ Absolutely! ” Martin couldn ’ t contain the excitement, losing the professional mystique typically required in such situations. He had been gunning for an 8 % increase in salary, a new position would mean much more than that. Enough for a better car, hell, maybe even a nicer place. 
 
 He was not the only one to see the implications. 
 
 “ Would he get an office? Could knock one out in there as opposed to pulling it out the second he got home. ” 
 
 Martin ’ s face dropped. 
 
 “ Excuse me? ” Lyle asked, unsure what he just heard. 
 
 “ Uhh… ” the stall for time lasted longer than any natural response. “ What? ” 
 
 Lyle checked over his shoulder, making sure no one else was in the living room that could ’ ve made the remark. “ Do you have a roommate? ” 
 
 “ Nope. No, sir. Why? ” Martin did his best impression of innocence. 
 
 “ Trust me, no one would want to live with this stinky twat. Know how many times a day he farts and has to check to make sure he hasn ’ t shit himself? ” 
 
 “ Martin, wh- ” 
 
 There ’ s no time to be given an answer, Martin storms out of the kitchen, and into the spare bedroom. With the march of a scorned lover, he stomps into the living room. Tools in hand. “ I ’ ve fucking had it! ” He screams loud enough to turn all heads on the patio as he begins hammering holes into the wall. 
 
 It doesn ’ t take the party much time to disperse, thirty seconds and eleven holes is all it takes to end, each blow accompanied by a small ‘ ow ’. 
 
 By the time he ’ s done, there ’ s a collection of holes in every room in the house. His once crisp, ironed shirt is drenched with sweat and wrinkled. Martin collapses, out of breath, against the side of his bed. 
 
 “ Finally, some fucking quiet, ” he pants. 
 
 Three minutes pass, Martin ’ s eyes close as his breathing returns to normal. 
 
 “ Don ’ t think you ’ ll get the promotion now, ” a weakened chuckle comes from his closet. “ I ’ ll be reminding you of this for a while. ”
