7 it was cold that night

I got out of bed. It was bloody June but for the last 5 days the temperature didn't raise over 15 degrees - the Brits wouldn't know what summer is to save their lives. On top of it being cold it was raining like a mother', on top of it being wet the wind was blowing like hell.
I wasn't in my room, nor in my bed. I isolate myself when I read. I used to lock myself in until dear old  daddy went ballistics and even my mother started asking herself where I was. Of curse that's now on the list of "luxuries I used to have".
Luckily for me the boys were away and neither of them locked the room. I don't mind a mess, nor filth for that matter as long as it doesn't smell too bad and I can find a place to put my book and lie down. Their room just about had that.
I'm not saying mine was a lot better but I really couldn't deal with my roommate when reading. I already thought I was doing her a huge favor that required a supernatural effort on my behalf for having to get up in about 5 five hours and wake her up for her exam.I at least owed her that much.
I didn't feel tired and I could have easily not have gone to bed at all but I most certainly could not have kept myself occupied for that long.
I started folding a cigarette thinking if it was too late for coffee. It most certainly was, even for me, but I went and made myself one anyway.
It was long past three in the morning: my roommate was munching , making that noise I hate with disgust ever since I can remember and blowing away every little thought I might have had about sleeping in my own bed and somebody was taking a shower. I often say somebody when I really don't want to mane a moron. I knew exactly who it was but I didn't feel like having any thoughts about it at long passed 3 in the morning.
I finished my coffee and went to supposedly check on my roommate for the last time and send her to bed. She was still munching so I just said good night and fucked off.
Truth is, I was still mad...and I couldn't help being mad.
I started asking myself what I really wanted as if a precise answer would make me feel better. It's a habit of mine, I still do it today. I got stuck with it from back in the days when finding out what I wanted mattered and changed things...and helped. So I answered myself: I wanted to hear that voice that wasn't familiar and that I never even hear properly. I wanted to listen to that voice, hear it and feel less lonely.
Of course that answer didn't make me feel any better. It was really the reason I was mad.
What people don't understand is that when I'm mad, it's not them I'm mad at it's myself. And I'm only mad at myself because I care, and caring only gets me mad when it becomes and investment: like investing in a business that fails miserably - that's how I feel when I'm mad. That's what I want him to care, so that I feel like the business is working, prospering even and that I'm not that alone... and that's what makes me a woman.
I decided to go to sleep thinking that it was so cold that my nail varnish was coming off.