Rattling. I hear rattling of the crockery.
'Don't do that.' I warn, my eyes still groggy.

'What, mate? You gonna do these dishes? Come on in.' My roommate takes a step away from the sink, challenging me with his eyebrow raised.

Turning my face away, mumbling a 'sorry' only I could hear, I drop myself on the sofa, my head in my hands.

Some more rattling, and water gushing angrily. I massage my temples.

'Hey man, you okay?' My roommate stands before me, wiping his hands with a towel.

'Bad memories.' I say, leaning my head back.

'Go to therapy.' He replies. The only thing he ever says. Bad dream? Go to therapy. Can't sleep? Go to therapy. Sad, worried, over thinking? Go to therapy. The only thing he learnt in the Mental Illnesses Awareness week.

I laugh a little. 'Okay, wanna talk about it?' Oh yes, the second thing he learnt.

I take a breath in, and say stoically.
'Reminds me of my mom back home, she'd do that after every argument with dad. One day, dad got angry, broke a few plates, more arguments. Followed by their divorce a week later.' 

I push my hair back from my forehead, turning to look at the silent guy with his mouth slightly open. He quickly closes it, and gulps.

'So, would you break the plates and storm off the next time I do dishes loudly?' He looks serious, then breaks out laughing.

I kick at his shin and he slaps my shoulder, 'Come on, let's get you a nice breakfast.' He stands up.

This idiot doesn't know anything but the two things he learnt actually came handy. I shake my head.
'Wait up!' I jog after him.