Hate Thy Neighbor

by S. M. Soto

  He sobers for a beat, toying with the disfigured wrapper from his straw. His gaze darts to the iPhone he still hasn’t unclasped from his hand.

  “You ever think about Mom anymore? Wonder if she’s okay?”

  I freeze, my entire body turning rigid. Straightening on the bench, I rake a hand through my hair, studying my little brother, my response on the tip of my tongue. I want to say the truth—fuck no, I don’t think about that woman in that sense. Sure, I’ll think about her and curse her for fucking us over, but do I worry if she’s okay? Do I care what she’s currently doing in her life? The simple answer is no. I couldn’t really fucking care less what Allison is doing with her life. She could burn in hell for all I care. Yet, as much as I want to say all that to Ryder, I don’t. It’s obvious he’s asking for a reason, and whatever it may be, I don’t want him to feel alone.

  “Sometimes. What makes you ask?”

  He shrugs. “Guess I just wondered if she ever misses us, you know? If she regrets the choices she made in life. Maybe things would be different for us.”

  A rage so deep and hot boils in my gut, threatening to spill over, as I think about our piece of shit mother. As much as I want to believe our mother feels some type of remorse for her decisions, I know, deep down, that she doesn’t care. She’s probably still out living like white trash and getting high on the daily. No, I’d say Ryder and I are the furthest thoughts from her mind.

  “I promise you, Ryder, I’m doing everything I can to get you back. We’re going to be a family again, you understand me?”

  My little brother smiles, and my heart shatters when I realize it doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s there merely to please me, to make me feel better. “I know,” he lies.

  I suck in a sharp inhale, that much more determined to keep my word.

  When I drop him back off at the shithole and remind him to call me every night on his new phone, I head back home, but not before dialing his caseworker.

  I’m done waiting around for this shit. My little brother is coming home, and this time, I’m not taking no for an answer.

  After my call with the caseworker and the lawyer she recommended to help me, I decide to go for a run to help clear my head. It’s rare I have two days off in a row, and it’s rare I find myself wanting to run. I usually hit the gym and lift weights, as a means of working out and staying fit, but whenever I need to let off steam, running is the only thing that does it for me. When you’re so out of breath, heart pounding, lungs screaming to breathe in air, that’s when you have nothing else on your mind and can finally think clearly.

  Before that, I tried working on the car in the garage, like I usually do. That one is my passion project, the car I’ll keep for myself when the time is right. I always knew I’d give Ryder the Camaro, but this one? It’s mine, and usually, it’s enough to get my mind off life and other things bothering me, but not today. With my bandana still wrapped around my head, keeping the stray curls out of my face, and my skin sticky with sweat, I pump my arms, pushing past the lactic acid building in my legs. I inhale and exhale sharply, brushing away the heaviness that’s settling in my muscles and bones.

  I’m so lost in thought about Ryder, my mother, and what the future holds for us, so stuck in my own head, that I don’t see it coming until it’s too late. My vision suddenly clears, and my tunnel vision and stress-inducing thoughts vanish when I see her in my running path. She waves, but like a movie reel in slow motion, I see the moment she realizes she’s screwed. I also see the moment in her mind when she realizes she should move out of my path, so I don’t run her over, but that doesn’t happen. Within seconds, I crash into Olivia, and we both go tumbling to the ground.

  Clasping her against me, I spin her, allowing my body to drop to the ground. The wind gets knocked out of me upon impact, and my skin scrapes against the ground. When I open my eyes, the only thing I’m worried about is Olivia, who’s deathly silent and too still.

  I roll over, gently rolling her onto her back. Her eyes are closed, and she still isn’t speaking, something truly out of character for her. Fear suddenly claws its way up my chest.

  “Olivia?” I pant out. I place one hand on her neck, searching for a pulse, making sure I didn’t accidentally hurt her. That’s all I fucking need. Kill the girl next door. It wouldn’t be surprising, knowing my luck. Her eyes suddenly flutter open the second my palm settles along her neck. She glances up at me, eyes dazed, taking a few seconds to focus on her surroundings.

  When she still doesn’t utter a word, I call her name again, “Olivia?”

  “Feeling of Falling”—Cheat Codes, Kim Petras

  “Olivia?”

  At his third prompt, I finally force my lids to stay open, and when my vision clears, my stomach does a somersault at the image hovering over me. When Roman’s handsome face materializes, my lips part. My mouth suddenly goes dry, and I feel like I can’t breathe all of a sudden.

  He’s straddling me, hovering over me, his perfectly handsome face dotted with perspiration. His tan skin is gleaming in the sunlight, highlighting the bright color of his eyes, the light golden stubble dusted along his jaw, and the sharp features of his face. He has a bandana around his head, keeping the dark brown locks out of his face. His broad chest and muscular arms glisten with sweat, and I try not to stare too hard. But fucking hell, it’s impossible not to.

  How is this man real?

  Like what was God thinking when he created Roman? Oh, sure, let me just make this man the finest specimen earth has ever seen and hope for the best? Christ in heaven, it’s unfair.

  No one has any right to look this exceptional, least of all, when they’ve just finished working out. After I work out, I look like a tomato that has been dropped, rolled, used, and abused, and I feel like I smell like an actual jock strap that hasn’t been washed in approximately eight years. But, of course, that’s not the case with Roman. He looks like a goddamn Calvin Klein model who has just been spritzed with water to make him look sweaty, and he smells like pure unadulterated male. Dripping with pheromones and testosterone.

  I glance down, away from his face, trying to shake off my attraction to him, and my eyes damn near bulge out of my skull, when I see the firm planes of his naked torso.

  Oh, come on!

  His skin is glistening. Literally glistening. His sweat looks like 24-karat gold, and instead of being disgusted and offended by his nudity, I’m absolutely enraptured and turned on by it. I have the strangest urge to reach out and caress his skin, his firm pecs. I’ve seen the man without his shirt a few times now, but never, and I mean never, have I seen his abs this close. It’s insane how deep each contour and rivulet is. He’s gotta hit at least a million sit-ups a day to maintain that body. At least. I refuse to believe that is just genetics.

  The man is quite literally dripping sweat on me, and instead of pushing him off, I’m basking in this moment and committing every vital detail about him to memory for safekeeping. I feel like I’m attached to a defibrillator with sharp painful currents, jolting my entire body to life, as we stare at one another.

  “Olivia, dammit, say something,” he growls, his brows pinching together in distress. It’s then I realize I’ve yet to say a word to him. I’ve just been staring up at him, ogling his nude chest like a mute. Something, I am most certainly not, which he can attest to.

  “Hi,” I finally manage to breathe, and for a split second, I see something enter his eyes. It’s warm and soft. Hell, it’s ooey-gooey, and I feel it all the way down to my bones, liquifying me. I feel like Roman is peering into my soul with that look alone, touching the deepest parts of me, without even trying.

  His lip quirks the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to cause a swarm of hummingbirds to take shelter in my stomach. They’re roaring in my belly, their wings flapping recklessly, as my heart beats like an angry metronome.

  “Are you okay?”

  “What?” I whisper, my gaze dropping to his full lips. They’re so…perfect. Nice and big, plump, yet
so firm. His bottom lip juts out, hanging down, and I have the oddest impulse to reach up and nibble on it. Take it in my mouth and scrape my teeth over it.

  He chuckles. The sound is husky, and it hits me right in my loins, causing gooseflesh to spread over my skin. “I asked if you’re okay?”

  What would it feel like if I kissed him? Right here, right now? Would he taste—

  “Yes! God, I’m sorry. I don’t know what my problem is,” I rush out, realizing my mind has drifted to the gutter, once again.

  He shoots me a knowing look, as he helps me to my feet. My body screams in protest, but I take the help with a repressed groan of pain.

  We stand there awkwardly. Him shirtless, looking like the god-like man he surely is, and me, still dressed in my work scrubs, now drenched in his sweat.

  We’re worlds different; yet, whenever I look into his eyes, during moments like these, I don’t feel that way. I feel like we understand each other on a level most people don’t. A level beyond my comprehension.

  “I’ll see you,” he says suddenly, slicing through our connection. Before I can utter a single word, he turns, and I watch him walk up to his house. He crosses my lawn into his, and when I glance down, my stomach drops.

  Oh, no.

  I suddenly remember why I was so excited to get home. Why I was dying with laughter, before waving at him, and before he almost trampled me to death.

  “Roman! Stop!” I yell after him, but it’s too late. He suddenly stops walking, but it’s not for the reason I think. Slowly, he lifts his foot, and I see the tension build in his shoulders. I feel the atmosphere suddenly change. Hell, I swear I even start to see the storm clouds roll in over our heads.

  Roman pivots, glancing at me over his shoulder, with fire in his eyes. When I glance down at his foot that’s still raised, I deflate.

  So much for pranking him.

  Today at lunch, I thought it’d be hysterical to get back at Roman for Max’s dog shit. I went as far as searching for a local dog park I could go to and steal a dog’s shit. It sounds a lot easier than it actually was. Who knew people were so territorial?

  I mean, seriously. It’s shit. Not the elixir to eternal youth.

  After being chased and run out of there by a mob of dog lovers, I secured the bag of, you guessed it, fresh dog shit, and dropped it on his lawn. There was a chance he could spot it ahead of time and get rid of it before he ever had the chance to step in it, but I wanted to see what would happen, just in case that didn’t happen. Even if there was only a small five percent chance, I’d be able to get him back.

  I wanted the chance to retaliate, before I got blindsided with another prank. I tried to call a truce. The day he was leaving my house, after working on the pipes, I tried to put an end to it all, before things could escalate any further, but he didn’t want any part of it. If there’s anyone to blame here, I mean, it really is him.

  “Touché, Olivia.” His voice travels from his lawn to mine, his tone is cold as ice. The fire that was just there in his gaze, not even five minutes ago, has now burned out into a smoking dry ice, burning my flesh upon impact.

  I feel like I can’t breathe, as I watch him turn his back on me. He slips off his shoes and disappears inside, without so much as another word.

  Well, shit. I can’t catch a break.

  For the next few days, I’m wary of Roman, and rightfully so. It feels like I’m constantly peering over my shoulder, waiting for him to pounce. I know it’s coming. There’s no way he’s going to let what I did slide.

  There’s just no way.

  Shaking off the lingering fears, I focus back on the task at hand. I’m at work, helping Travis and Atticus, another one of the vet techs, with a surgery involving someone’s pet rabbit that was mauled by a dog in the neighborhood. Knowing there’s a family waiting outside this room to hear about their daughter’s animal, only makes me want to work harder.

  The rabbit, that we learn is named Darcy, has a few deep puncture wounds, but nothing that is irreparable, if we act fast. It’s the gash on her left axillary, though, that has us all worried. She’s losing a lot of blood, and I’m hoping Travis can live up to his hype and get her stitched up.

  We all work in sync with one another throughout the operation. Atticus is in deep with Travis, working to stop the blood flow and stitch up any remaining wounds. I’m off to Travis’s left, handing him tool after tool, twisting the light to his heart’s desire. Kassandra is somewhere in the background with Lucy, prepping Darcy’s release meds.

  It’s almost like we’re the dream team in there, each of us holding our own and doing our part in aiding Travis in his quest to heal little Miss Darcy. By the time the anesthesia starts to wear off, and Darcy stirs, Lucy gives me a hand, holding her down to keep her still, as Travis finishes.

  Once I get home, I’m bone-tired from the extra hours I worked. Though Darcy is perfectly fine and healthy now, the procedure took much longer than we originally thought. I stayed back with Travis to help clean and prep for tomorrow. A part of me wondered why he bothered staying to help. It was so unlike him. He strikes me as the kind of man who thinks he is too good to clean up. That’s always been the job for someone like me. It’s essentially what I was there for and what my job consisted of. I was pleasantly surprised, though, when he stayed to help. Atticus cleaned up the reception area, while Lucy and Kassandra handled the back rooms for the next shift.

  We were all determined to head home and get some sleep.

  Unlike the last time we talked, there seemed to be a better camaraderie between Travis and me, this time around. The conversation seemed to flow better, and overall, I felt like I might have misjudged Travis and who he was before now.

  Was I interested in dating him? No. Definitely not. But without the prying eyes and ears of the rest of the staff, I felt like he was showing me pieces of his real self, and not the fake façade he shows off to everyone in the office. It was a welcome change and made the cleaning go that much more smoothly.

  He walked me out of the office, telling a story about vet training, that included his father and a whole lot of fecal matter. I couldn’t help laughing. When we parted ways and I left, I couldn’t help but notice how different Travis was from Roman. Roman waited on me that night at the bar, and tonight, Travis didn’t.

  I guess every guy is different.

  When I pull into my driveway, I can’t help the way my gaze locks on the house next door. It’s past midnight, and all his lights are off. I have no doubt he’s already asleep, and if this was any other night, I’m sure I would be, too.

  I have to tamp down the urge to go next door and apologize for my prank. A part of me wonders if I can nip his retaliation in the bud with my apology. It’s not likely.

  I glance in my rearview mirror and frown when I see a flash of headlights. A car pulls up in front of my house, and I stiffen in my seat, going on red alert. Once I make out what kind of car it is, my frown deepens.

  I shove open the door and get out. “Travis?”

  He throws his car in park and climbs out, running around his rumbling truck. “I think you forgot this,” he says, handing my phone off to me.

  My eyes widen, and I suck in a sharp breath. “Crap! I didn’t even remember losing it! Thank you.”

  He shrugs. His gaze roams around the neighborhood, then takes in my house behind me. His lips purse, like he wants to say something, but he thinks better of it, shooting me a grin instead.

  “It’s nice.”

  Pride soars through me, as I glance back at my house. It may not be much right now, but it’s mine. While looking back, I quickly glance at Roman’s house, and my stomach drops, when I realize the light is now on in the living room.

  What is he doing awake? He was just asleep.

  Before I can ponder that any longer, I hear the sound of something clicking, then feel water. It sprays from all directions. I realize much too late where the source is coming from. I let out a screech and try to cover myself from the sprin
kler spray, as Travis does the same.

  When a certain aroma fills the air, Travis and I start to gag. We both fold over, hands on our knees, coughing and gagging. We pause and turn to look at each other. His brows are drawn in, confusion written all over his face.

  “Is that…vinegar?”

  I grit my teeth, unable to respond. Slowly, I turn, shooting a glare at Roman’s house. My gaze narrows, when I see his silhouette in the window, watching it all go down. I glance at the sprinkler system he must’ve bought at the local hardware store. It’s placed between our lawns, aimed directly at my house and grass. How the hell he managed to infuse the spray with vinegar us beyond me and my prankster capabilities.

  Knowing he’s still watching, I shoot him the finger, and I promise myself, the next prank will be the last. I’ll be ending it, once and for all.

  “Neighbors Know My Name”—Trey Songz

  After shampooing and conditioning my hair three times, I could still smell the faint traces of vinegar the next day at work. The same went for Travis. He couldn’t believe how diabolical my neighbor was. To spray someone with vinegar, while they were getting home from work?

  That took a lot of forethought. Certainly premeditation.

  It was further proof of what I already knew. My neighbor was the devil.

  Everyone in the office spent the day giving me advice on how best to handle him. Half told me to talk it out, to tell him we needed to end this stupid battle, before one of us did something really out of line. The other half? Well, they had some great ideas. Some I couldn’t pass up in terms of payback.

  After work, I did some shopping around, trying to find most of the supplies I’d need to get him back for what he did. Instead of working in the house or in the yard like I’d planned, I sat on my bed, holed up inside, and got to work looking up the other items I’d need for the prank to end all pranks. Most of them I’d have to buy online, but I went to the website Atticus told me to and read instruction after instruction. If there was anyone I trusted with pranks, it would be Atticus. He was the king of pranking people, an absolute jokester back at the clinic.