Hate Thy Neighbor

by S. M. Soto

  Though I haven’t been there long, I can already count on both hands, the number of pranks I’ve witnessed him pull. From dipping onions in caramel and leaving them in the break room, to ridiculous jump-scares that somehow still work.

  Still feeling burned out from my overnight shift at the clinic the other night, I found myself growing tired, while I did my research. At one point, I decided to push my laptop aside, slide under the blankets, and close my eyes for a while.

  I stir awake, groggily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. A glance at the clock lets me know what was supposed to be a short nap has turned into full-on sleep. It’s two a.m., and the chances of me being able to fall back to sleep, before getting up for work, are slim.

  The breeze from the open window has a cold chill traveling through my body. I’m just about to get up and shut it, but I freeze on the bed when I hear something. My eyes widen, and I pause, trying to figure out if it’s just the drowsiness playing tricks on me.

  But nope. There it is again.

  A moan.

  Along with the sound of flesh clapping and heavy panting.

  Slowly, my gaze drifts to my open window, and I let out a gasp, when realization dawns on me. There, with a significant amount of light streaming into his bedroom, is Roman with a gorgeous busty woman folded in half on his bed, as he pounds her from behind.

  I realize I should turn away and look at anything but this. My neighbor is quite literally in the middle of having sex. I feel like a creeper. It’s not like he knew my window was open. In Campbell, the weather has been nice enough to leave them open all night, so this is nothing new. I just personally, for safety reasons, never do that. I always shut my windows before going to bed. It seems Roman doesn’t subscribe to that rule, though.

  Who screws someone with their window wide open? Jesus Christ.

  With my gaze fixed on his open window, I watch, in complete awe, as his body works. I can’t make out much; the glimmer of light in his room is just enough to spot the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. I can’t tell if it’s my eyes playing tricks on me, or if I really can see that far. I mean, good Lord, the builders didn’t think we needed more privacy than this? My eyes fixate on him. The way the muscles in his biceps and arms strain, as he grips onto the woman’s ponytail and yanks her head back. The muscles in his abdomen jump and flex with each pump. And his thighs, sweet Jesus, his thighs are just as thick and as powerful as I imagined they’d be.

  I can feel myself growing hot and bothered. I’m tender and flushed between my legs. Perspiration beads on my forehead and desire tugs low in my belly. I feel the ache spread through my lower body, begging to be touched. My core clenches and throbs, as I watch Roman’s lips part, as he pumps into the woman. Her head is tossed back in ecstasy, her face morphed in pleasure.

  With a mind of its own, my hand slips beneath the band of my underwear, and I start stroking my clit, rubbing it in soft circles, in time to the rhythm of his thrusts. I close my eyes for just a second, and I imagine I’m in her place, and Roman’s fucking me. It’s him with his hand fisted in my hair, riding me like he’s some angry bull.

  Moisture builds, the scent of my arousal floods the room, and when I open my eyes, I have to bite my bottom lip to keep the moan from slipping out. Instead of staring down at his date, Roman is staring at my window. I tense on the bed, looking past my reading nook seated just below the window, wondering if he can see me, but even if he can or can’t, I don’t stop touching myself. His thrusts quicken, and he doesn’t look away. Not once.

  I don’t know if he can tell my window is open, and I hope to God he can’t see in here, but as he stares this way, I fall apart all over my fingers. I dip them inside, groaning, as the muscles pulse and clench around me.

  When I come back down to Earth, I’m dripping with sweat, and my heart is pounding so violently, I’m afraid both of them will hear it. Realization settles in. Dread and shame take root in my belly. I worry my moan of release might’ve been too loud.

  What if they heard it? Would he pass it off as her moan?

  I’m mortified.

  The magnitude of what I’ve done suddenly slams into me.

  I quickly rip my hand out of my panties and lie there, staring up blankly at the ceiling, searching for answers, for a viable excuse.

  What the fuck have I just done?

  Feeling utterly disgusted and in need of a long shower, I hop off the bed, run to the window, and slam it closed, along with my curtains. I probably could’ve tried to be a bit quieter, but I’m not thinking straight right now. That much is obvious.

  Rushing into the shower, I let the ice-cold water sluice over and down my body. I yelp at the temperature, but, otherwise, it does the intended job. It helps me get my hormones in check and pull my mind out of the gutter. I thank my lucky stars that, by the time I get out, I don’t notice any strange activity next door. Fighting the urge to peek, I leave my curtains closed and force myself back in bed, so I won’t be tired for work in the morning.

  That doesn’t work at all. I spend the rest of the early dawn wide-awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of my neighbor and the mystery girl.

  Is that his girlfriend? Or is she just a random chick he brought home?

  Did he notice me?

  The biggest one of all is: Why do I care?

  It’s not that I’m jealous of someone I can’t have or someone I hate, but a part of me is jealous of her, because as much as I hate to admit it, I wanted to be in her position tonight. And that’s a dangerous thing to wish for. Especially where Roman is concerned.

  I’ve been dutiful from then on about making sure the windows are shut before I fall asleep. The last thing I need is a repeat of what happened.

  The other night, when Roman had company, was the lowest I have ever stooped. It is obvious that, even though I am living my life freer than I ever have, enjoying being independent and on my own, I am still feeling lonely. I need a male companion, and I need one stat.

  I wish I could say I’m the kind of woman who doesn’t need a man to be happy. And for the most part, I am. While single, I’ve felt more empowered and happier than I ever did, during my relationship with Reid. Despite that, a part of me still craves the intimacy and the affection. Sometimes, the deep-seated loneliness I feel bothers me, and I feel like there will never be a place in the world where I truly belong. I think a part of that stems from my childhood. I’ve always been bubbly and gotten along well enough with others, but I’ve never had my own tribe. I’m what you call a floater. A drifter in life and friendships. I’ve never found that stable friendship or relationship.

  I’ve always felt like there were certain expectations of me, even when I was a child. My parents, being the way they are, didn’t help any in that area. My entire life I’ve been searching for that place, that group, that person I can fit in with. That I can fall into and be myself with. I think we’re all just searching for someone to accept us the way we are, love us the way we are.

  Being in a relationship makes me feel less lonely, even if it isn’t necessarily a happy one. At first, it’s always unicorns and rainbows, all happiness and hot sex, but that always seems to change at some point.

  I know for sure I’m not in any kind of head space to date anyone, but it is becoming painfully obvious, I may need to find a man I can let off steam with. Anything to help me stop thinking about my neighbor.

  Since the incident, I’ve been having a hard time looking Roman in the eye. I’ve avoided him altogether, practically running out the front door and to my car, with my gaze glued to the ground. In my haste, I’m not even worried about another potential prank. I just want to be as far away from him as I can get.

  Now, more than ever, I feel like I need to get him back. I need all that stuff to come in the mail, so I can prank him—push him away. I need to make him angry. I need to feel angry with him. Because right now? I’m not feeling that way. I’m feeling something else entirely for my neighbor, and I’m not having it. Whatever it i
s, it can’t happen. I won’t let it.

  I spend the whole day at work, replaying the way his body moved, the muscles jumping and cording, and the expression on his face. I hate myself and the fact that I’m still feeling the effects of what I saw a day later.

  I’m a disgusting, horrible, horrible human.

  I need help. Serious psychiatric help. I should probably be talking to a professional about this, but there’s no way I’m going to talk to my father.

  As if sensing I’m thinking about him, my phone vibrates from the passenger seat, and my dad’s face flashes across the screen. I connect the call with Bluetooth, so I can talk and drive.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Just getting off work?” he asks, in a gentle probe. Even retired, my dad still has a habit of speaking like a therapist.

  “Yeah, I had an early shift this morning. What are you up to? Looking to do some psychoanalyzing?”

  He chuckles. “No, not at all. We just wanted to check in on you, see how you’re doing. You know how your mother worries.”

  I smirk. “Oh, so it’s just my mother who worries now, is it?”

  “Okay, fine. Me too.”

  That draws a laugh out of me. “I’m fine, Dad. I promise. The second I feel like something isn’t right, I’ll give you guys a call.”

  “That’s all we can ask for, Oliv—” He’s cut off by voices in the background, and the harder I strain to listen, I realize it’s my mother. “I gotta go, babe. Your mother wants to talk to you and your brother can’t seem to keep his hands off my car keys. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Dad. I’ll—”

  Before I can even finish, I imagine my mom takes the phone from my dad. Her jubilant voice erupts down the line. “Olivia, sweetie, how are you?”

  “Doing fine, Mom. Just like I told Dad.”

  “Make any new friends yet? What about potential boyfriends?”

  A scowl settles on my face. “No friends and definitely no boyfriends.”

  She tsks. “Well, are you at least remaining active? Have you tried Tinder?”

  “Mom!” I yell. “Please don’t ask me questions like this, while you’re in the same room as Dad, it’s just weird. And how do you even know what Tinder is?”

  I can practically envision her eye roll. “Oh, stop. He’s not even here. And you never answered my question.”

  My lips thin. “You never answered mine either.”

  “Everyone knows about Tinder, Olivia. I’m a sex therapist, not a born-again virgin. Now, tell me, are you taking care of yourself sexually? Remember, if you’re feeling stressed or overwhelmed, just head to your room, dim the lights, and get intimate with—”

  Heat rises to my cheeks. “Yes, I’ve been taking care of myself just fine. Thank you for probing.”

  “Ah, so it is masturbation? Honey, you gotta get out and live your life.”

  “My vibrator works just fine, thank you very much.”

  “It won’t for long, if you keep using it, as often as you do.”

  My brows shoot into my hairline. Is my mother…throwing shade at me about my sex life? “I don’t even use it that often.” My voice doesn’t sound convincing to my own ears.

  “Right. All I’m saying is, it wouldn’t hurt to put yourself out there. Have some fun. Hell, maybe you’ll even find someone cute in the neighborhood.”

  My grip tightens around the steering wheel, as my thoughts immediately drift to Roman and his naked body. Oh, sweet Jesus. It’s been days, and still, I can’t stop thinking about it. I swallow past the thickness that’s suddenly blocking my throat. “Nope. No good-looking people here. Just…ugly. Everyone is ugly. You wouldn’t even believe it.”

  “That’s rude, Olivia. You don’t need to be a jerk about it.”

  I roll my eyes. “I actually have to go, Mom. I’ll give you a call later in the week, okay?”

  She sighs. “All right. Remember, don’t be afraid to get out there!”

  I deflate against the seat, once the call disconnects. Yeah, putting myself out there with a guy like Roman is definitely not going to happen. Over my dead body.

  After that conversation, I can’t stop thinking about Roman and the way I touched myself. My stomach churns with unease. Part of me is worried he knew exactly what I was doing, and the other part of me is disgusted with myself. How can I claim to loathe this guy; yet, I got myself off watching him fuck someone else?

  Once I get home, I give myself a mental pep talk. The plan is to get out of my car, walk inside my house, and barricade myself in there, avoiding Roman at all costs. But that is impossible, since he’s standing on my doorstep, which surprises the absolute shit out of me.

  “Hey.”

  I jump at the sound of his voice, a startled yelp flying past my lips. My gaze snaps to his, widening, as I take him in. He’s dressed casually in those distressed jeans and shirt that show off just how lean and fit his body is beneath it. I swallow thickly, as flashes of the other night, of his nude, sweaty body thrusting, fill my mind. Shaking my head, I try to clear my thoughts.

  He’s never gone out of his way to talk to me, so why now?

  My stomach drops when a thought suddenly occurs to me. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I suddenly feel like I’m going to be sick.

  He knows.

  There’s no other explanation. Why else would he be standing on my front porch?

  Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe our interaction, as I do my best to play it cool.

  Forcing one of the most cringe-worthy laughs past my lips, I greet him by saying his name in a high-pitched voice that sounds like nails on a chalkboard. “Roman!”

  He jerks back at the volume, his brows creasing together, as he stares at me oddly. “You can call me Rome. Roman’s a bit formal, all things considered.”

  My heart skids to an abrupt halt, and my breath gets lodged in my throat. What does he mean “all things considered”? Is he saying that because he knows I watched him have sex with another woman the other night?

  “All things considered? What’s that supposed to mean?” I cross my arms over my chest, defensively, waiting for him to spill the beans and tell me exactly what he means. If possible, the crease between his brows deepens, and the frown he’s wearing seems to etch permanently into the lines of his face.

  “You all right? You look a little flustered,” he observes, raking his gaze up and down my body. I tense up, almost immediately.

  Can he tell?

  Is he looking at my body, knowing what I did the other night?

  Instead of being a normal, mature person and asking him upfront what he needs, know what I do? I run past him. Not walk or fast walk. I run past him into my house and slam the door behind me.

  I sag against the wood, my chest rising and falling violently, as it works to accommodate my heavy breathing.

  Smooth, Olivia. Real fucking smooth. That wasn’t incriminating at all.

  Of course, he knocks, and even though the rational part of my brain knew it was coming, I still jump and let out a yelp of surprise. My eyes slam shut, and I inhale deep, stabilizing breaths, trying to pull myself together. If Rome wasn’t sure I saw something before today, with the way I’m acting, he’s sure of it now.

  Pull it together, damnit! I chide myself.

  Eventually, when I answer, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment, I try to keep my face as neutral as possible, while looking up at him innocently. He’s still staring at me like I’m certifiable. Rightfully so.

  “Yes?” I croak, raising a single brow.

  If possible, that frown deepens, and his eyes narrow even farther. “Just wanted to tell you I can finish up little by little this week. That way, it won’t take me too long this weekend.”

  “Right, okay. Busy this weekend? Do you have plans?”

  He pauses, his head cocking to the side the slightest bit, as he regards me. “And if I did?” he counters.

  I open my mouth, then snap it shut, because what’s it to me?

  �
�You sure you’re just not planning your next stupid prank on me?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  “Vinegar, really?” I cross my arms with attitude. “That’s low even for you.”

  “Hate to put a damper on your date.” The way he says the word date with such disgust has me standing straighter. I narrow my gaze, drilling holes into him with my eyes.

  “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” I ask, stepping into him. His face pinches.

  “Who, me? Why on earth would I think that?”

  The underlying humor in his tone has me gritting my teeth. “I’m going to get you back. You’ll see.”

  He chuckles darkly. “We’ll see about that.”

  “I don’t understand how half this neighborhood has put up with you for as long as they have. You’re the most frustrating person on the planet.”

  “They like me a whole hell of a lot better than they like you.”

  My gut tightens with unease. I mean, I knew the neighborhood’s reception of me hasn’t been great, but hell, I thought it was much better than that. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Everyone here likes me. I baked cakes.”

  Rome tosses his head back and laughs at me. “You think baking random people cakes will make them like you, sweetheart? Try again.”

  “I’m positive there’s a special place for you in hell.”

  He casts a cold smirk my way. “Next to you, I hope.”

  My gaze narrows. His words should have the opposite effect on me, but instead, something light and woeful fills my chest. Those stupid hummingbirds go back to flapping their wings recklessly, making me feel like a bright-eyed idiot.

  “Just worry about yourself, Roman, because the next time I see you, you’re going to wish you’d accepted my offer to end this feud between us.”