Hate Thy Neighbor

by S. M. Soto

  She isn’t dressed in her usual scrub getup. Instead, she’s dressed like she had a night out with tight black pants that hug her curves in a delicious, almost obscene way with thin rips along the knee and tall black heels that, somehow, do nothing to improve her height. One side of her hair is pinned back and the rest is left down, framing her face in waves. Her blouse is a turquoise blue, and even from here, I can make out the lace bra beneath. It has me gritting my back teeth together. My attraction to her annoys me.

  Throwing all caution to the wind, I cross our lawns, just as she’s making her way up the porch steps. As if sensing my presence, she freezes, her entire body locking up with tension.

  “Olivia.”

  She cranes her neck at the sound of her name. For a split second, I see the vulnerability there. The pain and hurt she’s worked so well to hide, since that day I spewed those vile words at her on our lawns. She glances down at the hot pink clutch that’s gripped tightly in her hand, almost as though she’s searching for strength. When she looks back up at me, composed and full of anger, I still see the sadness lingering in her eyes.

  I hate myself for putting that look there.

  “I’m sorry.” She freezes at the sound of my voice but doesn’t speak. She gives nothing away, as she drills holes into my skull with her glare. Biting back my insolence that is a constant as it runs through my veins, I cross the distance between us and stand behind her. I reach out to her, my hand hovering in the air, but I can’t bring myself to do it. To touch her. There’d be no going back.

  “I’m sorry. For the other day. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

  I hear a sniff, her back stiffens, and she turns on me, facing me with a ferocity in her eyes that gives me pause. There’s a look plastered across her face, like she doesn’t care, but I know better. The longer I stare and search her hazel depths, the more of her I really start to see.

  “You’re right. I was just getting you back. It wasn’t even real, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t know you were bringing a girl home. You were an asshole. No, you were bigger than an asshole, you were a dick. A big fucking dick.”

  I raise my brows, impressed by her ire. I had no illusions that she’d cower away, but I definitely wasn’t expecting her to try to rip me a new one. My level of respect for her grows to new heights. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stifle my smile.

  She’s got a fire in her. I like that—even when I wish I didn’t.

  “Okay.” I nod. “I deserve that.”’

  She frowns, more than likely expecting me to argue with her. She was probably anticipating more hostility, like the other day. Olivia glances down at the clutch in her hand and turns it, surveying the small thing, like she’s trying to decide if she wants to bash me over the head with it.

  I raise a brow. A challenge of sorts. “Go for it.”

  Her gaze shoots up to mine, and her eyes narrow. “It is so very tempting, trust me. But I’m afraid once I start, I may not be able to stop.”

  “You want to bludgeon me to death with your purse?” I goad, unable to help myself.

  The corner of her mouth twitches, like she wants to laugh, but she’s fighting it. “It’s a clutch. And it’s either that or I can cut the brakes on that deathtrap in your garage.”

  This time, I can’t hold back the wry twist of my lips. “Not very creative, but thorough.”

  An awkward silence descends between us. She shifts uncomfortably on her feet, as an adorable frown creases her brows, wiping away her amusement. I thrust my hands into my pockets and clear my throat.

  “I really am sorry, Olivia. You didn’t deserve me taking my anger out on you.”

  “Fine.” She sighs. “I still hate you. But I guess…I guess I’m sorry, too. It wasn’t my intention to ruin your date. I’m also sorry you have such atrocious taste in women.”

  I laugh, despite myself. “She wasn’t my date.” Something flashes behind those beautiful doe eyes, though I don’t have time to dissect it. “Can I show you something?”

  Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out, as if like she’s incapable of speech. She opts for nodding her head instead and follows me into the garage. I pull out an extra bucket just for her, identical to the one I’m sitting on. She eyes me warily, perching on the edge of it, like she needs to be ready to get to her feet, at any moment, in case I attack.

  “So,” she says, clearing her throat, fidgeting with the plastic. “What did you want to show me?”

  I shift on the bucket, staring out at our darkened street. The streetlights illuminate the pavement in an orange glow. My brows tug down, as I try to work out how to say what I need to say.

  “I guess I didn’t bring you in here to show you anything per se, but rather, explain what happened, and why I reacted the way I did.”

  She nods slowly, still not following.

  “That woman, she wasn’t there because—”

  “Look, Rome, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I get it.”

  I sigh, rubbing an anxious hand across the back of my neck. “No, I do. She was a social worker.”

  A crease forms between her brows, and she looks up at me with questions in her eyes. “A social worker?”

  “My little brother, he’s…” I pause, a grimace tainting my features, as I try to get the words past my lips. It’s always so difficult to admit our situation to people. I normally don’t discuss it for that reason alone. “He’s in foster care. I’ve been trying to get my life together, so I can get him back. The other day was my home visit.”

  I hear her sharp gasp and see the moment realization dawns on her, by the way the pain enters her eyes. “Oh my God, Rome. I am so sorry. I didn’t realize. I feel horrible.”

  I shake my head, smiling sadly. “Don’t. I think it proves I’m not ready. Maybe I’ll never be. I’ve worked toward one single goal most of my life and that’s to get him back, but it’s almost like, every time I try, it’s never enough. There always seems to be something that gets in the way. I’m starting to wonder if it’s life, fate, telling me to give up. Maybe he is better off elsewhere.”

  I startle at the soft touch of her hand on top of mine. Her skin is soft where mine is rough. Her body is cold where mine runs hot. We’re opposites; yet, I’ve never been more drawn to another individual like I am to her. My gaze drops down to our point of contact. Her creamy skin against my tan, weathered skin. Slowly, I lift my gaze back up to hers and realize she’s been doing the same thing, taking it in, watching me. She has tears swimming in her big doe eyes. I’ve never noticed it before, but her eyes are a chaotic blend of colors. Like honey in the sunlight. Fine strands of amber. The most beautiful flecks of gold. She’s like a siren calling to me, singing a song, enrapturing me.

  “No,” she says vehemently. “It’s going to happen, Roman. I promise it is. You deserve this. You both do.” Sadness slackens her expression. “I wish I would’ve known. I wish I’d known about your brother…God.” She sighs, shaking her head.

  “It’s not your fault. I avoid talking about it.”

  “With my parents. When you said he lives in Oakland, that’s true?”

  I nod. “He lives in some shit place. Hell, I’m not sure if this home now is better than the one we had growing up. It’s not a far stretch, but I know if I had him, I’d be able to give him a better life than anyone else could. I promised him I would.”

  Her eyes soften as she gazes up at me. “What about your parents?”

  A scoff bursts past my lips, as resentment fills my chest. The pressure is unbearable, making it hard to breathe.

  “My parents? Non-existent. My father was a trailer trash piece of shit, and my mother wasn’t any different. She loved drugs more than her children. She had Ryder with her drug dealer boyfriend, before he dumped her, and I was the one left to raise him. I was the one working to bring money home to pay for the trailer, to pay the bills, to make us all food.”

  “How old were you?” she whispers.

  “Too yo
ung to be taking care of a baby. That’s for sure.”

  “I’m sorry, Roman. I wish…God, I wish you could’ve had a different life.”

  “I’ve always been good about blocking people out and focusing on the important things. While trying to keep us fed and alive, I was caught dealing, did some juvie time, and lost my brother. My druggie mother didn’t fight for him either, so by the time I got out, it took me a while to locate him in the system. Even then, no matter how hard I tried, I kept finding myself back in the system. An eighteen-month stint in jail, here or there, for petty shit. When I eventually saw where he was, I vowed to take care of him. To do the one thing my mother never did.”

  “But it wasn’t that easy,” she supplies, a knowing, saddened tone to her voice.

  “No, it wasn’t. I had to jump through all these hoops, prove I could take care of him, even though I’d already done it most of our lives. I’ve taken care of him since I was a kid. I’ve been taking care of both of us, for as long as I can remember. When kids my age were making friends and playing sports, I was raising an infant. I’ve spent the last year and half getting my life on track, starting with buying a house and working a full-time job with benefits.”

  “Wow. That’s…that’s the most selfless thing I’ve ever heard.”

  As if sensing I need some extra compassion, Max gets up from his bed and sits down next to me, resting his head in my lap. Tightness spreads through my chest. Olivia rubs her slender fingers between his eyes and trails them up behind his ears, in a massaging motion.

  “That night, a while back, you mentioned something about Max’s name.” I look down at him and only think of Ryder. “He was my little brother’s. He found him a while back. His foster family wouldn’t let him keep a dog, and he seemed sad, so I told him I’d keep him. I’d take care of him till he could come home, then he’s all his. He chose the name Mad Max.”

  Slowly, Olivia glances up at me, her hazel eyes filled with unshed tears. “You’re something else entirely. You know that?”

  A grin tugs at the corners of my lips. We share a moment when we’re just looking at each other. There’s a sudden shift in the air. Her cheeks redden, and she quickly averts her gaze.

  “So, this is what you do in here all day, while you’re ignoring me? You work on this car?”

  A laugh catches in my chest. “Pretty much. It helps me clear my head.”

  She stands, and I can’t help but watch her, as she takes in everything. She touches the car, and it’s a stark difference from the last time we were in here together, and I snapped at her. I didn’t even mean to do it then. It just happened. Olivia always has a way of making me feel out of place, out of my comfort zone. It was easier to be mean and force her out of my space than it was to welcome her in. It still feels odd. I haven’t let anyone in—in any capacity of my life—in the past five years. But here with her? It feels easy.

  “What about you?” I raise a single brow. “What’s your story? You seem to have it all figured out.” I lean back on the bucket, resting my back against the wall, watching her closely, as she walks through my space. My safe haven.

  “Me?” She scoffs, shaking her head. “Not even close. Can I be honest?”

  “I’d prefer it.”

  “I’m a mess.”

  “You don’t say.” I snort, and she swats at me, playfully, with amusement on her face.

  “I was in a relationship for a really long time. One I thought would last forever. I mean, we weren’t the perfect couple by any means, but things just started to feel so robotic and trivial after a while. There was no spark. No interest on either end. It just felt like he was, somehow, doing me a favor, by staying with me, and that’s not the life I want. I don’t want someone to stay with me out of obligation or because they don’t want to hurt me. I want them to be with me because it’s a necessity. They need it more than they need to breathe.”

  “How long were you together?”

  “Since college. We shared the same friends. It just…made sense, you know? Reid was a part of my life for the big things, and I think, at some point, we drifted apart and didn’t even realize it.”

  “So, what, you decided to leave him and move away? Start a new life?”

  She fidgets, uncomfortable with my line of questioning. “I guess in a way, yes. I wanted a fresh start after the breakup. Somewhere I didn’t have any previous ties. I wanted to feel independent.” She seems to shake it off and runs her fingers through her hair nervously. “Anyway, that’s enough about me. How long have you lived here?”

  “About two and a half years.”

  Her brows jump into her hairline. “Wow. This place looks…incredible. Much better than mine.”

  I roll my eyes. “Unlike you, I know what I’m doing.”

  She mock gasps. “What makes you think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

  I pointedly look over at her house, and that’s all the answer she needs. I get wanting to be independent, but at what cost? If I had the parents she did, I’d take advantage of the help, not push it away.

  “Want a tour?”

  She freezes, and her cheeks pinken. “A tour? Of the…garage?”

  I smirk. “My house.”

  “I feel like I’m in an alternate universe, if you’re willingly inviting me into your home. Especially after what happened in there.”

  “We may very well be,” I mumble under my breath, pushing up from the bucket. We walk inside, and I give her the tour. It feels odd having her in my space, yet a small part of me feels almost right having her here. And I don’t like it. I feel myself locking up, closing in to focus on what’s important.

  I did my part. I apologized for being an asshole. I don’t need to go any further. We’re on positive terms now. I need to leave it at that and be done with this.

  “You’re very…clean…for a bachelor.”

  “When you grow up the way I did, it’s not hard to keep your space clean. I grew up in a shit trailer, then an even worse apartment that was never clean. Vermin, dust, a dingy shithole I refuse to ever be stuck in again.”

  “Is it weird that I want to hug you right now?” she whispers, trying to lighten the mood, but I see the sadness glimmering in her eyes. The pity. I’ve always fucking hated that look in people’s eyes.

  We finally move on to the bedroom and here she has a clear view into her own room, though she tries to avoid it. Tries to pretend she doesn’t already know that, but I do. I’ve seen just enough to know my neighbor isn’t the sweet girl she pretends to be. In fact, she’s quite dirty. And if my circumstances were different, I’d absolutely take advantage of that.

  Because my neighbor? She’s a walking, talking wet dream. She’s a complication I don’t need, and one I certainly will never be able to have. Nevertheless, I still want her. Having her in my space, it’s taking everything in me not to strip her down and fuck her, right here, up against the wall, in the bed—

  She clears her throat, her cheeks now fire engine red. Her thoughts must be running in the same lane as mine. My suspicions are confirmed when she glances toward the bed, then hurriedly averts her eyes.

  “I should probably get going. I have work in the morning, and I’m sure you do, too.”

  I nod slowly, wading through the thick tension between us. “Night, Olivia.”

  She pauses, surprise flitting across her features, once again. “Good night,” she says quietly. Just before crossing the threshold, she pauses and glances at me over her shoulder. “And Rome?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You deserve to have your little brother back. Because all this?” She glances around us at my house. “This is amazing. You are the parent he deserves. Don’t ever second-guess that.”

  She turns, before I can reply, and pads her way down the steps and across our lawns back to her house.

  The entire way I watch her go, there’s a tightness in my chest. Expanding and spreading, bubbling through my veins.

  I loathe it.

  And sec
retly treasure it.

  “Alone with You”—Kito ft. AlunaGeorge

  I start thinking about Roman and his little, brother the second I wake the next morning. All night, I berated myself for how stupid I was. What if I cost him his only chance?

  I can’t even begin to imagine what his life must’ve been like as a child. I had two loving parents who doted on my little brother and me. They were successful with great careers and an even better idea of what they wanted for their family.

  But Roman and his brother? They didn’t have that life.

  I can’t help but wonder the horrors they had to endure. What did Rome have to do to feed them every night? To care for his baby brother, when he was practically a baby himself?

  What was it like for him? To be so young and scared to find your next meal, while trying to make money stretch. When I think of it, my stomach churns, and my heart plummets.

  It’s becoming glaringly obvious that there is more to Rome than just his rough exterior. Hell, most times, I think he’s a dick, but after the life he’s had, I think his attitude is warranted. Wouldn’t you be angry with the world if you’ve had everything ripped from you? If you couldn’t catch a single break?

  On my break at the vet, after helping Travis with a spinal surgery on one of the dogs that was brought in yesterday, I hop on the computer in the break room and look up social workers. Where would that social worker have worked? How crazy would it be if I went there and vouched for him? Tried to explain what happened and explain that he deserves his brother. Not some random woman who wants a check, but him. His blood.

  I type social workers into Google, keeping my search trained on the Oakland area. Giving that number a try, I dial it, keeping my fingers crossed that this won’t be a dead end.

  “Hi, yes, I’m calling looking for Ryder Banks’ caseworker. Is there any way I can get in touch with her? It’s urgent.”

  “Can you stop by the office around three p.m.? We’re located in Oakland on San Pablo Avenue.”