Hate Thy Neighbor

by S. M. Soto

  He’s not buying it.

  My lips purse, and I tune him out for the rest of his speech, once he starts talking about new medications to try and possible surgeries. By the time I leave and am back in my car, I let out an infuriated scream at how unfair life is. How unfair my life is. As if life itself is showing me just how right I am, my mom calls. And like the fool I am, I answer.

  “So, have you called?’

  “Hello to you, too.” I roll my eyes.

  “Knock it off. This is serious, Olivia. This is your goddamn health.”

  “Yes! I just left his office now, and you know what? I’m done. I’m so over this bullshit. I’m over it. I’m tired of it, and I want no part of it. He’s talking about surgeries already. More surgeries that will only lead to more complications and more scars.”

  I hear a sniffle on the other end of the line, and I slam my eyes shut. “You’re going to die if you don’t take care of yourself, Olivia. Do you understand?”

  Pain bleeds from my mother’s voice, prompting tears to roll down my cheeks.

  Doesn’t she realize I know that? I’m on borrowed time, but I’m tired of living my life with so much caution. It doesn’t even feel like a life at all.

  “I’ll keep going.” I sigh. She makes me promise that I’ll FaceTime her at my next appointment, so she knows I’m not lying.

  The woman knows me too well.

  Needing to keep myself busy, after the depressing phone call and the visit to the doctor that was like a slap back to reality, I pull into my driveway with a trunk full of ready to plant tulips and soil. I’ve heard gardening is cathartic, and I need that in my life right now. I’m even thinking about taking up yoga or meditation. Lord knows I need it.

  Sure, gardening is a lot of dirty work, but I can do it. Plus, I’ve picked most, if not all, the weeds from the front lawn, so it looks better. Now I just need to add some water and bring the grass back to life.

  Outside of the fence that leads into my backyard, just below the living room window, I get to work, readying the soil and planting the bulbs. Sweat trickles down my back, and my shoulders are already aching from the work and being hunched over. When I push up to my feet, my knees scream in protest, and I take a step back to survey my handiwork. My gaze roams over the beautiful flowers, and I can’t help but smile. I plan to plant more, maybe even add some flowers around the rest of the house, but this is enough for now.

  It’s enough to help me forget that I don’t have the luxury most people do, and I am going to find the beauty in life, even if I don’t have forever to do that.

  The next morning, I wake up in a far more chipper mood than I had the previous day. I go about my morning, getting ready and dressed for work, just like I normally would. As I’m on my way out of the house, a thrill enters my chest when I glance at my tulips, but that elation, suddenly, shrivels and dies. The small grin I’ve been wearing all morning slides off my face, and my brows crease together in a frown.

  “What the…?”

  The flowers that I painstakingly planted yesterday, in the hot, sun are trampled. There’s literally only one that is left standing at an odd angle. The rest of them are stomped to death, the stems broken and the petals crushed to absolute shit.

  Dropping my purse and lunch onto the ground, I run to the flowers, the word, “No, no, no,” falling from my lips in quick succession. I skid to my knees in my scrubs and try to help the flowers stand back upright, but they’re dead. All that hard work, all that color I put into my front lawn. It’s done. All for nothing.

  What the hell happened?

  Just as I’m taking a closer look at the shoeprints stamped on the flowers, I hear the garage next door open. My heart squeezes, and something dark and cold slithers through my chest. It’s at odds with the fury boiling in my gut. Slowly, I crane my neck to the side, watching as Roman rolls out his bike. Those big, bulky biker boots are on his feet. I look back down at my flowers, and my gaze narrows.

  That son of a bitch.

  Shooting to my feet, I storm across our lawns, smoke damn near billowing from my ears. Red seeps into my vision. A growl rips from my chest, just as Roman glances my way. He pauses, with his helmet hovering over his head, his brows pulling down, as he watches me storm toward him. I can feel my emotions bubbling to the surface alongside my rage. That’s always happened, even when I was kid. When I got so angry, I’d cry. And I refuse to cry in front of this shithead and let him get to me.

  “How dare you!” I hiss, shoving at his shoulder that feels like steel. His lips press together, and his eyes narrow into thin slits.

  “There a problem, babe?” His use of the word “babe” trips me up, for only a second, before I snap.

  “How cruel can you be? I spent all evening putting those damn flowers in. That was the one nice thing I had. Why would you do that? Why?”

  With slow, methodical movements, Roman swings his leg off his bike and sets his helmet on the seat, towering over me. His hands at his sides curl into fists, and the muscles along his jaw jump wildly, as he grinds his teeth together.

  “You accusing me of something, Olivia?”

  “I know you stomped on my flowers. I want to understand why. I want to know why you’re such a dick, why you hate me so much, and why you feel the need to make my time here in this neighborhood a living hell.”

  His gaze flicks toward my now trampled flowers, and he frowns, but the look of anger on his face, from being confronted like this, still lingers.

  “I didn’t do that. I couldn’t give a single shit about you and your stupid fucking flowers. Now why don’t you walk yourself on back home and get out of my face.”

  Without thinking about it, I shove him in the chest. The man doesn’t even move, which only serves to fuel my frustrations. I’m fuming, my chest is heaving, as I work to control the rage soaring through my veins.

  “You’re a coward. You’re a goddamn childish liar,” I seethe, lifting up onto my tiptoes, so I don’t feel so small going up against a man like him.

  “Hit me again, Olivia,” he grits in challenge.

  I scoff. The sound is ugly and filled with violence. “Or what, Roman? You going to hit me back? Is that it? Gonna hit me for calling you out on your shit?”

  His lips thin into a grim line, just before they curl over his teeth in a snarl. He takes threatening steps toward me, bringing us chest to chest. Bending down, he gets in my face, his gaze filled with ire and ice.

  “I’d never lay a hand on a woman. Even one as batshit crazy as you. Now get the fuck off my property.”

  With those harsh words, he whirls on his heels, throws a leg back over his bike, tosses on his helmet, and peels out of his driveway.

  Yeah, real fucking mature, asshole.

  My entire body deflates, when I glance at my ruined flowers. When I peer over my shoulder, feeling eyes on me from across the street, I frown. Josie, the nosy older woman, is there standing on her porch, wearing a robe, cigarette dangling from her lips.

  She shakes her head at me, pulling the smoke from between her crusty lips. “You’re mental, you realize that, right?”

  I roll my eyes, turning my back on her.

  Yeah, yeah. I know.

  I spend the rest of the day fuming at work. Every little thing seems to piss me off. At the top of that list are Lucy and Travis. I don’t usually make a habit out of inserting myself into anyone’s business, but after the morning I’ve had, I can’t hold my tongue any longer. The one decent guy in the office, Mark, asked Lucy out for dinner, but because she’s so infatuated with Travis, she turned him down. Doesn’t she realize what a huge mistake she’s making? I mean, hell, if I was looking to date, I would’ve said yes to Mark!

  During lunch, when I tell Lucy just how foolish I think she is for turning him down, the glare she sends my way is visceral. She’s angry with me for pointing out the obvious, and I also get the sense she’s holding a grudge over Travis and his sudden interest in me. I hope that isn’t the case. That man
isn’t worth having anyone hate you over. To make things worse, Travis is still treating me like I’m the problem. He’s acting as if we were in a relationship, and I cheated on him or something.

  He’s been short with me during procedures. He is curt and rude when I have questions. The other times, he stands a little too close, and when I try to move away from him, he has the nerve to get snappy with me and have an attitude like a petulant child.

  I’m not interested in him. Why can’t he take a hint?

  He has plenty of women who throw themselves at him daily, and I don’t want to be another notch on his bedpost. If his attitude is any indication, I don’t want anything to do with him. He’s an entitled schoolboy, living in a man’s body.

  I have to thank my lucky stars when his father, Samuel, saves me from another awkward situation with him. After cleaning up one of the operating tables, I notice Travis hanging back, filling the air with his assholeness. I don’t say anything to him, especially after he raised his voice at me, no more than fifteen minutes before. Instead, I just try to do my job in silence, while still stewing over my dickhead neighbor who ruined my flowers.

  Why does it feel like I am suddenly surrounded by assholes?

  “So, how’s the boyfriend?”

  At the question and the snark bleeding from his tone, my shoulders tense. My grip tightens around the disinfecting spray, and I work to control my frustration. Blowing out a deep, controlled breath, I try to keep my tone civil.

  “I told you, Travis. He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “So you kiss everyone. Just not me, right?”

  Dropping the spray and the rag, I pinch the bridge of my nose, not even caring the gloves covering my hands are filled with chemicals.

  “Is that what you’re so angry about? That kiss? I’m sorry to say this, Travis, but what I do, doesn’t concern you. There is nothing going on between my neighbor and me, and even if there was, as my boss, that’s not something I’m obligated to share with you.”

  Travis scoffs, his eyes darkening a few shades. “You really had me fooled, Olivia. I thought you were different. But you’re just another pretty face, falling into the arms of any man who wants you. It’s sad, actually.”

  My chest tightens, painfully so. I whirl around, my eyes round. “Excuse me?”

  “You fuck him yet?”

  A gasp gets caught in my throat, and I flinch at the ire in his tone. The look on Travis’s face isn’t the one of a boss or a friend concerned over my well-being. No, this is the expression of a jealous man. Hell, beyond jealous.

  “That is none of your concern,” I grit.

  His chest puffs out, and he closes the distance between us. Fear claws at my throat, making it hard to swallow. I back away from him until my back collides sharply with the table behind me. My heart is beating unsteadily in my chest, and my pulse is pounding in my ears. Something about the glint in his eyes, as he stares down at me, leaves all the hairs at the nape of my neck standing at attention.

  “I promise you, Olivia, one night with me will change your whole life. One night.” He takes a stray lock of hair that fell from my ponytail and rubs it between his fingers. My stomach churns, disgust causing bile to rise up my throat. A sharp pang shoots down the center of my chest, my lungs squeezing with a restricting hold.

  What the hell is happening?

  I realize too late what’s coming next. Travis bends, his hand going around my waist, and I stiffen. My body trembles in fear. I raise my hands, to shove him back, just as the door to the exam room opens, and I hear his father’s voice.

  “Travis, can I speak with you?”

  Travis stiffens, mere inches away from me. My heart is pounding wildly, while his eyes continue to drill holes into me. I see the intent, written in his eyes. If his father hadn’t come in, he was going to kiss me, whether I wanted him to or not.

  They both leave the exam room, and I gasp for much-needed air, crumpling against the table. My chest is painfully tight, and my heartbeat is so irregular, I have to press the heel of my palm into my sternum, trying to ease the ache and slow my heart rate.

  I don’t see Travis or Dr. Bennett for the rest of my shift, and I’m all too thankful for that. I feel guilty. Even though I wasn’t the one who initiated anything, I suddenly feel like I’m the problem. I can’t imagine what must be going through Samuel’s head. Does he think I’m some hussy who’s sleeping with his son on the job? A shudder runs through my body at the thought. The last person I’d sleep with on this earth is Travis Bennett. The sooner he gets that through his thick skull, the better off we’ll both be.

  I’m bone-tired by the time I get home. I’m so over this entire day that I don’t even bother making dinner. I just pop a frozen pizza into the oven and call it a night. After showering, I sit in the makeshift window nook and try to open a book to read, but every time I do, I can’t seem to focus. I keep replaying the events of the whole day. Seeing my ruined flowers, arguing with Roman, dealing with Travis’s sexual advances.

  With a huff of frustration, I toss the book onto the cushion and climb into bed, deciding it’s best to call it a night. I can only hope tomorrow will turn out much better than today, because today was definitely one for the shit books.

  I’m awoken sometime in the middle of the night to the sound of a crash. I stir in bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. It takes me a few moments to process, but when I finally do, I stiffen, and my heartrate spikes.

  There’s the faint sound of glass trickling against the wood floors, and my breath gets caught in my throat, when I hear the heavy thud of boots. My eyes widen, and sweat beads on my forehead.

  There’s someone in my house.

  Someone is breaking into my house!

  Fear squeezes my chest. My stomach drops painfully, as I toss the covers back, as silently as possible, trying to remain quiet. Once my bare feet touch the wood floor, I glance at my closed bedroom door, listening closely for any other sounds. I’m just about to reach for my cell phone, when a bright light turns on next door.

  My heart pounds erratically, when I spot Roman glance out of his bedroom window, his gaze colliding with mine instantly. Faintly, I can hear Max barking in the background. Whatever he sees on my face has him whirling around and disappearing out of sight. Something crashes in my living room, and I jump, a shriek of fear tearing past my lips. The thudding of boots gets closer and grows stronger, and I reach for my phone. My hands tremble, as I dial 911.

  An alarming tightness grips my chest, squeezing my heart and making it hard to breathe. I’ve been here before. I know what causes it, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to calm down enough to push the sensation away. Tears of fear trickle down my cheeks, and when the line connects, I’m so out of breath, I can hardly get the words past my lips. There’s a heavy weight on my sternum, a vise grip on my lungs, keeping them from expanding and bringing much-needed oxygen into my body. I slide down the wall, onto the floor, and I claw the pads of my fingers into the material of my pajama pants, trying to work through the pain. Trying to breathe.

  My vision swims from lack of oxygen, that black tunnel coming toward me at lightning speed.

  The bedroom door suddenly flies open, and I choke. I can’t even scream for help, because I have no oxygen to do so. But I don’t need to scream for help, because the man who is frantically glancing around my room, eyes wide with panic, isn’t anyone I need to fear. It’s Rome.

  When he spots me on the floor, tears streaked down my face, barely able to breathe, he runs to my side. Dropping to his haunches before me, he takes my face in his hands, his wild blue eyes searching mine frantically.

  “Olivia, are you hurt?”

  I open my mouth to respond, to assure him that I’m okay, but no sound comes out. His mouth pinches together in a grim line, and he starts checking me over. Raking his gaze up and down my body, he looks for any signs that I’m hurt. When he can’t find anything out of place, his grip on my face tightens.

  “Olivia, babe
. I need you to say something. Are you okay?”

  All I can manage to do is nod, no words still coming from my mouth. I need my pills. Christ, I need my pills.

  “Bathroom,” I wheeze. His eyes widen at my request, but he helps me to my feet, and I all but stumble into the master bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I throw open the mirror cabinet and fumble through the abundance of pill bottles. My hands tremble violently, as I search for the right one. When I do find it, the pills rattle against the bottle, as I work to get it open. I swallow the pill, forcing it down my throat, hoping it’ll help calm the tightness in my chest.

  I collapse onto the toilet seat, and I rest my head in my hands. I don’t know how long I sit in here, but it’s long enough that Roman bangs his fist on the door, startling me.

  “Olivia, if you don’t come out of there, I’m coming in.”

  Sucking in a large, much-needed inhale of air, I force the words past my lips. “I’m fine, Roman. Just…just give me a second, please.”

  I hear his deep sigh, and I can imagine the look of impatience written all over his face. It brings a shaky smile to my own. It’s just like him.

  When I feel, somewhat, better, like my lungs aren’t on the verge of collapsing, I stuff away the pill bottles that fell and splash some water onto my face, before opening the door.

  Roman pushes off the wall immediately, his eyes raking up and down my body. He lingers on my splotchy face a little longer than usual. Heat rises to my cheeks in embarrassment, and I glance around, avoiding his gaze.

  “The police should be here soon,” he mutters, something dark in his tone.

  I heave a deep sigh. “Oh, joy.”

  I let Roman lead the way out of my bedroom, and I jerk to a halt in the hallway, when I see the shattered glass across the floor.

  “What the hell…?” I whisper.

  “Get some shoes on. I don’t want you stepping on any glass,” Roman orders, already walking around the living room to survey the mess.

  After I get on some shoes, I walk back out and clasp a hand over my mouth, taking in the mess and the shattered front window. My stomach sours.