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I shake my head, stepping one foot inside. “Never happening.”
“I’ve been here, what? Two weeks now, and ya know what? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out on that beach. You can’t tell me you live out here, right on the coast, and never enjoy an evening stroll in the sand?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I look right at his figure silhouetted by the sunset. “Maybe it’s not the sand I have a problem with.”
“That’s not what your eyes were saying last night when you were spying on me from your window.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I take the other step inside, letting the door shut behind me. I don’t know what I was thinking watching him last night. I shake my head, dumping the rest of my breakfast in the garbage can. I don’t know what I’m thinking at all anymore.
Huffing, I make my way to my office. It’s not going to be a productive night, but I at least have to try. My temples already ache. Why can't he just ignore me like everyone else?
By midnight, I havea full-blown migraine. My head hurts, my stomach is turning in circles.
“Ugh,” I close my eyes and rub my temples, “I tried. I did.” No more screen time for me.
I head to the kitchen for a glass of water, but movement out on my patio catches my attention.
“What the hell?”
Rubbing my shoulders to ease the tension creeping down that way, I turn toward the back door. Squinting, I peer out the door’s large window. It’s completely dark outside, but with the reflection from the stars, I can just make out something flapping from my swing. Pressing my nose to the glass, I squint harder.
Streamers.
No, not streamers.
“That freaking bitch!” The expletive, along with a few others, tumble out of my mouth before I can stop myself. My blood boils as I yank the door open and storm outside. He did it again. He flipping strung toilet paper all over my porch, again.
I make it all of two steps, when my bare foot lands in a giant pile of something squishy.
Cold, wet, and grainy, my toes sink into the doughy mound. Closing my eyes as my fingers curl, I barely resist screaming. I force a few calming breaths. It doesn’t help. The tension in my shoulders refuses to dissipate as I pry my eyes open and glance down.
Several small blobs merge into a mound covering my patio like some sort of miniature hill, my foot square in the middle.
I blink a few times, willing my eyes to adjust to the obscene mess as the breeze from earlier picks up. My toes squish deeper into the mound as the all too familiar sensation dawns on me.
Sand.
“That ass-hat!” He fucking dumped half the beach on my freaking porch. Fuming, I hobble on one leg as I try to wipe the moist grains off my other foot.
My swing creaks, drawing a startled shriek from me as the wind picks up even more. I lose my balance, tripping like an ungraceful ballerina wannabe, I land even farther into the pile as my foot kicks a plastic bucket.
A drop of rain splashes on top of my nose. Another lands on my forehead.
Thunder claps overhead, the sky opening up and pouring down on me.
I close my eyes, silently willing my tears not to fall as they mix with the rainstorm. “I’m going to kill him.”
Tonight is not my night. Not my week. As more frustrated tears fall, I bite my bottom lip and peel my eyes open.
The heavy drops of rain splash on my patio, spraying more sand up my calves. My swing creaks, the mass of cottony streamers congealing into a gloomy mess as they fall down from the canopy onto the seat. High-pitched, metallic pings echo from the neighbor’s driveway as the freezing downpour bathes his truck.
Another toilet paper streamer plops to the ground, drawing me out of my stupor.
“Shit.” I need to clean it up. And fast, before the rain creates an even bigger mess.
I turn to head inside and grab a broom, but my foot catches on the plastic bucket again.
I smile, but it’s not really a smile as my teeth chatter from the cold. More of a venomous sneer or vile smirk, but at the moment, I use it as fuel.
