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Time stops.
My breath catches in my throat as a woman emerges from a side room. Inky black hair piled atop her head, she cinches the belt of a thin robe that doesn’t cover much of her golden brown skin and ample figure. She looks down at her phone as she wanders into her living room absentmindedly. For a moment, she turns toward the windows, allowing me to drink in the low neckline of her poorly tied robe. A small smile twists her lips at whatever’s on her phone.
Nothing about this woman should be notable to me. I’ve seen countless attractive people in my line of work in far more compromising situations, and felt nothing. But my whole body tenses as I watch her, as though she holds the secrets to the universe inside her. My mind, body, and soul yearn to uncover the truths hidden within her. And just like that, in an instant, my fiendish nature that I’ve tried so hard to escape rears its ugly head. The spark of desire takes root before I can stop it.
Shit, this is going to be a problem.
2
He’s shouting again. Lovely. Every time my downstairs neighbor screams obscenities and slurs at his tv, my desire to go down there and call him out on his disgusting behavior grows stronger. I want to go knock on his door and slap that perpetual creepy stare off of his face. The one he uses when I take too long unlocking my door or when he watches me through his windows as I take my trash to the dumpster. Not that I’m dumb enough to actually confront him. I’m not great at controlling my anger, but even I know to leave him be. He’s an angry drunk who seems on the edge of turning violent at any moment.
My phone vibrates with notifications from my friend group chat. All in response to my millionth complaint about my downstairs neighbor.
Grace: That guy is such a creep. He’s always watching me through his blinds when I come to visit.
Rachel: At least he doesn’t glare at you like he thinks you’re about to take a dump on his doorstep. Racist piece of shit.
Devi: You should curse him, Rachel! Use that witchy stuff you love and take him down a peg.
Grace: Yeah! Curse his ass!
Rachel: I’d do it in a heartbeat, but Mona’s all “with my luck, if you curse him and make him leave, someone even worse will move in.”
I smirk down at my phone. Rachel’s as likely to have magic powers as I am to marry a handsome billionaire a la some of my favorite romance novels. But my paranoid ass can’t even agree to a hypothetical cursing, just in case that’ll mess up my luck even more.
Mona: No curses. He’ll shut up once the game is over. It’s just, ugh, I hate him so much.
Mona: Anyway, are we still good for game night tomorrow?
Devi: I’m going to have to miss. Priya hasn’t been sleeping and I’m exhausted. Sorry, I know this is the third time in a row I’m skipping.
Grace: How dare you not prioritize game night over your baby, Devi?
Devi: Haha I know. I’m terrible. Trust me, I’d rather be there than get screamed at or have my nipples treated like a chew toy.
Rachel: Ouch. Speaking of which…Grace, do you have any more dates lined up with Mr. Nipple Clamps?
Grace: Ugh, don’t remind me! I almost laughed in his face when he tried to get me to call him daddy. The man was at least five years younger than me and had zero authoritative bones in his body. But if we’re skipping game night this week, I could go out with this other guy I’ve been talking to.
Rachel: I’d be down to skip. Jessa’s been wanting to watch that sexy cyborg movie together before we hear any spoilers.
Damn. Just like that, we’ve canceled game night and my lonely ass misses out on the one night a week of enjoyable socialization in my life. Maybe I should just cancel it completely and end the charade that we’re going to hang out at some point. But if I do that, then I’ll have to admit to myself just how isolated I am.
Mona: That’s fine, we can skip this one. I have a lot of chores I’ve been putting off, so it’s probably for the best. I’ll see you guys next week!
Rachel: Yeah!
Grace: Looking forward to it, miss you all!! ??
Devi: Yes! If I’m not dead from sleep-deprivation by then. Pray for me.
I send a cheesy prayer gif and set my phone down with a sigh. Heading into the kitchen, I pull out the bag of chips I was saving for tomorrow night and tear it open, shoving a handful into my face in defeat. It feels super bitchy to be mad. Devi has a four-month-old, Grace is getting over her divorce by diving head-first back into dating, and Rachel has a partner who she’s crazy about. Not their fault that their lives are full and mine is as empty as the promises of my exes.
A chip drops on the floor as I grab for more, clattering on the kitchen floor. For a split second, I think of how Nugget will appreciate my clumsiness and anticipate the clicking of nails as he scrabbles across the linoleum to scarf up this unexpected treat. But there’s only silence and the prick of tears behind my eyes once my brain catches up to reality. I bend over to pick up the fallen chip and give grief its due, letting my tears stream down unchecked.
It’s been almost six months since I lost my sweet old man. Enough time to accept that he’s gone, but not enough to erase the instinctual reactions engraved in my brain after ten years of living with him. At first, all I wanted was to not wonder what mischief he’d gotten up to every time I came home from an errand. To not see the lump of him under every blanket. But now I’m almost grateful when I have these little brain slip ups, because a tiny part of me hopes it means he’s still with me in some form. I used to think that people were silly to believe in ghosts, but now I’d give anything to see a chunky spectral pug come wriggling out from under my bed covers to prove me wrong.
Of course, the turd downstairs chooses this moment to scream another obscenity. The entire bag of chips tumbles out of my hand as I startle at the sound. My silent tears turn into full out snot-filled blubbering as I look down at the mess strewn across the floor. I realize how absurd it is that spilling a bag of chips pushed me over the edge into a full meltdown, but it’s been coming for a while. Dissociating with video games and books, doing anything I can to ignore my empty shell of an existence only works so long before I crash back down to reality.
