Across the Way

If this was an average, on-the-brink-of-suburbia city, he couldn't imagine what New York City must be like. Life used to be simple when he was at home, waiting to escape to somewhere more exciting, something better, something different. Maybe he was totally out of his league here.

* * * *

The most serious relationship he'd ever had had been with Tina back in Sellsgrove, an acknowledgement that made him cringe because he'd never really thought of it as serious. In the end, she'd been the one to call it off when he left, insisting that long-distance relationships never worked, although he knew for a fact she'd never dated anyone from out of town before. He'd accepted her decision though, probably far better than she would've liked. Life with Tina, life without Tina—there just wasn't enough difference between the two, and he'd adjusted to the latter easily enough.

Life without Sam, though—that one wasn't exactly going as well. He wanted to forget all about her. He wanted to concentrate on selling his photographs. He wanted to open the blinds. He wanted to go outside his apartment and feel nonchalant and unsuspicious, which he figured was hard enough to do in the city without someone stalking him.

But every time he looked toward his windows, he was reminded of her, and not in a way he would've liked. He thought of how she was his first real friend here that he could depend on, and how she was truly interested in him and his life, and how green her eyes were when she looked at him.

Like the city itself, this kind of anger was also much different than what he was used to back home. Wasn't it supposed to feel more like being betrayed and less like missing someone?

* * * *

Brendan got brave one day and opened the blinds a crack, letting in a sliver of light. He peeked out at the busy street, the traffic, the chaos of people, anywhere but her apartment. Then he chastised himself for being so damned stupid. There was nothing to be afraid of. Holding his breath, he glanced at her window.

There was no one there.

And somehow, he wasn't filled with relief like he thought he would be. Instead, it felt a little like curiosity, and a lot like disappointment.

* * * *

He opened the blinds a little more every day, and every day he was greeted to absolutely nothing special. He'd wanted the curtains opened, and now that they were, there was nothing to look at.

On Saturday morning, his alarm went off, letting out a monotone beep that increasingly got louder. He smashed his fist on the button and kicked off the tangle of sheets as he rolled from the bed. Walking to the window, he stretched his arms high above his head, and his yawn died in his throat when he saw Sam at her window.

She wasn't looking at him. In fact, it was as though she was trying as hard as she could not to look his way. He saw the side of her face as she sat on the couch, but he couldn't really tell what she was doing, and it had been so long since he'd seen her or talked to her that now he really wanted to know.

Then Brendan got an idea that made him sick, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

Feeling like a criminal, he opened his dresser drawer, retrieved his camera and screwed on the telephoto lens. Then he turned to the window and put the viewfinder to his eye.

Sam spoke on her cell phone, her messy ponytail bobbing every time she spoke. He couldn't make out her face very well, but she didn't seem happy. Her pallid complexion appeared even paler behind the glass.

Then she turned and looked right at him.

The muscles in his body tightened, and his first instinct was to look away, but he couldn't move. He kept the camera close to his eye and took in the dark circles beneath her even darker eyes as she lowered the phone and stared at him. Brendan could hear his blood pumping through his veins and his lens started to fog, and he realized how hard he was breathing.

Then she stood and moved away from the window, retreating further into her apartment.

The undeniable hypocrisy of his act made his stomach churn, and he dropped the camera on his bed and sank down beside it, facedown and groaning. What would happen now? What did all the staring and the spying mean? Did it change anything?

The only thing that finally convinced him to rise was his growling stomach, but first he padded barefoot over to the window, not really knowing why and almost afraid to look.

To both his embarrassment and delight, she was still there, along with a little white square taped to the glass.

Immediately he grabbed his camera and raised it to his eye. After focusing, the little white square turned out to be a piece of paper with the words I miss you and I'm sorry scribbled on it in black marker.

Brendan scrambled for the nearest notepad and tore a sheet from it to write Me too. When he pressed his own sign to the window, she vanished, reappearing moments later with her binoculars. In spite of everything, the sight of them made him smile. Suddenly the future was full of previously unimagined possibilities and challenges to his mode of thinking that were now more than welcome, even craved.

Emboldened by hope, he scratched a second message on the back of the paper and slapped it against the glass.

So can I see you naked?

He half expected her to call him out on his hypocrisy, his audacity. But he also half expected her to get it—get him. He watched through his lens as a flicker of surprise crossed her face, followed by both a blush and a smirk. Then, with one hand still gripping the binoculars, she unbuttoned her shirt and shrugged it from her shoulders, leaving her in her bra and red cotton shorts, both which were discarded at a pace so slow it was all he could do not to run next door and disrobe her himself.

Soon she wore nothing but the binoculars pressed to her eyes, her body on display for him or any other neighbor who happened to glance out the window and do a double take. But knowing the show was meant just for him awakened his cock in his jeans, and he wrote her a third note.

I wanna see you touch yourself.

Her nipples hardened, speaking the best kind of Braille as she obeyed him. She stroked her bare stomach and up her sides, avoiding the areas he most wanted her to explore. His impatience and his hard-on grew as she perched on the back of her couch and ran her hands down her thighs, widening her stance. Her fingers reached her knees before wandering upward again, and again avoided the very spot he was dying to taste.

He clutched the lens with one hand while his other popped open the buttons of his fly. His jeans sagged around his hips as his cock hit the open air, a previously undetectable breeze kissing the tip.

Across the way, Sam's fingers finally found her nipples, like a thank you for the reciprocal sight. She tugged them into tiny pink peaks, and in turn, he pulled on his cock, sucking on his lower lip as the familiar clench of a nearing climax tightened in his stomach.

He noticed the hand she held the binoculars with trembled, but she didn't seem in a hurry to put them down. Instead, she rested more fully against the couch and opened her legs wider, granting him full view of her cunt. With no further hesitation, her fingers dropped to her clit, using the wetness pooling between her thighs to paint small circles. Her lips parted, and he could almost hear her change in breathing and strangled moans.

Brendan fisted his cock, pre-cum leaking from the head mingling with the sweat on his palm. His own breathing grew choppy as he watched her dip a finger inside herself, teasing her entrance while keeping the pad of her thumb rolling over her clit. His world shrank to a pinpoint and became solely the space between her legs. Pleasure prickled through his chest and over his thighs as he matched her rhythm with his own. He watched her cunt clutch her finger, and her body twitched and spilled over the back of the couch, leaving only her calves and her bare feet visible. He sucked in a jagged breath at the sight of her release and he came, hot and sticky, in his hand, nearly dropping his camera.

Hazy from his orgasm, he found it difficult to keep the sloppy grin off his face. That was quite possibly the best apology he'd ever received. It was definitely the best makeup sex he never had.

Sam's face and upper shoulders popped up over the back of the couch. This time, she was without her binoculars but had a new sign.

Are you coming over or are you just going to watch?

He smiled. Thanks to her, he couldn't see why he couldn't do both.

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