Across the Way

* * * *

When she wasn't studying The Boy, Sam was at her job at the newspaper, but she had stopped going to the jazz bar afterward with her co-workers, who now fell silent in the break room when she walked in to get her limp tuna sandwich from the fridge. She didn't really mind. In fact, she hardly thought about them. Work ceased to exist anymore; it was just a dream world that she visited for a few tedious hours before returning to her new reality with only her, The Boy, and the street between them.

She sat at the receptionist desk on Tuesday afternoon, alternating between checking the day's articles for accuracy and answering the phones. The regular receptionist called off because her four-year-old had an asthma attack the night before, so Sam's boss told her to "man the front" while she completed her usual work. The day's primary undertaking included validating the article about the new senator, who was accused of slapping a fifth grade boy at the Horace B. Green Middle School during a We Are the Future assembly that morning.

The door swung open and a gust of wind swept through the office. Sam looked up from her keyboard, and there in the doorway stood The Boy, red-faced from the unusually cold day and removing a manila envelope from the inside of the suede coat he always wore. She choked on a shriek of surprise and swiveled her attention back to her monitor in a panic, not knowing what to do. She half hoped he'd go away yet prayed he would stay.

Sam heard his combat boots clunk over to the desk, and her teeth chattered as she realized that she just heard how his footwear sounded. It made him more real, and she didn't know if she could handle the actuality of the situation.

"Hey." He cleared his throat. "I mean, excuse me."

She had no choice but to respond, but "Hi, can I help you?" failed to leave her mouth. She did, however, lift her gaze toward him, otherwise paralyzed by the shock of attraction jolting through her.

The Boy handed her the envelope, his eyes hidden behind his fogged glasses. "I have a photo that I think might work in tomorrow's issue. Could you get this to the photo editor?"

She accepted the manila envelope with a nod, and unable to help herself, she opened it and took out a five-by-seven photograph of the new senator wearing a giant forced smile and draping an arm around the shoulder of a young boy, who appeared ready to burst into tears.

Sam couldn't help but laugh, both at the picture and at the good fortune of finding something to laugh at. "Nice."

He smiled. "Yeah. It was pretty awesome."

"How'd you know to be there at Horace Green right at that moment?"

The Boy shrugged, shuffling from foot to foot. "I just try to be in the right place at the right time. Plus, I think the senator is pretty stupid, so I figured he was bound to do something embarrassing and totally worth a pic."

"Are you a professional photographer?" She wondered why she didn't realize this earlier, and now knew that every time he left his apartment he was probably off looking for the perfect picture.

"Trying to be. I need more experience. I'm from the middle of nowhere, and there's nothing there to shoot other than farms and cows. That's why I moved to the city." He looked at his loose laces. "Yeah, so will you just give that to whoever? I wrote my name and phone number on the envelope so they know who to contact. I can email the photo as a JPEG, too, if that's what they prefer."

"I'll be sure to tell them." She took a deep breath, desperate to continue to dwindling conversation now that he stood before her. "Um, I'm a bit of a photographer myself."

"Really?" His eyebrows rose in interest. "Cool. If you ever have time or want someone to show your work to, I'm always up for that." He grinned. God, he looked perfect when he smiled. "I mean, I just moved here, and I don't know a whole lot of people, especially other photographers. Maybe we can help each other out."

As she scribbled her phone number on a piece of scrap paper for him, Sam swore she heard a heavenly choir singing soprano from a cloud somewhere. It all seemed a little too good to be true.

* * * *

Their first time out together had been terrifying. Sam had shown up at the bar with the orange vinyl booths and rickety wooden tables first, giving her time to worry. What if he never showed up? What if she let her secret slip? What if he could sense the truth? Worse, what if he wasn't everything she had hoped he'd be?

When The Boy—Brendan; he'd a name at last—walked in the door and sat opposite her, she didn't know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. They ordered drinks to thaw the tension, and to her great relief, endless conversation soon flowed, creating a connection Sam hadn't thought possible to hope for.

Everything was perfect. That meant everything was wrong. She was tiptoeing around a house of cards. All it would take is just one little sneeze.

Afterward, Brendan invited Sam to his apartment. "I want to show you some photos I took," he said, but the glimmer in his eye suggested he wouldn't be disappointed if looking at his work evolved into an activity that involved more nudity.

Sam agreed, reminding herself that nothing even remotely resembling sex would happen, could happen. She was a good girl, after all. A good girl with a very bad secret, but a good girl for the most part. However, when he unlocked the door and she stepped inside his apartment, her world flipped over. Everything she'd spent weeks practically memorizing—the things she never thought she'd get close to, including Brendan—was now within her reach.

While he bustled around the small apartment, whistling, she ran a finger over the top of the TV he watched, the photography magazines he read, and the back of the couch upon which he made himself come. Trembling, she drifted to the window and looked up at her apartment, and her head swam. This was the most surreal fucking moment of her life and here Brendan was, dragging out his leather portfolios and flipping them open on the coffee table, unaware that he was the center of her universe.

"A bunch of these are of cows," he said of the pictures with a laugh. "That's all there are in Sellsgrove—cows. Churches, too. I tell you, every day's a real adventure there."

Overwhelmed, she stared at him, sitting on the couch, paging through the portfolio, and she wanted to burst into tears.

He glanced at her with a teasing smile. "Do I have to look at cows all by myself?" His eyebrows narrowed with concern. "What's wrong? You look like you're freaking out."

Sam did some quick self-censorship. "No, I'm fine." She sat beside him and felt the heat radiate off his body. She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before touching his shoulder. He felt so real. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Is this what having a religious experience felt like? It had to be damn close.

She looked into his eyes and saw him wrestling with questions of his own. Before she could ask, he clasped her exploring hand and pressed his mouth to hers, shy but eager, and any thought not pertaining to the moment vanished from her mind.

They fell back against the cushions, side by side, sharing the small width of couch. Her legs entwined with his, and his feet dangled off the edge. He placed a palm over her breast, and her gasp granted him the opportunity to slide his tongue in her mouth, electrifying her nerves. Her clit throbbed and her every breath escaped as a whimper.

He wrenched away from their kiss with a growl and a shake of his head. "You're driving me crazy, making those sounds." His mouth dropped to her neck, where he nibbled at the sensitive skin.

She was driving him crazy? Sam was ready to leap out of her burning skin. She toed off her shoes and he tore off his glasses, then his hand slipped beneath her shirt and unhooked her bra's front clasp, her breasts falling free. Her heart in her throat, she watched as Brendan pushed her shirt up over her breasts with a clumsy urgency and covered a nipple with his mouth. His teeth scraped against the hardening bud, and it took everything in Sam's power not to come apart right then.

He licked a path to her other breast as his hand traveled down her stomach to the button on her pants. He paused and looked at her, his face ruddy and his eyes shining. "Is this okay?"

It was more than okay. It was so good, Sam struggled to believe it was actually happening. She gave a brief nod and swallowed hard as he undid her button fly and tugged the fabric down her thighs. She kicked her pants the rest of the way off and rested one knee on his hip. His mouth returned to her breast, and she sucked in a gasp as his hand found the ache between her legs. Her breath hitched as he stroked her cunt, drawing patterns over her clit.

Brendan's lips pressed against hers again, and his finger slid into her, remaining still for a moment before withdrawing slowly, then repeating the motion. Meanwhile, his tongue fucked her mouth with an intensity that, combined with his hand, was taking no time in obliterating what remained of her self-control.

Brendan pulled away from her, this time struggling into a sitting position. "Come on." He rolled off the couch and helped her stand, their movements heavy with longing. He took her hand and led the way to the bedroom, and another feeling of overwhelm hit her as she gazed at the band posters and the tapestry. It was like déjà vu times a thousand.

He tugged the rest of her clothes from her body, and she dove into bed and watched with great satisfaction as he undressed without grace or fanfare. She, of course, found the sight hypnotic. Not only was he baring his body, he was baring it to her. For her.

His lips swollen and his eyes smoky with want, Brendan crawled toward her across the mattress, kissing her as he settled between her thighs. She gave a needy sigh, feeling his cock heavy against her skin. The magnitude of the moment threatened to send her straight to a climax before he ever even entered her.

He paused to wrestle a condom from the cluttered nightstand and rolled it on, an act cementing what was about to transpire. A moan tore from her throat as he finally slid into her with a groan, and she tightened her legs around his waist, her ankles locking at the base of his spine. He reared back and pushed inside her again, and all she could think of was his cock rubbing against the sides of her cunt and his pelvis crashing against her clit in just the perfect spot.

Then another thought sprung to mind—one of the wide-open window and the brick-face building opposite the bedroom. Sam pictured herself in her apartment, binoculars pressed to her face, watching The Boy fuck her. She imagined herself picking up the camera and pressing the shutter release every time The Boy slammed inside her.

The idea of being watched with such an intensity rocketed straight to her clit, and her mouth dropped open with a scream of pleasure as her body seemed to explode then slowly come back together. Brendan released a guttural cry of his own, burying his face in her damp hair.

Sam reveled in the peace for awhile until the reality of her situation crept back to her. The camera, the binoculars, and the perfect vantage point no longer seemed so sexy. Instead, they seemed like they could ruin everything.

* * * *

Brendan was coming to her apartment. He knew she lived in the building across from him, but she didn't think he realized her apartment practically looked into his own. She preferred to keep it that way, but how?

Sam heard his musical knock at the door and realized how unprepared she was for this moment. "Just a minute," she called, yanking shut the curtains and wedging the binoculars between the couch cushions. There was another knock at the door, more impatient this time. She stood in the middle of the living room, surveying the area in a panic. Anything incriminating? She couldn't decide. Panic dulled her ability to make sense of anything.

When she opened the door, Brendan strode inside the apartment with a case of Yuengling, his heavy boots clunking on the hardwood floor. "Hope you have enough room in your fridge."

"We'll make room." Sam attempted a smile and pointed him in the direction of the refrigerator, where he set to storing the beer bottles while he talked about where he'd spied some spots in town that would be perfect for a photo shoot. She shook a jar of meatless sauce into a pot and listened, fascinated by his discoveries. She'd lived in the same area for years, and before he came along, she'd never found anything remarkable about it, let alone photogenic. Hearing him talk, though, she felt proud to live where she did; it became a whole new, beautiful place when he spoke of it.

Sam boiled a pot of water for the noodles and set to sawing the garlic bread into pieces while Brendan wandered around her apartment with his beer.

"Is your view as shitty as mine?" He flicked back the curtains as Sam looked on in horror, feeling the blood plummet from her face into her toes. "Holy shit, you can see my apartment from here. Did you know that?"

"Um, no." She mustered up some surprise as she racked her brain for an explanation that would save her. "How weird."

"How've you never seen me? You have a view of everything from here."

"It's not like I make a habit of staking out in my living room, spying on my neighbors." She laughed, injecting just enough sarcasm to hide the fear in her voice.

"Well, damn." Brendan let the curtain fall shut. "Good thing I don't hack people up or walk around naked. At least, not at my place." He winked. "You don't know who could be watching."

She nearly sliced her finger off at that comment.

Brendan gestured around the living room. "How come you don't have any art up?"

"There's art." She nodded to the only thing hanging on the wall.

He slanted her a look with a wry smile. "That's a bulletin board, and there's nothing on it."

"You'd think for being a photographer, you'd be more open to all sorts of artistic expressions."

"Trust me, I am." He rejoined her in the kitchen, set his beer on the counter, and captured her in an embrace that made her laugh. "Wanna see my favorite kind?" When his mouth closed over hers, she could feel the smile still on his lips.

She returned his kiss, guilt mingling with her passion for him. How had she ever let it come to this point? How had an ordinary stranger watching TV in the apartment across from hers come to mean so much? It didn't seem like a possibility, even though all starting points were anything but likely.

Brendan tugged her into the living room, where they toppled onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. Just as they landed, he drew away from their embrace, wincing. He reached beneath his back, his hand plunging into the cushions, and came up with the binoculars.

Sam stared, paralyzed.

"Not exactly the best storage idea," he said.

She laughed—a little too loudly, a little too desperately. Despite her lack of religious affiliation, she sent a prayer to Whoever Up There that he hadn't started putting the puzzle pieces together.

"These look a little too expensive to be crammed inside the couch." He stretched the binoculars above his head, aiming to set them on the side table, but only resulted in knocking a shoebox off its surface—a shoebox full of very damning pictures she'd had printed at the nearby Rite Aid.

"Oh shit." He made a lunge for the box but Sam on top of him gave him limited range, and the photographs spilled on the floor.

Oh shit was her sentiments exactly. She spring-boarded from his chest and dove for the photographs, scooping them into a pile. The white noise of panic filled her ears as she crammed them back into the box.

"Sorry about that." Brendan inched to the edge of the couch and reached for a few. "Hey, slow down. You'll ruin the pictures. Let me get them. It was my fault."

"No!" She snatched the photograph he'd been holding and it joined its crumpled glossy mates in the box. "Forget it, just forget it. I got it under control. You don't have to do—"

"Wait."

The seriousness in his voice made her freeze, and she noticed him holding another photograph, studying it with stunned intensity. She couldn't be sure which one he had but did that matter? Defeated, she sank into a cross-legged position on the floor as he tugged the box closer and rifle through its contents. She kept her eyes on the corner of the room as he inspected the photographs. So many long moments passed in silence that her body numbed into a state of disbelief. This couldn't actually be happening. This wasn't actually real.

Finally, he slapped a handful of pictures back into the box. She was almost disappointed he didn't look at them all. At this point, why the hell not?

She risked a glance at him as he rolled off the couch and stood, shaking his head, his jaw set. "I can't believe this," he said.

"I know." Her voice came out as a whisper. "But it was accident."

"An accident? You've been stalking me!" He stared at her, wide-eyed, expectant. "You've been lying to me. You've done nothing but lie to me."

Sam swallowed hard and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing but air escaped. He wanted a logical explanation. She had none. He was right.

Brendan raked his hands through his hair and interlaced his fingers behind his neck as he paced a small circle in the middle of the room. "I don't know what to think. I trusted you. Then again, I think most people trust others not to be this psychotic. I had every right not to see this coming. I had every right to think you were normal."

"I'm so sorry." Even as the words left her lips, she knew how pitiful they sounded in comparison to his disappointment.

"No, I am." He grabbed his coat. "I can't deal with this." Then he left, and she didn't have to look out her window to know he'd finally closed his curtains when he returned home.

* * * *

His windows remained covered for days, and his deliberate act of closing her out was probably one of the worst things he could've done to her. She hated herself, and she knew he felt the same way. Why shouldn't he? For so long, she pretended to be someone else. She made him think he granted her his trust and gently let her into his life, when in truth she barged right in without an invitation, long before he was ever ready to give one.

As his blinds remained shut, Sam realized she forgot how to live her life. When she wasn't at the newspaper, she no longer knew what to do with herself. No longer rushing to the window, she returned to surfing the Internet, reading magazines so violently removed from her life (would a real Cosmo girl be going through such a turmoil? Hell, no), and going out with her coworkers again, whom she found more boring than ever. No matter what she doing or who she was with, she was always searching for the love, attention, and forgiveness from the one person not there. It was enough to make her rather be at her place, moping in front of reality TV and feeling like the world's worst person. At least when she was at home, she couldn't distract herself from the horrible person she really was. She could be alone to be herself—a freedom she had to admit she'd never given The Boy.

II.

Brendan had every right to be angry. People just didn't do that to other people—or did they? This was the city, where anything goes. He watched a drunk, homeless man pee on a statue of Jesus and a cop car run a red light. Maybe everyone was crazy here. Back home in safe, sheltered Sellsgrove, there were no shady characters mumbling to themselves on the subway, or burned-out teenagers standing outside the bus station, hounding passers-by for money so they could get to their sisters' funerals. And there definitely was no crazy girl in the apartment across the street, peering her way into his life with her binoculars.