Neighbors Ch. 02

Cassie

"Mama... oooooh... just killed a man...put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead..."

I wake to the strains of the first part of Bohemian Rhapsody—My mother's ringtone. (Yes, I thought I was being clever at the time.)

I'm confused for a moment, and then shoot upright as memory dawns.

The panic attack. My neighbor coming to my aid and helping me into my house. Me asking him to stay with me.

"Mama...oooooh..."

I scramble for my purse. "H-hello?"

"Cassandra?" My mother's concerned voice comes through the phone. "Where are you? I thought you were coming over for lunch!"

I blink the sleep away and try to think. No way do I want to tell my mother I had a panic attack. I had a hell of a time getting her to agree that I was ready to get my apartment in the place, and if she knew what just happened she'd be strong-arming me back to live with her in a second.

"Mom, I'm so sorry," I say. "I woke up sick. I felt just terrible. I must've rolled back over and gone back to sleep." The lie rolls easily—too easily?—off my tongue, and at the spurt of guilt, I truthfully add, "I just woke up again when you called just now."

"Oh, sweetie," she chides. "This has been a lot for you! The stress and who knows what else is taking a toll." She clucks her tongue and I can see her exact expression as if she's in front of me rather than across town.

She continues, "I was afraid of this—"

"I'll be fine, mom," I cut in. "You're right- it's probably just the stress of moving, and I just wore myself out. I'll rest up today and will be fine by tomorrow."

At my firm tone, my mother backs off. "Yes, you rest up, dear. I'll bring some soup."

"No, it's fine, I've got some here. Sorry again about missing lunch. Can I call you tomorrow?"

"Of course. Rest now. Love you."

I return the sentiment, end the call, and blow out a breath.

My brain conjures up the memory of the attack, an image of my body crumpling flashing through my mind, and I feel the panic rise again. But this time I'm ready and I repeat my script, over and over—"it's OK to have anxiety"—until the panic levels off.

It's taken me over a year to get to this point.

Two years ago I was in my second year of college, double-majoring in Spanish and business. I was also working two jobs to pay my tuition. The stress of it all began to take a toll on my health, and as my courses grew more difficult, I started to struggle to handle them and balance work at the same time.

My daily anxiety levels began to rise, negative thought spiraling through my mind all the time. I didn't have time to go to the doctor, didn't have time to figure out why my body was responding this way, why I felt like I had a weight on my chest and was short of breath almost all the time.

And then, I had the big one. The event, as I think of it. The event that would forever change me, that would divide my life into a 'before' and 'after.'

I was in bed, nodding off, when it hit. Out of nowhere, I had intrusive thoughts about what a failure I was, and the sheer, impossible amount of work I had to complete. My body responded with what I know now are the classic panic attack symptoms- heart racing, dry mouth, tunnel vision, trouble breathing, body dissociation, chills. I'd experienced milder attacks like these and just been able to buck up, push the thoughts and feelings away, pretend they didn't exist.

But this time, it didn't end for days, until I got to the doctor and got a prescription for Xanax. But after that, it seemed like my brain had been rewired. I was terrified all the time, always on the edge of another attack.

I tried to stick it out for a while but I could barely get out of bed, much less work and go to school. I ended up quitting my jobs, taking a leave from school, and moving back in with my mom while I attended an intensive outpatient program for treatment of anxiety and panic disorders. It took more than a year, but I'd learned that my brain WAS rewired by that event, as well as ways to manage. I was slowly returning to normal, everyday life. This apartment was the first step.

Until yesterday I hadn't had a panic attack in months. I am crushed at the relapse and am trying not to fall into the spiral of fear, the whispers of It's happening again. All your hard work has been for nothing. You will never be able to be normal again.

Again I shake myself out of it, this time focusing on disrupting the intrusive thought spiral: "it's just a thought. It can't hurt me," I repeat multiple times.

It works.

I get up and I'm a little shaky but other than that the symptoms of intense anxiety have passed. I head into the shower and think about how I can thank my new neighbor for taking care of me.

***

Ben

Sweat runs down my bare chest in thin rivulets and my feet pound on the treadmill at a punishing clip. I wear no headphones— I don't need music. The rhythmic sound of my running shoes hitting the rubber of the treadmill over and over soothes me.

I run at least five miles six days a week, but today I am on my tenth. I have so much energy, my body buzzes with it, and this is the one outlet I have.

For now.

It's been twenty-four hours since I've seen Cassie, since I rubbed myself between her beautiful feet as she slept, sweet and innocent and unaware. Twenty four hours since I swiped her key, which is even now burning a hole in my pants pocket.

The logical part of me understands what is pure common sense to everyone else- that I shouldn't use it, shouldn't further violate her privacy.

So I'm running to try to get this clawing need inside me out of my system. To tire myself out to the point that I don't even have the strength to walk across the street to apartment 1c.

I hear a sound, a chime of some kind. I ignore it and focus on the thud thud thud thud of my running shoes making contact with the rubber of my treadmill belt. But after a couple of minutes, the sound comes again.

Is that—my doorbell?

My brow furrows as I tap the button to slow the treadmill.

I don't think anyone has rung my doorbell since my mother was alive. My packages are left in a large lockbox downstairs, and no one visits me. Which is how I've always preferred it.

So who the fuck is at my door now?

Irritated at the interruption, I grab my workout towel and stomp out out of my second bedroom—my gym. I use the towel to wipe the sweat from my chest and face, then rub my hair with it as I get to the door.

I look through the peephole and the anger dissipates. In its place, a warm sensation unfurls in my chest.

It's her.

Without stopping to think about my sweaty, half-naked state, I unbolt my door and swing it open.

I drink in the sight of her like a dying man finding water after wandering in the arid desert for days. She's wearing some kind of oversized purple tie-dyed shirt that hangs off one bare shoulder with black leggings. Her hair is down and loose in dark brown waves with gold shot through in places.

She's breathtaking.

We are both staring. Her eyes are wide, and travel down my chest. I remember that I haven't put on a shirt, and then I wonder if it offends her.

I want to ask her to come in, and if I should put on a shirt. But all that comes out when I open my mouth is a growly noise.

My cheeks flush with embarrassment and I grind my teeth in frustration.

She seems to understand somehow what's happening. "Hi," she says, her voice breathy. I catalogue her face, and see that her cheeks are pink too.

She holds out a plate covered with tin foil. "Chocolate chip cookies. For you."

My heart thunders in my chest.

She made me cookies?

She is still holding out the plate, so I take it from her and, after a beat, I gesture into my condo. Her eyes dart to the side nervously, and then she smiles tentatively and steps over my threshold.

I set the cookies down on the coffee table as I try to remember what my mother would do when she had company over years before. A lightbulb goes off and I pad into my kitchen and get two glasses of ice water.

When I return she's sitting on my mother's gray sofa, fidgeting. I hand her a glass of ice water and then sit next to her in the opposite end of the couch. I gulp my water thirstily and then place the empty glass on the coffee table.

Her eyes are on my chest again, then move lower, to my abs, which are bunched up from my sitting position. I'm terrible at reading people, but I like the way she looks at my naked torso.

In response to feeling her gaze I flex my stomach muscles, and I feel a flutter in my chest when she blushes.

I made her do that.

I surprise myself when my mouth stretches into a smile. I don't smile often- because of my neurological disorder I just don't experience emotions like normal people- so this is a novel experience for me.

Cassie averts her eyes from my chest and the hard ridges of my stomach. She looks at the carpet, opens her mouth and then closes it again.

I wait patiently to see what she does, if she'll reveal the purpose of her visit, if she'll tell me why she's bringing me cookies.

Finally, she speaks. "I-I hope you don't think this is weird..."

Oh, Cassie, you'd freak out if you knew just how weird I am.

She takes a breath and continues. "I've seen you at your window. I wanted to come thank you for your help. So I made cookies and then I — I just tried to estimate where your door would be. I figured at the worst I could knock on a few doors before I found you."

I nod. She takes it as a cue to continue.

"Yesterday—I had a pretty bad panic attack." She pauses and words come tumbling out of her mouth. "I have a disorder. Anxiety and panic disorder. It's been better, I mean, it's been months,

but yesterday—" she trails off. "Anyway, I appreciated you coming to my rescue."

I want to tell her that it wasn't a problem. That I wanted to... what? Take care of her? Be the one who comforts her when she experiences anything like that again?

My wants are so convoluted, and I'm so ill equipped for being able to even begin to express them, that I just nod again.

She opens her mouth and closes it, then finally speaks. "I know you're not much of a talker. And that's okay," she rushes to add. "But I guess what I'm trying to say is, I think you might, maybe, I don't know—" she stumbles over her words. "You might be like me."

I don't understand what she means and she must see that reflected in my face. "N-not like the same thing with the panic attacks and all," she clarifies. "I just mean—different."

I can't argue there. "Yes," I grind out.

It always feels like that- like I have to muscle the words out of my mouth. They always want to stay inside me, and I have to fight with them, to be able to verbalize my thoughts.

Different. That's an understatement.

At my simple, one-word agreement, her whole face lights up. Suddenly, it feels like I've got one of my 50-pound workout plates laying on my chest.

I can't take my eyes off her, and her eyes meet mine. I flinch, but I make myself maintain eye contact for a few seconds before I look down at her lips.

I've never been good with eye contact, but I'll work on it. For her.

But looking at her lips is not a good idea either. They are plump and rosy, and as I watch, her little pink tongue darts out and she licks them.

I immediately think about her wrapping those lips and tongue around my cock, and I'm rock hard in an instant.

And, because I'm in my workout clothes, there is absolutely nothing I can do to hide it.

If I was like a normal person I'd probably be embarrassed right now, but I'm not. I merely wonder what her reaction will be.

Cassie notices the movement in my lap and glances down.

She gasps and her eyes fly to mine.

I am not sure what my next move should be. I've never even come close to being in a situation with a girl like this—I've never been interested before, and I don't exactly socialize. Besides, my hand has always served my purposes just fine.

But now, things are different and I am more than interested—I'm fixated. Obsessed. I want to own her, body and soul.

And this second, I would love nothing more than to push her to her knees and shove my dick down her beautiful throat.

But I have no idea how to get from A to B. And even if I did, I'm pretty sure talking would be involved and my mouth wouldn't cooperate.

She's still staring at the visible line of my hardened cock pushing boldly against the stretchy fabric of my workout pants. They don't leave much to the imagination.

I almost groan out loud when she bites her lip and looks at me. At this moment I would give anything to be able to read people, to have any emotional intelligence whatsoever, so I could interpret the look on her face.

Maybe my face is more readable to her, though. I'm shocked when she reaches out and puts a hand on my knee. My dick jumps at the her touch and her eyes return to my crotch. I feel myself growing even harder, if that's at all possible.

I want to open my mouth and say something, ANYTHING, but I can't. I feel like there are invisible metal bands keeping my hands at my sides, my mouth rusted shut. Inside, I howl at the unfairness of my disability—something I've never cared about before.

In this moment, I would give anything just to be able to be a normal guy who can tell a beautiful woman he desires her.

When I don't react outwardly to her hand on my knee, her face turns red. She jerks her hand back like she's been burned and starts to jump up, but at the last moment I finally clutch at her hand. It surprises her, catches her off balance, and she tumbles into my lap with a "mmmmpf!"

She's spread across my lap for a beat, and then starts to wiggle desperately to right herself. She stills as she feels my thick shaft jerk under her bottom in response to her wiggling.

I can't help but move instinctively, lifting my hips to grind into her ass. She whimpers in response, and I shift her closer, my hands coming to her ass. I expect her to leap off me at any moment, but she doesn't, so I pull her forward to where my cock is nestled against the juncture of her leggings-clad thighs. Even though it's through layers of fabric, just the thought that my cock is touching Cassie's pussy is nearly enough to make me come in my pants right then and there.

She nestles her head in the space between my neck and shoulder and I feel her squirm over me, rubbing my dick over our clothes. I rock up into her and she gasps out a breath against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine as she responds with quick snaps of her hips.

Her lips find my neck next, and travel up to my chin, then up to nibble on my mouth. I'm happy to let her take the lead, since I have no idea what I'm fucking doing. I'm running on pure instinct.

My lips open under hers and her tongue sweeps into my mouth, drawing a low groan from me. Within seconds I've caught on and my mouth devours hers hungrily.

She begins to pant as she dry-fucks me, and somehow I know she's close, and I feel my balls tighten and I know I am too and I just have to hold on a few seconds longer and—

She releases a sharp cry as she grinds her pussy on my cock, hard, and that sound breaks me. I growl through clenched teeth as I come.

It's the single most euphoric experience of my life.

My limbs are heavy and loose, and all I want to do is curl my arms around this woman and —

As the world settles around me, I realize she's trying to get free. I move back and she leaps out of my lap, her face flaming bright red.

"I don't know what- I'm usually not- I don't-" she stammers as she adjusts her clothes.

She doesn't look at me and now I'm the one wanting to see her eyes. I don't like that she's uncomfortable with what just happened when it was so fucking incredible.

"It's—okay." I force the words past my lips in my rush to reassure her.

"No, it's not! I barely know you."

"Get to," I grind out.

She looks up at me. "Get to what?"

"Know. Me." This is the most words I've spoken in a very, very long time and I'm proud of myself.

She is quiet for a moment and then nods. "Okay." The corner of my mouth lifts at her acquiescence.

She starts toward the door and then turns around. "Um, do you want my number or anything?"

Fuck. Yes, I do. I'm better talking through typing texts and emails. Why hadn't I thought of that?

I nod and get up to retrieve my phone, which I rarely use. I hand it to her and she programs her number in. I send her a quick text-

"It's Ben"— and a ping sounds from her purse, sitting on the floor next to the couch.

She throws her bag over her shoulder. "I guess I'll see you later," she says.

Again, I curse my lack of relationship experience and knowledge. I don't know what to do in this situation. Also, I'm really uncomfortable because I have boxer briefs full of jizz and I desperately want to get out of them, so I'm definitely ready for her to go.

I give her a wave and she leaves, looking back at me once, then closes my door. I head to my shower, where I'm sure I'll make good use of the memory of her writing in my lap.

***

Cassie

It's quiet, too quiet, as I fold my laundry.

After living with my hovering, chatty mother, the silence feels almost eerie.

Maybe I should get a cat to keep me company and chase the stillness away. I imagine a cute little kitten rolling around on my living room floor playing with a length of ribbon, and my mouth turns up into a smile at the image.

There's an animal shelter a few miles away- maybe tomorrow I'll pay a visit and see if there are any kittens up for adoption.

I put away my clothes and then go through my nightly routine, brushing my teeth, washing my face, and smoothing on my 'night calm' lavender aromatherapy lotion. My entire life is lavender-scented at this point. It's supposed to help you relax, and I'm willing to try anything that will help ease my anxiety. I use the lotion, a pillow spray, and an essential oil diffuser full of lavender.

I pull on a soft, worn t-shirt over my head and get into bed, then switch off the lamp.

In the dark, thoughts swirl around in my mind. Mostly about my new neighbor.

He's hot, but also mysterious and unnerving, with his heavy silences and awkward mannerisms. And I'm so drawn to him. He makes my body light up with a look from those intense dark blue eyes. And when he touched me earlier ... I went up in flames.

My face grows hot even though I'm alone in the dark as I think about what I did today. How I rocked in his lap, rubbing my hot core against the ridge of his cock until I came so hard I saw stars.

The memory turns me on so much that I have to clench my thighs together. I turn over onto my stomach and thrust my hands under my pillow, allowing the coolness to soothe me. I close my eyes and breathe, beginning to purposely lengthen my breaths, counting to five, then on the next, six, then seven, then eight.

My last thought is of his face telling me he wants to get to know me.

***

Ben

I'm in all black again. Black hoodie over a black t-shirt and track pants. Black running shoes.

I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here.

The thought repeats in my mind on a loop. On a rational level I know that this is insane. But I have this compulsion inside me, compelling me to her front door.

My heart bangs against my rib cage as I insert the pilfered key into the door and turn it. The lock makes an audible 'snick' and I freeze.

After a few moments of stillness, I carefully turn the knob to prevent any additional noise. The door opens soundlessly and I enter her apartment. I slowly close the door, turning the knob and then releasing it so the catch notches in place with a minimum of sound.