Next Door Neighbors

That was how it all began with Robert, too, she realized in dread; a couple of drinks that he thought would help him cope with the ever-increasing money problems that turned into him drinking at home and coming home completely petrified.

Lana got up, not knowing what exactly she wanted, nor what had overcome her; nevertheless, acting upon impulses suddenly conquering her rationality, she took off her blouse and sweatpants. Wearing only the heels she wore earlier at the gathering, she stepped out of the apartment and, for what to her seemed an eternity, she stood on the hallway, naked and confused.

* * * *

No, I should turn around while I still can—she thought fearfully, after she had knocked on Stan's door—let him think it was some kids playing a trick on him. That's it, yes, better go back while I still can; what was I thinking? Why did I...

Before she could turn around, before she had the time to make up her mind on her true wants and needs, the door opened; Stan looked at her, his sleepy, tired, bloodshot eyes instantly popping wide open.

"What are you doing here, at this ungodly hour?" He demanded hoarsely.

"I just..." she didn't know what to say; of course, her nakedness was probably more than a satisfactory response to his inquiry.

"Look," he said, frustrated by her silence, "you don't make the calls, all right? I do and only I; get it? You don't get to knock on my door naked and expect me to do what you want; I knock on your door and command you to do as I please. That is the fucking deal.

"Now, go; I'm tired, slightly drunk, and I only want to get some sleep. Perhaps, I'll call on you tomorrow."

"Wait," she cried hurriedly, as he was about to slam the door shut. "I don't know why I'm here; I just... maybe we can just talk?"

"We talked earlier, remember? What more is there to be said?"

"Why are you like this? You were far more pleasant earlier," she complained.

"I don't tend to be pleasant and polite, when I'm being rudely awaken in the middle of the night; especially not when I just managed to fall asleep, after a long night of drinking and having fun. I only need to rest; I don't want to talk, fuck, or anything in between you might have had in mind we'd do... I'm not your friend, Lana.

"I'm your damn neighbor; we're not best buddies, childhood friends, besties... whatever fits your fancy best. We have an arrangement—still little sketchy on the edges, but, we'll work on it soon, I promise—and that's all there is to it. Okay?"

"I only thought... after tonight, I thought..." she muttered, unable (unwilling) to comprehend.

"Whatever you thought, you better fucking forget, alright? It'll do wonders for both of us. Good night," he barked, then slammed the door hard on her face.

Lana stood there completely at loss, the sound of the lock turning a brutal torture to her ears, and heart. She sat on the cold, marble staircase and buried her face in her palms, letting the tears finally flow down her eyes in rivers.

Chapter 6

"Why, good morning," she said melancholy, offering him the best smile she could muster.

"Uh-hum," Robert nodded, holding on to his head tight, as if it was about either to explode, or fly off his shoulders.

"Not feeling good, huh?" She said, unable to mellow down her sarcastic tone.

"No shit," he scuffed, as he gulped down cold water. "Shit," he leaned forth, grabbing his forehead.

"You might want to take an aspiring, or something."

"It won't do me any good," he spoke with extreme difficulty. "I'll just throw it up."

"Well, at least, now you know why you shouldn't drink so much," she remarked, with some joy evident in her glance. "By the way, what did you drink last night?"

"I don't know," he said; he reached in the refrigerator and went for a bottle of cold Budweiser.

"Seriously?" She cried in despair.

"It's the only true remedy for a hangover," he said, suddenly elated after draining down the bottle. He grabbed a second one and sat lower on the chair.

"Bullshit," she retorted. "That's simply alcoholism; when you need a drink in the morning, just to feel okay."

"It's not..." he sighed, had a good hit of beer. "Fuck it, you wouldn't understand."

"Why? Tell me why I wouldn't understand!" She slammed her hand on the table.

"Oh, look at you!" He raised the bottle to a toast and drank it down. "What, now you care for me?"

"I've always cared for you, Robert. Always! And you know it!"

"Do I?" He smiled wickedly. "I mean, after Jenna left for college, it's like we're two strangers just sharing an apartment; we barely talk, let alone do other things together, we don't go out, we...

"Hell, Lana, last night was the first time I went out with a friend for... for fucking forever!"

"Robert, what are you talking about?"

"You always had your friends, Lana, your high-school gang, your college friends; you went out with them, on girls-nights, even when Jenna was a baby. Claiming you needed a break, because taking care of her was such a hard job.

"And I always stayed home to watch Jenna, while you were out partying. But, I never got my guys-night out, did I? No, even when I did go out with my friends, back when I still had friends, you'd always join! Always following me around; you wanted your freedom, but, were not willing to give me even a fucking trace of it!

"So, yes, last night, I enjoyed the fuck out of my going out without you pestering me! There was always something that bothered you; 'oh, Robert, it's getting late, I'm tired, let's go home!'; 'I don't like this place, it's too... dirty'; 'no, Robert, I don't like your friend, Tim; he's a womanizer, he's not good for you'; 'Robert, don't drink another beer, you've already had two!'.

"Do these ring a fucking bell?"

"I thought..." she cleared her throat, completely dumbfounded. "I thought you wanted me to go out with you; that you enjoyed having me around. And..."

"I did, yes... but, not all the fucking time, and not when you were bugging me, instead of letting me enjoy myself!"

"I only said those things to you, because I cared... because I still care! That's why I asked about the drinking, about... you're turning into an alcoholic, Robert, and you just don't want to face it."

"I don't give a single motherfucking fuck, you hear me? Last night I had fun for the first time in years, decades. I was able to enjoy myself, see. Is that really so bad? Did it feel bad, because you stayed here, all alone, like I used to do all these years, when you went out with your friends?

"When I spent all my Saturday nights at home, watching television like a miserable loner, when both you and Jenna went out to party? And I just sat here, on that very couch in the living room, wondering if you're both all right? Worrying myself to death, when it got 3am and I had not received a single call, or even a lousy text, from either of you?

"Were you thinking of me then? Did you care for me, then? Hell, do you even care about me now? You only care, because I'm drinking slightly and you want to make a big fuss out of it just so you can have something to occupy your time with! See what a good fucking husband I am?

"I saw you got bored with me, got tired of us right after Jenna moved out, and decided to give you something to worry about, just so you won't bore yourself to death!"

"Robert, what are you talking about? What's gotten into you?"

"Reality; that's what's gotten into me," he said harshly. "I just see things clearly for the first time in my goddamn life. And it does not look good, honey," he grabbed the third, and last, bottle of beer from the fridge and cried in frustration. "We're out of beer," he drank it down in one sip, then rushed into the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" She asked in surprise, when he reemerged dressed, determinedly going for the front door.

"To get some fucking alcohol," he said coldly and slammed the door behind him.

"What the hell," she muttered to herself, amazed.

A knock on the door rattled her; she answered, hoping it was Robert having regretted his harsh words and bizarre attitude. Instead, it was Stan, who gave her a wide smirk.

"Everything alright?" He asked, mockingly.

"Yeah, everything's just... fucking dandy."

"I heard the commotion," he explained, "the door getting slammed shut and..." he shrugged his shoulders. "Thought I should check up on you."

"Oh, really? You want to apologize for last night, now?"

"What?" He chuckled, dryly and cruelly. "Fuck no. Why should I apologize? You're the one who owe me an apology, actually... for waking me up, simply because you felt lonely. Anyway, I'm going to take the high road and not demand one.

"No, I'm here, because I want you to go out with me, tonight. There's a lovely little bar not far from here, which I recently discovered and I think you're going to like it. And you do seem like you could use a break."

"Tonight? No, I can't, I..."

"Shit," he rubbed his forehead, "you really have no respect whatsoever for our arrangement, do you? You've... fuck it. Apparently, I misjudged you; I thought you coming to my gathering last night was a clear sign you had finally gotten it, but..." he sighed heavily, and theatrically, and turned away.

"No, wait, I..." she hurried to stop him, uncertain of what exactly she was expecting, or going after. "What time?"

"Be ready by nine," he told her coldly, having already opened his front door. "Dress nicely."

She closed the door and leaned on against it; she banged the back of her head repeatedly on the wooden surface.

* * * *

"How much did you get?" She shrieked, when Robert threw the heavy bags on the counter and stretched, groaning in agony.

"Just making sure we won't run dry for a short while," he said coolly.

"That's enough for a dozen parties!"

"Don't be so dramatic, Lana," he dismissed her and began stacking the beer and the white-wine bottles in the fridge, "it doesn't suit you that nicely."

"I'm simply being realistic, Robert..." she protested. "At least, tell me you're not going to drink them all right away."

"They'll last as long as they last, I'm not going to create a timeframe."

"Maybe, you should; then, you'd finally see how much you've overdone it these past few days."

"Oh, give me a break, will you?" He lined up the bottles of scotch and tequila on the kitchen counter against the wall, and licked his lips eagerly as he stared lustily at them.

"Fine!" She cried in desperation. "Fine, I won't nag you anymore, okay? Since I'm such a bothersome burden, I'll leave you the fuck alone! Let you drink yourself to death; isn't that what you want? What you're trying to accomplish?"

"Again," he sighed deeply, "with the drama..."

"Screw you, Robert," she cried loudly. "You're drinking, because you lack the balls to cope with your problems; as soon as things turned a bit bad, you decided altogether to quit. You didn't make any efforts to improve things, to find something new; no, you just started drinking to escape your difficulties."

"What?" He glared at her sharply. "What did you just say? Listen," he took a step closer to her, threateningly, "things have being slowly going to shit for years now, alright? Yet, I've always found ways to keep you in the dark, because I didn't want you to worry—ha, yes, I was that big of an idiot!

"I've fought and clawed and busted my fucking ass for the past several years, amid this damn crisis and with the whole world crumbling into pieces, just so you wouldn't have to worry, so that you could continue to live the way you were used to; so that you and Jenna would not be amiss of anything!

"Don't tell me I gave up without a fucking fight! And I haven't given up, either! I'm just... doing my best to maintain my fucking sanity in this fucking mad world!"

"It definitely doesn't seem you're doing such a great job at that," she uttered, cowering behind the kitchen table.

"Fuck you," he screamed and slammed his fist on the kitchen table, causing various objects to fly off and drop to the floor. "You still mock me? You still..." he paused, drew a few deep breaths. "Know what? I don't care anymore, I'm done."

"Done with what?" She demanded, when he rushed out of the kitchen.

"Done with trying constantly to please you; done with always backing down in arguments, just so you can be happy; done with being the perfect little husband you can manipulate and use as you fucking please!"

"Robert, do you even listen to yourself?" She demanded, stepping out of the kitchen, following him into the bedroom.

"Yeah, I do," he snapped back at her. "Why? You think I'm being unreasonable? Is that it?"

"Yes, I... no," she quickly changed tone, "I just think you're frustrated with work, with everything that's been troubling you, and you just project all this anger on me; and, it's okay, I get it, it's just... you're saying too many things you'll one day regret. You should..."

"I should have predicted this whole fucking mess years ago! I was just too blind! Too stupid, blind, and fucking in love to notice what's been going on around me for all these years."

"What are you talking about?" She protested. "I don't understand what's gotten into you!"

"I told you, reality; that little harsh bitch that comes and fucking burns everything to the ground. That's what happened, Lana! I realized that all these years we've been in a loveless, cold marriage for the sake of Jenna and for the sake of others; we didn't want to have to go around and tell people we got divorced.

"We didn't want to face family and friends, to have to talk to them about divorce; we are together, because we feared our divorce could traumatize Jenna and because we were afraid of what others would think!"

"This is the drinking talking, Robert," she said, struggling with a new wave of tears, "and your frustration that's been eating you up. If you had opened up to me, when it first began... when..."

"Oh, yes!" He laughed sardonically. "Definitely! That would have helped, right? If only I had opened up to you... how about if you had given me the chance, huh? When was the last time we ever talked about something important, Lana? Huh?

"When was the last time we ever talked, period, for anything other than Jenna? When did we ever talk about us? Did you ever ask me how I am doing, how I feel, what I'm thinking?

"No! All you ever asked was, 'how was your day, honey?' and that was merely out of courtesy. Did you expect me to just open up, when you didn't even give me the time of the day? I was hardly a ghost inconveniently wandering around the apartment."

"Robert, I..." she stopped abruptly.

"You've got nothing to say, huh? I get it, it's hard to have the brutal truth thrown at your face like that."

"It's just..." she breathed deeply, "what do you want? You want us to get a divorce, you want me to... what do you want?"

"Nothing," he shrugged his shoulders. "I just want you to stop pretending as if you're giving a fuck. That's all. I swear, I don't get drunk in front of people we know; no one's going to know I'm drinking a bit more than what's socially acceptable. So, you don't have to worry about what people will say.

"We'll just continue living like we always did, strangers in the same apartment; it's worked out just fine all these years, hasn't it? Why change it now? Well, at least, until we lose it to the bank, in which case, we might have to reconsider quite a few things. But," he shrugged his shoulders, "we still have some time. Why bother with it just yet?"

She didn't speak; there was nothing to be said, nothing she could say or do to rectify things, to ease his mind. She had to show patience, to wait for him to calm down, perhaps sober up, before she could talk to him.

At the same time, she was riddled with guilt; did she really treat him the way he claimed? Did she, subconsciously, make him feel unwelcome in their home? She returned to the kitchen, stared intensely at the bottles on the counter, then had a sip of her now-cold coffee.

She lit a cigarette, but, the rising smoke had no answers to offer; only a very temporary sense of relaxation, as she puffed and felt her lungs and mind swarmed with the soothing heavy smoke.

* * * *

Against her best judgment, she got dressed for the night; was it an unconscious effort to make Robert notice her, and perhaps wake some jealousy in him, that she chose to wear a tight-fitting mini skirt (which she hadn't wore in more than five years), a short black crop top, and 8-inch high-heel pumps she could hardly walk in?

Perhaps, was the only answer she could give to the self-inquiry that tormented her, as she stepped out of the bedroom. Robert was lying down on the couch, drinking tequila straight from the bottle, absentmindedly watching a comedy on the TV.

"Going out?" He asked, mechanically.

"Yeah, with some friends."

"Good, good," he gestured her away. "Nice outfit, by the way."

"Thanks," she muttered, befuddled.

She stepped out, still questioning her decision to go out with Stan, yet, certain she could not stay inside and watch Robert get plastered for yet another night; besides, things were growing even worse, not only due to his earlier accusations, but, also with his drinking as he had now traded beer for tequila and whiskey.

Completely at loss, helplessly watching her whole world crumble into tiny pieces before her very eyes, she rang Stan's bell and waited, trying to wear her best smile and most cheerful look.

"Well," Stan asked her, after they had taken a seat in a remote, dark booth in the corner of the bar, "is everything okay?"

"Why do you ask?" She barked back, stirring her gin and tonic, staring at it intensely and with distain.

"I don't know," he shrugged his shoulders, "maybe, because it's obvious something's eating you up? Because, we didn't exchange one word on the way here? Because, I heard yelling coming from your apartment earlier today?

"Pick the reason for my asking."

"Jesus," she rubbed her forehead, then reached for her pack.

"It's cool, if you don't want to talk about it..."

"Good, 'cause I don't," she said angrily.

"but," he continued, unfazed, "it might do you good to open up. Besides, feeling like shit won't give you any free passes."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Now, now," he scolded her patronizingly, "don't use that kind of language; it doesn't suit you one fucking bit... see?" he gave her a dry chuckle. "Me, it suits me; I can say fuck as many fucking times as I motherfucking like, and it still sounds motherfucking good.

"You... not so much; it comes out forced, you know?"

"Fuck you," she said, albeit her lips cracked up in a faint, alas genuine, smile. "Anyway, yes, I don't normally swear; and, I tend to dislike people who do. At any rate, I think there are times in one's life, where swearing is the only thing you're left with; you know?

"Where you just need to swear, simply so you can let some frustration out, blow some steam off, even in this juvenile way."

"Does it help?" He pursued.

"Not really, no," she shook her head, her smile slowly widening. "But, it does provide some, admittedly very brief, moments of relief."