Kevin was fascinated by the girl upstairs. She rented the apartment above his, and from the moment that he first saw her, he fell in lust.
He watched her come and go, heading off to work, returning home. Once they arrived at the main door together and he held it open for her, gaining as a reward a smile that made his heart lurch into a faster beat for a few moments and seemed to squeeze his breath fast in his windpipe, then she was gone. She could have taken the elevator but she was young and nimble, and chose to trip lightly up the stairs as he stood in the hall, watching her short skirt jiggle against the backs of her firm delightful thighs, until, just as the angle was almost right for him to catch a glimpse of the imagined delights of her underwear, she turned the corner onto the next flight, and although he broke out of his frozen stupor and followed her she was too quick for him, vanishing up the last flight to her apartment before he reached his own door on the floor below.
In his small sanctuary, he stood in front of the wardrobe mirror, and stared with dismay at his reflection. The thick glasses, lank hair, skinny chest and sallow complexion filled him with self loathing, and he turned away in disgust.
He looked round the living room of the apartment, at the two computers, the large monitors, the piles of books and discs, the scattered unwashed dishes from yesterday, take-away cartons still littering the table.
"Is this what I've come to?" he thought. A surge of anger and self pity went through him, and with a burst of energy he tidied up, throwing cartons in the bin and dishes into the sink. He worked at the keyboard for a couple of hours, then went to bed, but although he felt drained sleep eluded him.
He imagined her in the room above, sleeping serenely, her face peaceful on her pillow, her breast rising and falling, her dreams tranquil and pleasant. Did she dream of him ever? Of course she didn't, she never even noticed him! He was nothing, a nonentity, too far below her existence for her to be aware of.
He masturbated frantically, her radiant face floating above him in the dark, her soft body imagined in his arms, her lips warm on his. Afterwards he found no relief, no peace. His mind raced like a motor with the throttle stuck wide open. Only toward dawn did he find a few hours of feverish sleep.
In the morning, he dressed and went out. He found a hairdresser and asked if they could give him a modern, stylish look. They did their best, but a lock of lank hair still flopped over his brow. He stared into the mirror and thought that he looked like a young Hitler, without the moustache, and in thick glasses. He sighed as he paid the hairdressers, knowing that it wasn't their fault. "Can't make a silk purse out of a pig's ear." He told himself wryly.
His next stop was a local gym, and he signed up for a year, thinking "In for a penny, in for a pound." He had no gear, but he bought some shorts and a T shirt at the gymnasium shop and changed into them.
He found that he had no idea what to do once he was in the main gym, he hadn't exercised since school and even then it had been reluctantly. Under the guidance of an attendant he tried pumping a little iron with some light weights which still felt like lead ingots to him, then a session on an electric treadmill. The sweat rolled off him in waves, and he was glad he'd bought a towel so that he could shower. His heart felt like it was going to pound clean out of his ribcage, and his head swam. This wasn't going to be easy!
Later, sitting at his apartment window, he watched her as she walked up the street and through the front door. Did he really think that he could turn himself into the sort of guy that a girl like that would give a second glance to? He was just fooling himself, the voice in his head told him.
He heard her footsteps pass his apartment, going towards the stairs up to the next floor. He ached to open his own door, to stop her, talk to her, tell her how he felt, but he never could, he had no social skills, no way with words, no technique for approaching girls. He wasn't exactly a virgin, there had been that drunken fumble at college with a girl in his class, when she had taken him back to her room after a party where all the good looking trendy guys were already taken. He had been so scared at the thought that he was about to have sex for the first time that he couldn't get an erection, and when he finally did after much coaxing from her, he ejaculated seconds after entering her and she pushed him away in frustration and disgust. She never willingly spoke to him again. It was the limit of his sexual experience so far.
Sitting alone in his darkened room, he heard the girl upstairs open and close her door, putting yet another barrier between them. He stared into the shadows in silence.
The shriek rang through the building like an electric charge, a sound of pure terror, a lost soul being pursued through the caverns of Hell by flame eyed demons. A door slammed open, back against the wall, feet clattered and stumbled on stairs, a hand hammered on his door, hammered and hammered. He sat frozen, stunned with shock, then he ran to the door and flung it open, not knowing what to expect.
It was her. She fell against him, sobbing, shaking, and instinctively he put his arms around her and held her close. Her hands clutched and scrabbled at him, clawing, her mouth open and gasping for air, ashen face with wide eyes close to his. He drew her into the room and sat her in a chair, not knowing what to do, what had caused this.
Gradually she stopped shaking, looked at him, gasped "The bathroom! The bath! Oh God help me please!"
He ran out of the room, up the stairs to her apartment, visions of disaster flowing through his brain. Did she have a room mate he didn't know about? Had she come home to find a wrist slashed corpse lolling out of the bath, blood rivering along the floor tiles? He ran into her rooms, into the bathroom, to the bath, and.......
And, nothing! The bath was empty and dry. Empty except for....
A spider!
Not a big spider. Not really a small one either, just a long legged house spider, the kind that spins webs in the corner of rooms and sits there for days waiting patiently. Kevin scooped it into a toothmug and carefully opening the window he tipped it out. It was light enough to survive the fall and with luck it would find somewhere else warm to hunt in.
He went back down to his own place. She was still sitting there, hands clenched in her lap, trembling slightly.
"It's gone." He said
She nodded slowly, stood up.
"Would you come back up with me please? Just for a minute?"
"Yes, of course." They climbed the flight of stairs together slowly. She entered the small apartment, glancing round quickly, checking everywhere.
"I put it out of the window." He said, "It can't get back in."
She finally relaxed, her shoulders dropping slightly. She turned to look at him, colour coming back into her face, the hazel eyes wide and deep.
"Would you stay for a while?" she asked "Have a coffee with me? Please."
He nodded " O.K."
She sat him in an easy chair while she made coffee. He looked around, at the furniture, not expensive but tasteful, the shelf of books, mostly on psychology as far as he could tell. She brought his coffee and her own and sat opposite him, the short skirt riding up her legs. He looked away, embarrassed, tried to think of something to say.
"My name's Kevin." He eventually managed. Oh boy, that was sure going to impress her! What a stunning conversationalist he was!
"I'm Lindsey." She replied, smiling.
