Her bedroom certainly wasn't what Jack was expecting. The floor was littered with piles of clothes, the bed hadn't been straightened out in weeks, probably not since her mother had left her a week earlier and tiny lacy things were hanging lopsidedly out of drawers and off door knobs. But really, Jack shouldn't have been surprised, in all his months of watching her, he had only ever observed her trying on clothes every morning and discarding outfits that didn't suit her that particular day, meticulously putting on makeup and sleeping in that huge bedroom of hers. At least from what he could see in that room.
He remembered how months ago, he had moved into the apartment across from Pia a few months back, and the first night in his apartment, sitting on his makeshift couch staring out his window, Jack had spied her. She was walking around her apartment in shorts and a tank top. Though walking was perhaps the wrong word for it, gliding, dancing. Sometimes on purpose, as she practiced dance steps in her living room and hallway, sometimes without even noticing, like while she was tending to something on the stove. Jack hurried home every evening to see her again, to see what she was up to again; although, her life was as monotonous has his own. She left her apartment in the morning and returned in the evening. He had cursed the last semester, when her courses had kept her out later than usual and confined her to her desk, which Jack not see from his own apartment. Luckily, it was summer again, and the shorts had made a comeback, as did the tank tops and shorter work hours.
So many nights Jack had wished he could just march up to her door, knock and meet this woman. His best friend noticed her as well, before he had even sat down. She drew attention to herself, not by doing anything particularly interesting, though sometimes she would dance wildly around her apartment or belt out songs at the top of her voice, but none of her neighbors ever noticed her. Jack had once stood next to her on the train as they were both going home. He was so excited, when the train suddenly came to a halt, his hands had been so clammy, he could barely hold on to the rail. Catching himself before crashing into her, Jack cursed himself for not crashing into her, at least he would have been able to touch her just once, and then the train for not remaining stuck underground for longer. She was distracting him while he worked from home, he stared across the street into her apartment more than he stared at his own work. But he couldn't help it. Things had gotten much worse of late though -- she had become involved with some "dude." Dreadful, Jack thought, he swore he was going to give up on her forever, swore never to look across into her place again, and yet, he couldn't help it. Jack would watch as she took their make-out sessions from the living room, of which he saw very little to the bedroom, where he could have seen far more, but this "dude" constantly closed the blinds as soon as possible. Jack didn't even know who he was or who she was, but even without knowing either, Jack hated him and adored her.
Pia never closed her blinds, contenting herself with the sheer curtains that covered her bedroom windows, leaving very little to the imagination. Her bedtime was his favorite. Jack watched as she undressed in her bedroom, leaving said piles of clothes on the floor, then walking over into her bathroom to take a shower. The window in her bathroom was barely clear, yet he could see the window fogging up further when she turned on the hot water. Most nights she pushed up the window to let the hot air escape, allowing him to spy glimpses of her she turned around in the tub, washed her hair and body. It was such a shower, that Jack first saw the two large tattoos covering her back. Both clearly visible from across the street they were the both the size of a human hand. He had always wondered what they meant. One a flame curling up from one central point on her lower back, but not one of those handlebar type-things. A single flame curling up her spine, while between her shoulder blades two fish, one on top of the other found their home. Jack was caught off guard when he first saw those two permanent imprints on her skin. She hadn't seemed like the type. Her life certainly didn't seem like the sort of life a woman with such impressive tattoos would live, yet something seemed right about those two tattoos. They were part and parcel of her, adding to her mystery.
But back to that "dude" she had brought home one day. He was drawn, his face betraying meanness and coldness that absolutely did not go along with hers, which was soft and warm. She would smile at him, pulling his arms around her, almost begging him to hold her in his arms, without success. Their "dates" went along the same schema every time. She would cook something delicious looking in the kitchen, enticing him by altering the wardrobe, one night it was shorts and a tank top, another a pencil skirt and sheer blouse, another she simple stood in front of him in a short silk robe. This "dude's" face never betrayed any emotion, if there even was any. She would cook, they would eat, she would nip at her wine, and he would down whole glassfuls. They would then watch television in the living room, where he would likely start to fumble around in her shirt, before dragging her to the bedroom to do the deed. Always closing the blinds, always turning the light off, always leaving her to get up in the middle of the night to smoke a cigarette or two out of the kitchen window. She had started that little habit soon after the two had met, somehow it seemed it was a habit she had successfully quit for quite some years , yes this stone-faced twit brought it back. She looked dissatisfied then, Jack was sure this guy was a miserable lover. As much as this dude drank every time he was with her, it would have been a surprise if he lasted any longer than five minutes or if she got any satisfaction out of the deal. The expression on her face while she smoked those nights, certainly didn't betray satisfaction and joy.
Although Jack didn't like her smoking, there was something enticing about her those nights. Her upper body was hanging out of the kitchen window, her elbows resting on the window guard, her nipples hardened in the breeze covered only by the silk robe, her lips hanging lightly onto her cigarette, her brightly lacquered nails twinkling in the light of the street lamps. He always wondered if Pia could see him those nights, she seemed to stare across the street, right into him, or maybe she was just counting the bricks in the wall across from her.
The next morning after their "wild night of five minute sex," Pia would inevitably walk this dude to the subway stop. Every Sunday, she would walk him to the subway stop a few minutes before 8. Definitely before breakfast, most likely before she had even finished sleeping. Always wanting to hold his hand or receive some sign of affection, this dude, this little twit, would inevitably shake off her hand and turn away his face when she reached up on tiptoes to kiss him. Her face dejected and sad every time. She had been able to laugh it off the first few times, but his rejection of her "the morning after" always stung. It stung even Jack as he watched from above.
Snapping back into the present day, the evening had passed like any other. This guy showed up at her apartment, bearing a bottle of wine. She had whipped up something delicious in the kitchen. It must have been good, judging by the number of times Pia had run into the kitchen to check on it. She was wearing a short-sleeved black dress, fitted to her shape, nipping in at the waist and leaving much to the imagination. When he arrived, Pia did not run to greet him at the door, she had left the door unlocked so he could let himself in. When she heard him in the hall, she gave a start; Jack could see her tensing up, gripping the counter tightly, before taking a deep breath and walking out to greet him. Jack thought to himself that this might prove to be an interesting evening, definitely worth watching. She set the table while he opened the bottle and poured only himself a glass. It must have been this way, because she needed to pour another glass for herself when she sat down to eat. They ate an extremely quiet dinner. She poked around the plate, staring at the table mostly. After she had cleared the table, she sat down again, this time very deliberately breathing deeply, as though readying herself for something. After Pia had deflected his attempts to take things to the bedroom, he leaned back, crossed his arms and with a smug look on his face, looked at her as she started to speak. Oh how Jack wished he would have been able to read lips at that moment. He wanted to know exactly what was going on over there, yet their facial expressions, explained much of what was happening. He went from smug to shocked to irate.
This is where Jack jumped out of his chair and lunged towards the window. Pia had moved off towards a corner, while the guy had stood up and was now standing over her, visibly yelling at her, as she attempted to find an escape. When she went to squeeze past him, he grabbed her by the arm. Pia with her back to the window, was gripping the window guard tightly, refusing to move from her spot. When the guy started wildly gesticulating with his other hand, Jack moved for the door. He didn't know what he would say, or how he would even get into the other building, but he would stop this impeding violence before it started.
Jack bolted through the line of parked cars, through oncoming traffic and made it to her door. As an elderly lady exited the building, Jack ran in before door closed. Running of three flights of stairs, Jack made it to Pia's door and hammered away. He could hear voices screaming on the other side. When a definitely slap rang out, Jack shouldered the door open. Luckily the building and doors were old, so making his way inside didn't take too much effort. He bolted along the hallway to her bedroom, where he pulled a screaming, swinging menace off Pia, who cowered against the closet door. Not understanding what was going on, Pia stared wide-eyed at the scene devolving in front of her. Jack deftly pushed him out the door, slamming it shut. Slowly walking back towards the bedroom, Jack encountered a locked door. "I know," Jack said calmly, "this probably looks insane to you. Some random stranger bolting through your door, dragging your boyfriend away. I'm not sure how to explain this. You see, I live across from you and I saw him yelling and threatening you. I guess my knight in shining armor syndrome got the best of me. Are you OK? Can I call someone for you?" For a while there was no response, Pia needed to pick herself and her jaw up from off the floor before she could begin to process the scene. She replied, "I know who you are, and he isn't my boyfriend, at least, not anymore. That what the fight was about. I was dumping him, and I guess he didn't take it too well." Slowly, the door opened and Pia peered through the crack.
A barefooted stranger, in sweat pants and a t-shirt manhandling and shoving her menace of a now-ex-boyfriend out the door. Not exactly the knight in shining armor she was hoping for, then again, that shirt was definitely Under Armor. It showed off everything that needed to be shown off. There he stood, the guy she had sometimes caught watching her as she pranced around her apartment in various states of undress. Often she wore next to nothing on purpose, enjoying the fact that someone was enjoying watching her. She always wondered what he really looked like. Now she knew. Definitely taller than 6 feet, very toned arms, she saw him tossing her ex around like a wet rag. She still couldn't estimate his true size, so Pia opened the door fully, revealing a bruised cheek.
"You should put some ice on that."
"I guess I'd better. Don't want to reveal to the world my terrible taste in boyfriends."
"One bad apple shouldn't spoil the whole bunch," Jack replied with a smile.
Pia attempted to smile, but rather flinched in pain. "I'm gonna go get that ice. Thank you by the way."
