Neighbors

Ben

From my window, I watch as the brunette unloads another box from her car and, staggering slightly under its weight, disappears into the open door to apartment 1c.

I've been watching her all morning as she moves into her new apartment. I watch as she pauses to pull her glossy, dark hair into a ponytail. I see her begin to perspire after a few trips, and watch as she rolls up the sleeves on her her green and black plaid flannel button-down shirt. Then, I watch as she ties the shirt up, exposing a strip of creamy white belly and the shaded indentation of her navel. I watch her turn and, presented with her back view, notice how the faded, worn jeans cling lovingly to her ass.

I'm always watching. It's what I do.

I'm... not good with people. I don't understand them, and it seems like I never know the right thing to say or do. So over time it's gotten easier just to keep to myself.

I struggled through school. Not academically so much--I'm pretty smart--but my mind doesn't work the same way as other people's and that made it hard. In years past, they might have called it Asperger's, but now that's outdated. Now, they label it 'high-functioning autism,' with a side dose of obsessive-compulsive disorder.

College was a lot easier because I got my degree online in finance. I've got a mind for mathematics. Now that makes sense to me. It's black and white, no room for misinterpretation.

Now, I work from home as a financial analyst, and I keep social interactions to a minimum. My mom died a few years ago and left me this condo, so I live here alone. I keep busy with my work, and content myself with watching the neighbors come and go.

And it's enough.

Until today.

Something stirs in me as I drink in the sight of the petite, dark-haired woman bending over to reach into the back seat of the silver Nissan Sentra, her jeans tightening over the perfect globes of her ass.

My dick jerks, thickening, until it pushes insistently against the front of my pants.

As she straightens, now with a box in her hands, she leans the box against the side of the car and frees one hand to wipe the beads of sweat away before they can slide down into her eyes.

I want to lick those pearls of perspiration off.

The urge, and my physical reaction to this girl, startles me. Usually the thought of having to interact with another person makes my skin prickle in irritation. But this girl fills me with the need to find out everything about her, to be close to her, to touch her.

For the first time in years, I wish that I was a normal person so I could go outside and meet her, talk to her, ask her on a date like a regular guy would. But I can't.

So I watch.

***

Cassie

I pull the cardboard box out of the backseat and stand up, feeling a trickle of sweat begin to track its way down my forehead toward my eye. I pause and balance the box against the car, putting my weight on it so it doesn't fall, and quickly swipe it off using my flannel sleeve.

Jeez. I've only got the first few boxes unloaded and I'm already sweating my tits off.

As I grab the box again and hoist it up, my skin prickles on the back of my neck. Out of instinct, I swing around, looking to see if anyone is watching me. My heart increases it's tempo, and tendrils of panic unfurl in my belly. But other than a few cars passing by, no one is on the street.

Breathe, Cassie.

I give another quick sweep just to check, and movement in the second story window directly across the street from where I'm standing snags my attention.

Before I can fully register the face, the curtain is sliding closed, but I'm left with the impression of dirty blond hair and a pair of dark, intense eyes.

I shake my head and turn to enter my new apartment, setting the box down next to the others just inside the entryway.

It's a small one-bedroom, and on the ground floor, which I am not thrilled about. But it fits my price range and the neighborhood is pretty safe.

I've been living with my mom for the past 18 months and I was desperate to get my own space. Not that I don't love my mother. I do. And I'm so grateful that she's been there for me during one of the most difficult periods of my life. But it became clear that I'd reached a plateau in my treatment and if I was to regain my independence I needed to live by myself again.

I glance around the apartment. The empty walls are stark white, boasting a fresh coat of paint. The tan carpet in the living room and bedroom has seen better days, though. There's a small kitchen, with white cabinets and a checkered linoleum floor. I remind myself that it's a blank canvas, and I'll make it feel like home in no time.

As I head back out to my car to grab another box, a U-Haul pulls up and parks as close to my apartment as it can get. Two men jump out- my younger brother, Will, and his best friend, Ty.

I meet them at the back of the truck. "Thank you so much for doing this," I say to Will, who is already pulling open the back to reveal my meager furnishings, which have been languishing in storage for the last year and a half.

"No prob," he says, throwing an arm around my shoulder. "This is the right move." He squeezes briefly as if yo reassure me, then leaps up into the truck and nods to Ty, indicating the sofa. "Come get the other side of this."

I direct them to put the couch in the living room, and then busy myself with unloading my car while they handle the heavier items.

An hour later, my car is mostly unloaded, and my bed and dresser, couch, coffee table, and dining set have been unloaded and set up to my specifications.

I follow Will and Ty out to the truck, thanking them again. Will hugs me goodbye and jumps in the driver's seat, and Ty is still standing there, looking at me like he wants to say something. I peer up at him, since he's a head taller than me.

Maybe he's waiting for me to thank him too?

"Thank you so much," I say to him. He smiles, and I am surprised by how his baby face has roughened into that of a man. He's the same age as Will, so he'd be in college now.

"I'm pretty close by," Ty says finally. "If you ever want to get dinner or something."

It takes a minute for my brain to catch up with what he's saying. Holy shit, did Ty just ask me on a date? I babysat the kid, for gods sake.

I give him an awkward hug. "Thanks," I say, and leave it at that.

I watch them drive off, and feel that same prickle. I look up toward the window where I saw the face before, but the curtains are still closed.

***

Ben

My teeth are clenched, my jaw tight as I watch her touching him. Wrapping her arms around him. Giving him a hug.

Anger zaps through me at the unknown male who has his hands on her. I want to hit something.

Deliberately, I separate my teeth and unclench my jaw. I'm so confused at how my body is reacting to this woman. Typically I don't feel anything at all, toward anyone.

I feel a sense of satisfaction when I finish a project for work, when I straighten my condo and there's not one thing out of place, or when I push myself to finish a particularly tough set during my workout.

But I don't usually feel... desire. Possessiveness.

Jealousy.

It's like there's this drive inside me that's suddenly flared to life.

It makes me want to do things that completely disrupt my schedule.

Like go down to get my mail.

Usually I let it pile up, and maybe once a week, in the very early morning when no one is around, I go clear out my mailbox.

Today, maybe for the first time in my entire life, I am thinking about going downstairs to retrieve my mail in broad daylight.

Because it might get me close to her.

***

Cassie

After my brother and Ty take off, I go out to get the last thing left in my car- a laundry basket full of books and other random items. I ran out of boxes and had to improvise.

As I reach into my car and pull out the laundry basket, I again feel eyes on me. My head snaps up and my gaze collides with a man's across the street.

It's him- the one I glimpsed from the second story window.

I take in his appearance. Dirty blond hair that's on the long side and golden scruff covering the lower half of his face. Black track pants with a white stripe down the leg and a gray t-shirt that stretches over his chest, hinting at the powerful body beneath.

He's hot, and with his unshaven jaw and overlong blond hair he kind of gives me Jax Teller vibes. And I've always had a thing for the Sons of Anarchy lead.

My breath catches in my throat at the intense, unsmiling look on his face. As soon as his eyes clash with mine, though, he looks away, sliding a key into a free-standing metal structure and opening a small door. Must be his mailbox.

I make myself turn away to take the last of my things inside, but with my eyes still glued to my sexy neighbor, I don't see the pine cone. I step on it and pitch forward, losing my grip on the laundry basket, which upends, scattering the mix of paperback novels and random things I'd scooped off my dresser all over the ground.

Face on fire, heart racing, I kneel down and start to pick everything up.

I feel him before I see him, a presence behind me. Then, he comes into view, squatting down next to me and silently helping to gather the scattered things. I glance up at him, but his eyes are on the cover of one of the paperbacks. My cheeks turn pink as I realize he's looking at one of my old school bodice rippers, which features a half-naked guy on the cover.

I snatch it out of his hands. "Thank you, but I got this." He doesn't reply, but he doesn't leave, either. He just continues to help in silence until everything is back in the basket.

I stand, feeling awkward as hell. He straightens, too, and now that he's closer, I realize he's almost a foot taller than me, and I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes. They are a dark blue, and really quite striking.

Then I frown. Something's off.

He's not making eye contact with me. Instead, he seems to be focusing on my chin. I wonder for a moment if I have something on my face, and self-consciously rub it.

His eyes flick up to meet mine for a moment, and then back down, this time to my nose. I see his hands opening and closing at his sides, and realize with a start that he's nervous.

I feel a sudden connection with this man. Nerves I understand. Shit, my life revolves around them.

"Thank you for helping," I say, keeping my voice soft and low. "I'm Cassie." I hold my hand out to him.

He stares at my outstretched hand for so long that I start to draw it back. Then, he reaches out, grasps it, and covers it with his large hand. His palm is warm as he envelops my hand with his. His touch sets off a spark that travels from where our hands are connected down to my core.

"Ben." His voice is gritty, almost rusty, like he doesn't use it much.

For the first time in a long while, I smile, and it's a real one, stretching across my face. His gaze drops to my mouth, seemingly fascinated by it.

I can feel that gaze --everywhere.

My body warms from the inside out, and I find myself squeezing my thighs together.

Uncomfortable with my reaction to him, I gently extract my hand from his. "It's nice to meet you," I say as I pick up the laundry basket. "But I've got to finish unpacking. Maybe I'll see you around?"

He nods, but doesn't move. I feel his eyes on me until I disappear into my new apartment and shut the door.

***

Ben

It's quiet on our street at night. The only sounds that can be heard are the chirping of crickets and maybe a car driving by every now and again. The darkness cloaks me as I make my way across the street toward her apartment complex. I'm also

wearing a black hoodie and black track pants so I blend into the night.

There's a tall row of hedges that provides a perfect hiding place. I slide behind it and crouch down, just below the window.

Her window.

She's hung curtains, but one side of them hasn't been pulled closed all the way, allowing an enticing peek into her world.

I peer hungrily through the slice of light. Although it's brightly lit, she's not in there. My disappointment is tempered by the realization that this is her bedroom.

I wait for several minutes. I'm nothing if not a patient man. The sounds of evening surround me, a chorus of cricket chirping accompanied by the soft whistle of wind through the trees that line our street.

I'm rewarded for my patience when she enters the room a while later, still wearing the same clothes as when we met earlier.

She is unbuttoning her flannel shirt as she walks.

Fuck. She's undressing.

My throat goes dry and my heart thunders in my chest. I can't look away.

She's the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on.

Not that I have much experience. I understand the concept of beauty intellectually--a symmetry of features, or certain physical characteristics that a particular cultural group agrees are pleasing to the eye. Like the fleshy women immortalized by Rubens to depict the ideal of beauty during the Renaissance, or the heroin chic of the 1990s.

But I've never felt it, been affected by it, until now. Something about the way she is put together moves me, makes me feel--alive. To be part of the world outside the safe walls of my apartment.

I watch, rapt, as she shrugs off her shirt, uncovering a lacy white bra and a flat, toned stomach. As her creamy skin is revealed, my dick jerks and thickens in response. It's all I can do not to push my face up against the window as Cassie continues to undress.

She pushes her jeans down her hips, then kicks them off. Fuck, she's wearing a tiny pair of white and pink striped panties, and if I look hard enough, I can see the shadow of dark hair there, right at the apex where her sweet thighs touch.

What I wouldn't give to bury my face at that juncture. To feel the fabric soft against my face as I inhale her unique scent. To explore the secrets that lie beneath.

My cock jumps again, and I bite back a groan, my hand reaching down almost of its own volition to grab the bulge insistently pushing at the stretchy material at the front of my pants. I press my palm against my hard cock, the pressure bringing a modicum of relief.

She reaches behind her back with both hands and unhooks her bra. Her milky white breasts, round and supple, spill out. My hands itch to cover those perfect tits, to feel their weight. I can imagine closing my mouth around her dusky pink nipple, sucking on her.

Unable to stop myself, I begin to stroke the hard length over the fabric of my track pants.

She's looking to the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. Delicate hands come up to cup those beautiful tits, and my erection becomes so painful and heavy I have to reach into my pants.

My hand circles my dick, fisting it tightly, and I pull my pants slightly down with the other hand. My eyes on her, I stroke myself from root to tip. It only takes a few hard pumps before my whole body seizes, and a deep guttural cry is torn from my throat. My cum spurts out in thick white ropes, landing in the cedar chips that surround the hedge outside Cassie's window.

Inside, Cassie freezes and looks toward the window- toward me.

Fuck!

I yank up my track pants and fly around the corner of the building, out of sight. Panting, I crouch in the shadows and wait.

Ten minutes. Twenty minutes.

When it's clear that no one is coming outside to look around, I move from my hiding place and casually cross the street and enter my complex.

I unlock my door and pad to the couch, collapsing onto it and sinking into the cushions.

My blood is thundering in my veins, my heart pounding. I feel exhilarated, my skin buzzing, like I just climbed to the top of a mountain and am towering triumphantly over the world below.

I'm not sure what to do with these feelings, but I know one thing.

Next time it's not going to be enough just to watch.

***

Cassie

I'm walking to my car to go to the grocery store when the intrusive thought happens.

I've been deliberately keeping my mind occupied with other things since I got up- listening to my audiobook, singing at the top of my lungs to Rihanna as I work out. But I forget to direct my thoughts as I step out my door, and my mind wanders for a moment as I approach my little used sedan.

And it happens.

I think someone was outside my window last night. Watching me.

Watchingme watchingme watchingmewatchingme WATCHINGMEWATCHINGME

The thought swirls around, becoming bigger and sharper, making my poor heart stutter. Chills race up my spine, and my stomach knots painfully. My mouth is the Sahara desert.

I recognize the signs of a panic attack a split second before it happens. My vision narrows, my skin crawls, my heart thunders, my breath comes fast, too fast, and I can't breathe, can't breathe, cantbreathecantbreathecantbreathe---

I crumple to my feet.

I feel detached, like I'm looking down on myself, trapped in the grips of an attack. I try to tell myself to remember my scripts that I learned in therapy, but panicked-Cassie's brain is being operated by the fear center, the amygdala, where rationality doesn't exist. There's only instinct, feeling. All she's doing is feeling fear, her body shaking from head to toe.

A warm hand grips my shoulder, jerking me out of my dissociative state. As I come back into my body, I'm pounded by scary sensations. Adrenaline pumps through me. My heartbeat feels like it fills my entire being- BEATBEATBEATBEATBEAT. Tremors wrack me, sweat beads on my forehead and dampens my hairline.

And I grasp onto my lifeline, the script I learned in CBT. "This can't hurt me. I may feel uncomfortable for a while, but it won't kill me. It's okay to feel anxiety." I snap my eyes shut, repeating over and over the script that, without fail, works to keep my panic from spiraling further. It isn't a magic bullet or anything, but it does disrupt the cycle of panicking from feeling the symptoms of panic, and keeps me from spiraling into ever deeper body distress.

As I say these words to my amygdala, I feel the warmth of a strong hand through my sleeve.

Even without opening my eyes, I know who it is. I can feel him. Isn't that weird? I only met him yesterday. How can I already sense him, know him, just by merely having his body close to mine?

For the moment, though, I'm exhausted, too exhausted to question it any further. I feel like I've run a marathon, the ten-minutes worth of adrenaline rush depleting my body of strength.

My eyelids are weighted, making it a chore to raise them, but with effort, I do. I stare at him, my breath finally slowing, the pulse of my heart still echoing throughout my body.

He's wearing a similar outfit to yesterday, track pants with a t-shirt, although this one is white and bears the logo of a running shoe brand.

His jaw is even more bristled than yesterday, the tips of the spiky hair glowing bronze in the morning sun. His dark blue eyes fix on mine for only a split second before they drop.

Disappointment fills me for a moment, but then the feeling is swept away by the shakiness and exhaustion.

I try to stand, but I'm too weak. As my knees buckle, he grasps my arms more firmly and pulls me up against him. I'm so close that I can smell his unique scent, clean, woodsy, masculine.

Part of me is embarrassed that my hot, albeit weird, neighbor is having to help me like this, see me like this. But the other part wants to lean into him, to collapse into his arms, and be held and soothed.

He puts one arm around me and steers me back toward my door. "Keys," he says, in that deep, sexy voice that sounds a little rusty from misuse. I dig into my purse and put them into his outstretched hand.

Sliding the key into the lock and opening the door, he navigates us both inside and then helps me to the couch to lie down. There's a soft gray throw hanging over the back, and he spreads it over me.