by Meg Evans
“Better not. What if you accidentally killed him with that bloodthirsty look?” I joke, trying to alleviate the tense atmosphere.
She gives me a forced smile and casts a glance over her shoulder. Her expression rapidly changes; her facial features soften. She’s noticed something outside.
“Well, well…” Her tone becomes sultry. “Isn’t that our sexy neighbor down there?”
OUR?!
At her words, I feel like springing on my feet to speed over to the window, but I keep myself in check. I don’t want Rach to know about my sweet spot for Dorian—at least, not yet. She’d be making suggestive comments and remarks if she knew. I even restrain myself from telling her how Dorian, like a real hero, showed up to save me from Charlie.
“Oh no,” she groans, disappointed. “He brought some chick with him.”
The word chick makes a sharp pang of jealousy erupt somewhere in my abdomen. I stop caring whether Rach will sniff something out or not. In no time, I’m stand on her right. I need to see for myself who this girl is.
When I take a glance at my neighbors’ driveway, indeed, I see a blonde walking shoulder to shoulder with Dorian. She’s clad in an airy summer dress that reveals far more of her body than I find appropriate. Also, having legs up to one’s neck should be forbidden. I could swear she’s seductively swaying her hips on purpose. Pure jealousy consumes me while I watch them stroll.
“That’s impossible.” I don’t mean to say it aloud, but it comes out of my mouth anyway.
“Why? Maybe he dumped the other one and found a new object of affection. You know guys,” she rolls her eyes, “they’re capable of putting themselves back together pretty quickly after a breakup. Don’t get me wrong, though, the one down there can’t hold a candle—”
Rach’s voice seems to fade. I’m usually good at paying attention to my friend’s words, but at this very moment I can’t focus on anything else other than what I see in front of me. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to look away. Besides, Rach doesn’t even realize that Dorian and Rita were never a couple. She doesn’t know that I’ve met him and how he affects me. She doesn’t understand anything at all.
I purse my lips and glue my forehead to the glass. I keep my gaze on them. I can’t believe that Dorian, who doesn’t have girlfriends, has just taken home a woman. It can imply only one thing: an intense relationship with her. After all, he only has those.
Why did he choose her and reject me?!
A heaviness centers in my chest. It’s not my place to feel resentment against him. Dorian isn’t obliged to hang out with me exclusively because I want it. I don’t even have the right to desire it. We mean nothing to each other. We’re only neighbors, and it will always be that way. But will it? Haven’t I been silently counting on something more, even though he made it clear I wasn’t a good fit?
I try to stay rational, but an edge of jealousy poisoning me robs me of any sense. When I picture those two sitting close beside one another, her feeling the warmth of his body, inhaling the same scent I’m addicted to, and him caressing her skin with his soft touch, my insides twist. I feel like something that belongs to me has just been stolen. Pain squeezes my heart as I draw the curtains testily.
“…Unless she’s just his friend, then I’d be able to understand.” Rach is finally done with her extended rant. I feel bad I wasn’t listening to her more carefully, but my brain shut down once I saw Dorian.
“Doubtful,” I reply, walking away from the window. I can’t bear the torture of watching them together anymore. “Where was I? Oh yeah, I have one drawer left to check out.” I try to sound casual.
“Don’t bullshit. You have a crush on him!”
“I beg your pardon?” I turn my back on her so she can’t see my cheeks burning.
“You were snapping your fingers and blinking much faster than usual. You only do that when you’re really angry.”
“Here we go!” My hand rests on the DVD box with the faces of Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet above the bow of the transatlantic liner on the front cover.
“Now I’m positive, because you’ve changed the subject.”
Why the hell does she know me this well?
“Rach, give me a break.” I grow embarrassed.
“I thought we shared everything with each other.”
Everything within reason.
“There seriously isn’t anything to talk about,” I say, and open the plastic box. “Ready for the show?”
“Sure,” she mumbles, displeased, but she sits next to me on the carpet anyway, grabbing a bag of popcorn that we made in the microwave. I honestly can’t even think of touching it right now. My stomach is twisted inside out.
I hate him echoes in my head every time I imagine what Dorian and the blonde might be doing. I don’t even pay attention to the movie.
* * *
The next morning means my routine rush to be at school on time. I turned in late last night, as Titanic lasted forever. Even Rach gave up and drove back home halfway through the movie—right after the love scene in the car, which she couldn’t miss. After five hours of sleep, I open my eyes feeling like I’ve just woken up in the middle of the night. I’m lured by the idea of falling asleep again. It’s a considerable struggle to haul myself out of bed and get ready for school.
There’s still a cumbersome weight on my chest caused by the strange blonde. I can’t get the picture of her and Dorian out of my head. A brew of peculiar feelings is nestled inside of me: on the one hand, I want to start crying; on the other, wallop someone, or at least scream at the top of my lungs.
What’s wrong with me?
To make matters even worse, when I reach the handle to push the front door open, I stall as I spot through the sidelight window that my neighbor’s doorway is opening wide; someone must be about to come out as well. My stomach churns. For a second I pray that the person who is coming out will be Rita, but my hopes are immediately dispelled. Dorian is the one who has opened the door and, as I feared, he’s not alone. The blonde girl emerges from inside right behind him and seizes his shoulder. She’s drenched in happiness as they cut through the driveway. A smile is permanently attached to her face.
Even from afar I notice that her blonde waves are in a total mess, and her dress is creased. I’m instantly deprived of all delusions that they were just friends. I need to face reality. A huge and painful knot forms in my stomach.
Thank God I haven’t already left the house; otherwise, I’d spit venom in that oversweet face.
“You’re pathetic, Zara,” I say out loud when they screech away.
* * *
My whole day at school is ruined; I relentlessly go back over in my thoughts to the morning, which ends up giving me a nagging headache. I can’t even collect myself at work. I fool around in the aisles and occasionally ask a client whether they need any assistance. Finally, to keep my mind occupied I get to organizing the greeting cards that the customers have a tendency to mix. I find a “Happy Father’s Day” card among the birthday cards, and in the ‘good luck’ section I notice a red one congratulating the receiver on their graduation. It irritates me that people will take something from a shelf and not put it back in the right place.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sick and tired of the cards, so I decide to switch to the drug section and pick up some Advil to ease my headache. I march quickly. The pain is violently throbbing inside my skull; I need to kill it as soon as possible. Unexpectedly, I bump into someone who’s just appeared from the aisle with syrups and DayQuil products. I drop a pile of cards that were outdated and needed to be removed from the display, but don’t bother with collecting them from the floor. First, I need to make sure that I didn’t hurt the customer I just trampled.
“I’m so sorry—” I lift my head and cut off my words. My pulse spikes. What the hell? “Dorian?!”
“Good afternoon, Zara.” He stoops to help me pick up the cards.
“H-hey!” I stammer, not even looking into his g
orgeous eyes, fixing mine on the floor. My hands are trembling, and it’s hard for me to concentrate.
“I had no idea you worked here,” he says, peeking at the name badge pinned to my chest, “Zahara.” Even though I don’t like my full name, it sounds so sophisticated coming out of his mouth.
“Don’t call me that. My parents must’ve hated me to give me that awful name.”
“Why? Zahara means dawn in Hebrew.”
“So what? Who names their baby Zahara?” He passes me over all the cards and I move my eyes to his hands, avoiding his face. This cold indifference comes hard to me. “Thanks for the help. Now, excuse me; I gotta get back to work.”
No sooner do I get to my feet than my nostrils are struck by his scent, so familiar, stirring me. My legs are rooted to the floor; there’s something about him that ensnares me. When Dorian is close, a strong, irresistible desire to be with him comes over me. I just want to gloat over his presence.
“You left without saying goodbye the other day,” he says.
“When I woke up, you were both gone. On a side note, I hope you had nothing to do with me passing out?”
“Nothing at all. Rita is of the opinion that you had an adrenaline crash.”
“Whatever.” I shrug dismissively and change the subject. “Are you just browsing, or looking for something in particular?” Even though his presence causes me to ache, I simply can’t leave him.
I notice the paper bag he’s holding, seemingly carrying some medicine he just picked up. I can’t see what’s inside.
“No—I think I have everything I need.”
“Are you suffering from something?”
“No. This is for Rita.” He clutches the bag a bit tighter.
“Gotcha.” I suppress the need to ask what she needs it for.
“Your bicycle is still in my garage; don’t you want to pick it up?” he asks, apparently in an attempt to avoid the question I wasn’t going to ask anyway.
“Oh my God, it totally slipped my mind. Sure.”
“Have you bounced back after the accident?”
“I made it home untouched, so there’s nothing to bounce back from.”
We go silent. Both of us remember my miraculous recovery, and I take it for granted that revisiting the subject is the last thing that Dorian wants to do.
“I can swing by for the bike today if you’re home.”
“Today doesn’t work, but tomorrow feel free to stop by.”
“Okay.” Frustration grows in me, and I can’t bottle up my feelings anymore. I need to spit it out. “I saw you with a woman yesterday. Are you still claiming you don’t date?”
“Yes. I don’t date.”
“It didn’t look like a friendly meeting to me.” I don’t want to sound accusatory, but rather nonchalant; however, driven by emotions, I can’t pull it off.
“Whatever that was, do you think I owe you an explanation?”
I can feel my cheeks flushing. “Apparently not.” Another silence falls, but this time my stomach coils. “Dorian, do you realize that since you and Rita moved in, strange things have been happening?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” I say, and frown. “The fact that you want to avoid certain subjects doesn’t mean they don’t exist. The world doesn’t work like that. On the contrary, the issues that aren’t resolved only snowball and grow bigger.”
“What do you want to know?”
That’s a good question. I would like to know everything from the very beginning, but one thing has been niggling at the back of my mind the most, so I finally decide to let it out. “Why do you affect me in such an odd way?”
“How?” He comes one step closer to me, his eyes searching mine. I melt under his intense look; he towers over me. All my muscles tense, but it’s a pleasant sensation.
“Just like that.”
“Like what?” The corners of his lips go slightly up, and the hint of a cocky smirk creeps onto his face. Those lips look so soft that I’m tempted to kiss them wildly. I ache for the touch of his hands traveling across my body. I wish I could press my body against him right now.
What’s going on with me?
“I can’t get you out of my mind. I’m unable to stop thinking about you.” A scorching heat rushes over me.
Dorian doesn’t respond. I could swear that he knows something that he doesn’t want to tell me, and it’s been hovering between us since we interacted for the first time. I’m sure that it has something to do with the matter that Rita needed so urgently to discuss with him the other day.
He grabs my chin between his fingers and tips my head up so that we look into each other’s eyes. “It can’t be you,” Dorian whispers, “even though I really want it to be.”
“What can’t I be? Tell me!” I beg. “These secrets are killing me. I want to understand what’s been going on with me.”
“No, you don’t. Trust me,” he assures me, and pulls his hand back. He can’t seem to look away, though, and we remain locked in a silent mutual gaze as my heart thuds in my ears.
This intimate moment is interrupted by my manager, who has emerged from behind my back and is very suggestively letting me know with her expression that I have spent too much time on taking care of one customer and should help other ones throughout the store as well. Thank God there are no cameras facing us, or she’d have evidence of my longer-than-allowed chat with Dorian.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dorian says to me.
Frozen to the spot, I follow him with my gaze to the door, which slides closed behind him when he steps outside into the parking lot. I wonder whether I’m ever going to discover the truth that they have both been hiding with such determination.
It’s not until much later that I realize my headache disappeared all by itself.
CHAPTER eleven
I call it a day promptly at ten. The first thing I do after leaving Walgreens is catch up on unread messages. Once I unlock my phone, I see four missed calls from Rach and two unread texts, both from her. In the first one she’s inviting me over to finish watching Titanic. In the latter one, she lets me know that she’s going on a date with Brandon Whitley, on whom she’s had a crush since seventh grade. I’m guessing it must’ve been him she wanted to tell me about so eagerly.
I’m about to return her calls, but first I log in to Facebook to take a glance at what’s new with my other friends. I come across a message from… Matt! I rub my eyes in amazement and to make sure that I’m not just seeing things.
Matthew Albert Clayton: Hi Zara, I hope that Charlie didn’t bother you too much on the way home from the party. I need to tell you that the best part of the entire evening was the talk with you. I’d love to repeat this experience, in a different setting though. Are you up for it?? Have a great day. Matt
I read this short message three more times. Shock flows through me. I’ve recently classified Matt among the group of guys that would never give me attention, and here you go—a message that clearly is a date proposal.
It’s hard to determine whether I’m feeling mostly euphoria, dismay, or distrust right now. I have a suspicion that something is hidden under the cover of an innocent invitation, and that it’s not so innocent. Perhaps it’s my lack of confidence. Matt, who doesn’t date much, has all of a sudden invited me out, so he must want something. Why hasn’t he ever approached me before if I’m so interesting to him? What has changed so quickly? Or maybe it’s my latest incident with Charlie that has made me so suspicious of men…
On my way home I wonder what I should do. After all, Matt’s position in my heart has been gradually taken over by someone else. My pulse still speeds up a tad when I think about Matt, but it jackknifes when Dorian shows up in my mind. Why have my feelings changed so dramatically almost overnight? Not too long ago, my thoughts were preoccupied with Matt every day. Now I can’t get rid of the image of Dorian’s face. It’s like an obsession that I can’t control. The more I try, the more it feels lik
e it controls me.
Nevertheless, Dorian has made it clear that nothing’s going to happen between us, so why shouldn’t I just try with Matt anyway? Maybe the old sparkle will light up in me.
I pull into my driveway, but don’t rush to get out. I stay inside, staring blankly at my phone screen, mulling over what I should do.
Respond. Not respond. Respond. Not respond.
Someone’s laugh cuts through Jon Bon Jovi’s “It’s My Life” on the radio and reaches my ears, reminding me of the surrounding reality. I lift my head up to look at the source of the giggle. I see Rita walking down the path next to a tall man dressed in a sleek button-down shirt and khakis. The way she walks combines such elegance and sex appeal that I can’t help but gawk at her.
They’re not alone. Dorian and the blonde whose name still remains unknown to me emerge onto the porch. They follow Rita and her companion to the car. All four of them look impeccable.
Jealousy bursts into flames inside me, burning. I thin my lips and glare at them with reproachful eyes.
Somebody’s going on a double date.
I can’t stop staring at Dorian. Even the way he moves is attractive; so distinctive and refined that it couldn’t be imitated by any other man. Does she even know how lucky she is?
As they saunter along the fence, Dorian pivots his head towards me. My stomach lurches when our eyes meet. His expression is emotionless—he doesn’t exactly look thrilled at his evening out… unlike the smiley blonde beside him, who’s just put her hand on his shoulder in a possessive gesture. I quickly drop my head down, pretending that I’m texting someone, unable to watch them anymore. It hurts too much to be aware that I’m not good enough for him.
At least seeing that has made my decision for me, though. As soon as they vanish from my sight, I type a quick message to Matt.
Me: Hi Matt! Sure, let’s meet again! How about Saturday evening?
It takes him a minute to respond.
Matthew Albert Clayton: Sounds great! 7 pm?