Hate Thy Neighbor

by S. M. Soto

  Opening the package I bought online, along with a bunch of other supplies, I go to work, chuckling at my creativity. I told him I’d find a way to get him back for the vinegar, and I’m finally doing it.

  When I’m just about done, I freeze at the sound of someone coming home, and my mind takes much too long to process. I scramble to grab all the supplies, and in my haste, everything slips from my hands like I have butter fingers.

  “Shit!” I hiss down at Max, who’s just watching me oddly, the way dogs normally do. He’s likely wondering what his owner did to deserve such a dick move like this. If he only knew.

  I skid to an abrupt halt when I hear two voices. My stomach drops, when I realize he’s coming home with someone.

  This is the absolute worst time to catch him in the act with another woman. It’s one thing to see from my window, but here in his home, where I’m breaking and entering? Yeah, that’s where I draw the line for my crazy.

  All too soon, the front door opens, and the footsteps get closer, as I try to make a break for it and flee. My gaze darts around his living room, looking for a way out of his house, without being seen. It feels like the walls are closing in on me. The blood is rushing through my veins, making it hard to hear a thing. By the time I think I’ve found a viable option, it’s too late. I hear a female’s sharp intake of breath, and slowly, when I glance over my shoulder, an inaudible gasp leaves me, when I see the look of complete fury in Rome’s eyes. I’ve quite literally never seen anything like it. He looks murderous, and the fact that I ever thought this prank was a good idea has me questioning my judgment and my sanity.

  I glance at his female companion and can’t hide the frown that steals over my face. She’s not really what I was expecting, but she’s still beautiful, nonetheless. Dressed professionally, she looks much more put together than I do at the moment. A little older, too.

  Didn’t know Roman was into cougars, but hey, to each his own.

  “Mr. Banks, can you explain what’s going on here?”

  Mr. Banks? That’s his last name? I roll it over on my tongue, Roman—no, Rome—Banks. Sounds a bit professional.

  “Get out.” His cold tone snaps me out of my inner musings, and a sharp stitching pierces my chest. My heart sinks at the coldness reflected back at me and the shard of ice in his tone. I can feel each jagged sliver cutting me open, digging into my flesh.

  I pause, my mouth dropping open in shock, as I try to explain. I expected a little frustration, but anger? To this degree? I obviously overestimated myself.

  His hands ball into fists at his sides, and I swear, I can see the color slowly seep into his cheeks. He looks like he’s ready to blow.

  “Rome, wait. It’s washable, I promise. I would never—”

  “Get out!” he barks with such contempt, both his companion and I jump, startled by the force of his rage. The woman eyes me with an odd expression, as I gather my stuff. My body pricks, as I feel their gazes on me. Shame coats my skin, turning my stomach. Embarrassment presses down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. It’s like a boulder has been dropped on top of me, and I can’t breathe.

  My hands tremble, as I try to gather everything, as quickly as possible, but just like before, everything keeps slipping, tumbling from my hands and rolling onto the floor. The backs of my eyes prick with tears. I just want to get out of here.

  I’m so embarrassed.

  So fucking stupid.

  “For fuck’s sake, hurry up!” he growls.

  My bottom lip trembles, and my nose stings with pressure. I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, holding back the impending sob I feel gathering in my chest like a Category 5 storm. Finally, I manage to gather everything, without any further mishaps, and I slip out with my tail tucked between my legs.

  I don’t bother looking back. I’m too embarrassed to face them, to see the look in their eyes. Most of all, I don’t think I can face Roman again, not after the look of pure contempt in his gaze.

  Dread takes root in my belly, when I hear pounding footsteps behind me, as I make my way down his porch steps. I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. I can smell him. I can feel him, his brutish aura surrounding us. The very essence of him percolating in the air.

  “How fucking stupid are you?” he hisses, and the words hang in the air between us, stopping me in my tracks. When I turn to face him, the urge I felt to cry is now gone, and in its place is a sudden bout of anger. Unrestrained rage.

  He has no right to talk to me this way.

  “I’m sorry,” I grit out. “If you would just let me explain, instead of acting like a—”

  “Like a what?” he growls, taking a threatening step toward me. His brows take a nosedive, and they slant down, casting eerie shadows across his face. “You fucking trashed my house. Did you really think I’d come home and fucking laugh it off? You can’t really be that dumb, can you?”

  I jerk back, as though he’s slapped me in the face. Tears fill my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying to keep them at bay. Inside me is a riot of mixed emotions. But my ire and frustration with him, that’s what I hold on to.

  With rage now surging through my body in short spurts, I take a step toward him, closing the distance between us. I jab an angry finger against his firm, warm chest.

  “I did not trash your house. It’s a fucking prank, for goodness’ sake. Because I one-upped you, I’m suddenly the bad guy?”

  “One-upped me?” He scoffs. “This isn’t a fucking game, Olivia!”

  “Then what is it?” I shout, my voice echoing down our quiet street.

  My chest heaves I’m so furious. I can’t even see straight. It’s making it hard to concentrate. My hands and body shake, and my heart is pounding so violently, I fear it’ll burst out of my chest cavity soon.

  A moment passes between us, when we just glare at each other, letting our frustrations permeate the air we breathe.

  “How is it okay for you to treat me this way, to be such a fucking prick all the time, to do all the things you do, but when I do it, I’m suddenly the one who’s wrong? It’s washable. Nothing about what I did today was permanent. It was a joke, a stupid, foolish joke to get you back for all the times you’ve gotten me.”

  “You don’t understand,” he grits. “I needed today to go well.”

  “And I needed the first day I met you to go well, too! And look how that turned out! Everything isn’t about you, Roman. Why don’t you get your head out of your fucking ass and realize not everyone is here to serve you. The world doesn’t revolve around you, and news flash, people have feelings. We can’t all be uncaring fucking robots who don’t feel a damn thing. Like you!”

  My heart is heavy by the time I’m finished, and I’m on the verge of bursting into a fit of sobs and, quite possibly, cardiac arrest. I’m so angry with him and myself that I can’t stand to be near him for another second. I whirl away, storming across the lawn toward my house.

  His next words stop me in my tracks. Does he really believe I’m starved for attention? They’re a poisonous dart to the heart. It spreads slowly, tainting every vital part of me. His harsh words rip into me, and I flinch, internally, at every single one.

  He doesn’t deserve my tears, and though that won’t stop them from coming, I refuse to let him see me cry.

  I’ve shown him too much of my hand already.

  I haul ass into the house, and a sudden indescribable pain in my chest makes it hard to breathe. Hard to do anything else other than collapse on the floor in my kitchen and try to suck in lungfuls of air. I clutch my hand to my chest and focus on my breathing. I try to focus on anything but the pain currently swirling through my chest. My eyes slam shut, and I force myself to think about the things that make me happy. The things in my life I can’t live without, the stuff that makes sense. Soon enough, the pain in my chest subsides. I unclasp my hand from my sternum, forcing myself to breathe normally. I stay there, sitting on the hard floor, for God knows how long, wondering how all this got so fucked up
.

  We should’ve never let the pranks get this far. I still don’t understand why he was so angry. It wasn’t permanent. It was a joke. And I didn’t know he was expecting company. I had no clue that this company he was keeping was someone important. When I close my eyes and play back just how angry he was, just the thought of him and that woman being together makes me feel ill. Physically ill. She’s obviously important to him. Important enough that he snapped on me the way he did.

  And she just stood there, watching it all happen. I wonder if she’d just gotten off work? How does she feel about Roman living next to a woman whom he constantly pranks and allows her to prank him back? Does she know about the other woman he was fucking, not even a full week prior? I doubt she does.

  It only makes my enmity where Rome is concerned grow to new heights.

  Unlike my previous bouts of anger where he was concerned, this time, he deserves my wrath.

  I am officially done with the pranks. Done with trying to be likeable. I am done with Roman Banks. I am washing my hands clean of him—the enigma I was sure I’d never figure out.

  I hate my neighbor.

  I just wish I didn’t have to keep reminding myself of that.

  The second I slide the key out of the lock and step through the doors, the electric charge in the air gives me pause. When I don’t hear Max right away, I know something is off, and when I turn the corner and see her, I realize what it is.

  It’s life, flipping me the finger, once again. I don’t know why I ever thought I’d be able to catch a single break. Of course, today wouldn’t work out in my favor. Good things like that don’t happen for people like me. That is just the sad truth.

  I take in the walls of my living room, my hands curling into fists, as I try to restrain my outrage. I hear the social worker’s sharp intake of breath behind me, and I can guess what she’s thinking. How can she approve me and this house? How can she move in my little brother with me, if I have intruders defiling my property, and worse, doing it as a prank? She’s going to think we’re childish and stupid, and me…she’s going to think I’m not fit to take care of my brother. Not fit to take in the one person in this world who means everything to me. The one who needs me and is counting on me to get him out of there.

  On my last thread, like a rubber band being stretched beyond its capacity, I snap. Red spills in my vision, filling my chest and taking over. I bark at her, yelling at her to go, because if I look at her a second longer, I don’t know what I might do. I know it’s washable, that much seeped into my consciousness, but even knowing that, I can’t seem to wrap my brain around the fact that she chose today to do it. Of all days, it had to be today? I know I’m overreacting, but it still doesn’t lessen my temper.

  I know I don’t have much of a right to be angry with her. It was meant to be a harmless prank, and after all the shit (pun intended) that has happened, I don’t blame her for wanting to get back at me. I just wish it had been any other day. Any other time.

  She gathers her stuff in a reckless hurry, dropping everything in the process. I should help her, help her out of here, to save at least a shred of her dignity, but I don’t. Her shoulders droop in shame, and I swear, I even see the slight tremble in her chin. This is wrong. I’m not this guy. I don’t make women cry, and the fact that I’ve hurt Olivia, enough to make her want to cry? It only serves to fuel my anger.

  Before leaving, she pauses over the threshold, looking from me to the social worker.

  “I’m sorry. It was stupid prank. I’ll come over and clean it, as soon as I can. I just thought…after all the stuff you’ve pulled on me, I thought I’d finally get you back.”

  I wish she’d stop talking.

  I wish she would’ve just left it at that.

  She walks out of the house, down the porch steps, and I know I should let her go. I should turn around and start apologizing to the social worker.

  Of course, I don’t do either of those things.

  Jumping into action, I storm out of the house after her, needing to get in the last word. I prowl toward her, closing in on her petite form, and it doesn’t escape my notice how she flinches when she feels me coming.

  When we jerk to a stop in front of her door, I see the tears welling in her eyes, but it doesn’t stop the venomous words from spewing from my lips.

  “What the fuck is the matter with you? Are you that fucking starved for attention?”

  “I’m sorry,” she manages through gritted teeth, holding back her own ire and emotions.

  “Stay the fuck away from me, you hear me? I don’t want to see you. I don’t want anything to do with you, Olivia. Get it through your fucking head. This, whatever fucked-up thing is happening, it’s over.”

  With that, I spin on my heels and head back inside. I ignore the pained, ragged sound that escapes her chest and force myself to ignore the pain in my own. I want to turn around and apologize, but I can’t. I have my little brother to save. I can’t save everyone, I know that, but if I can save at least one, it’s going to be the one I love most.

  When I head back inside, the social worker, Regina, I believe her name is, is scribbling some notes down on the clipboard, she seemingly pulled from thin air, and my heart sinks.

  “Please, hear me out. I had no idea this was going to happen.”

  She puts up her hand, stopping me. “I realize that. I also realize that may be a problem. Children need a stable environment. Not one filled with shenanigans of this sort. And the way you lost your temper with her? Makes me wonder how you’d lose your temper with your little brother.”

  I grit my teeth. “I would never. I love him.”

  She sighs, a sadness flashing across her face and a bone-weary tiredness settling into her posture. “I know you do. But I also need to follow protocol. I’m not failing you for today, but I’m not giving you a perfect score either. You need to prove you can do this, Mr. Banks. You have everything stacked against you, prove the system wrong.”

  She walks out after her speech, and the sound of the front door closing seems to echo long after she’s gone. I drop my head into my hands and swipe my fingers through my hair, tugging on the ends, relishing in the sting. Max must sense my duress because he whines, parking his butt next to me and rubbing his chin along my thigh. I pat his head, looking down at him. I hate that I have to jump through these hoops, when they know he belongs with me, but I’ll prove them wrong. I’ll prove to them I can do this. And I’ll keep my promise to my brother, even if it’s the last thing I do.

  Max whines again, and I shift, glancing down at him. He barks, looking toward Olivia’s house, and I follow the trajectory of his gaze. My chest squeezes in a vise when I replay the way I talked to her. She didn’t deserve it, and I’m ashamed to admit, I took things way too far today. Hell, I might’ve taken things too far when I first pranked her.

  I blow out a tired sigh. “I know, bud. I know. I’ll apologize.”

  Heaving a deep sigh, I head into the kitchen, filling a bucket with water to get to work cleaning the wall. This afternoon might not have gone as catastrophic as it did, if there wasn’t a colossal hairy dick on my wall. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she had to add semen squirting from the tip and the words “To the Biggest Dick on the Block.” A dark chuckle escapes at her juvenile humor.

  With the first swipe, everything is gone, magically erased. It only makes me feel worse. She wasn’t kidding. It really is washable. I thought I’d have to at least work a little harder to clean up in here.

  I close my eyes, replaying the tears glimmering, in the normally vibrant depths of her eyes and the broken expression on her face. I put that there, and I find I don’t like it on Olivia. I normally wouldn’t care, but somehow, some way, she’s managed to get under my skin. I need the perky Olivia, the annoying jubilant one who gets on my damn nerves, yet still makes me smile, despite myself. I need to make things right.

  I give it a few hours, waiting to see if she’ll come out again. Tomorrow is garbage day. Sh
e’ll have to come out at some point and drop off her garbage cans at the curb. I’ve been in the garage, mostly letting off steam and pretending to work, waiting for any sign of her.

  When her front door opens, and she comes out, I hop up from my perch on the bucket and follow her out. She startles on the front steps when she sees me, all the color draining from her face.

  Raking a frustrated hand through my hair, I swallow back my pride. The very last thing I want to do right now is apologize, but I was wrong earlier—overtly harsh. “Can we talk?”

  Those hazel eyes shoot up to mine, and I’m taken aback by the intensity of her glare. I don’t know why I expected her to be meek and accommodating, while I stand here on her porch, especially after the way I treated her earlier. Olivia Hales is anything but meek.

  Anger flares in the depths of her eyes, and I notice a random pulse in her jaw, as if she’s gritting her teeth, trying to restrain her frustration.

  “Oh, now you want to talk?” She scoffs, taking a threatening step toward me. Olivia jabs her finger into the center of my chest. If this was any other person, if the circumstances were different, I might be angry enough to snatch her hand away from me. I don’t do that, though. I let her release her anger on me. “You can fuck right off, Roman. The very last thing I want to do is talk, let alone see your face.” With a growl—that I should not even remotely find cute, but I do—she whirls on her heels, slamming the front door behind her.

  Heaving a deep sigh, I grip the back of my neck, doing my damnedest to ignore the tightness that’s spreading through my chest at her anger.

  This is going to be a lot harder than I thought.

  It’s been two days since the prank on the wall incident, and Olivia has yet to give me an opportunity to apologize. When she said she didn’t want to see my face again, she clearly meant it.

  I should leave it be. What’s done is done, and if she can’t even stand the sight of me, there’s no way in hell she’ll accept some half-assed apology. I’m determined to do just that, until I spot her coming home from somewhere late one night.