Neighbours (Chapter 2)

9 AM

I wake up and realise it's Saturday. I must have fallen asleep watching my new neighbour draw, his pencil maniacally tracing the paper. I wonder what he's created. However, when I look up to stare at his open window I see that he's left. His room remains exactly as he had left it, with that lab coat sitting on the hanger waiting to be worn. Is he really a doctor or just pretending to be? Perhaps he likes to think he can save lives when he's really just an artist. I don't know and I'd like to say that I do not care but something about him is intriguing and, frankly, attractive. Am I falling for a stranger despite my husband leaving me not so long ago? Maybe, and it feels rather bizarre. I see the wine glass, staring at me with its shiny surface rather accusingly. Why did I drink? I shouldn't have but I still did. My head hurts a little but the sound of children screaming diverts my attention from my own sorrows. There I see my neighbour's children, laughing and jumping even though they have just woken up. I envy their energy and wonder if that is one of the reasons why he left me. The tedious routine which our life had become without barely any contact or intimacy in our lives. Simple arguments which were never resolved and the guilt I felt for not being able to make him happy. I stand up suddenly as I cannot bear to think about past times. Those are gone and I moved here for a good reason. I decide I should go out for a walk, perhaps stop by a bus station where perhaps I'll get to meet my new neighbour as he heads somewhere in town. Or, instead, I should put on my gym gear and head to the local gym in the hopes of finding him there. I don't know, but I must head out.

2 PM

I walk into my home and I'm surprised to notice just how dirty it is. I haven't actually cleaned it in a while and so I decide I should try and make my house somewhat more tidy. I dump my gym bag, upset that I haven't spotted him there, but again, we haven't even met each other so I shouldn't be imagining anything remotely close to a life together. Yet, why do I keep doing that? I quickly shower, undress and change into some comfortable clothes when I see him. He has returned, and he's dragging something extremely heavy through the hall, until he has reached his room, where he dumps the bag and breathes heavily; he's exhausted. I watch him get up from a distance, so that he doesn't feel as though I'm staring at him. With a gasp, he sets the bag straight and rips it off, revealing a mannequin with a rather grotesque and realistic look. The doll is indeed sized like an average woman and the body parts on display are incredibly similar to that of a human. Her face is distorted, probably from being dragged along some secret alleyways or simply his house floor. He looks satisfied. I see that he has also brought with him his drawing, which shows a diagram that has little to do with art. It's simply a collection of squares and writings that are in no way interesting or appealing. I sit down on my bed, still facing his dorm with a loud sigh which sounds so exasperated I even feel like he's heard it yet he pays no attention to the outside world. He looks immersed in this figure, as if she was a living with a woman of his own and I begin to wonder if he really feels that way. Is he alone? Single? The thought of it makes me smile and the intriguing visitor which he's brought into his home only renders him more mysterious and, in turn, attractive.

6 PM

I decide to make myself some dinner, since cleaning up the house has made me incredibly hungry. The other family has left for the weekend. I saw them pack their suitcases giggling, throwing pillows at each other, and ultimately fuse into a hug which melted my heart in ways I could not describe other than it was painful. I decided to call my new acquaintance Roy. It was my father's name and it brings me closer to an era where I was far from troubled and cancer was not a word I knew to exist. It's been five years and I still haven't recovered from my last visit to hospital, where I saw him slowly wither away. I set some leftover vegetables over the counter, chopping them up frantically, dissatisfied that I could never go on holiday with my long gone husband due to endless and countless arguments which never saw an end, and on the contrary, were intensified each day. I decorate my plate with the stir-fried greens and position myself near the window, watching the house in front which seems to be the only interesting aspect of my monotonous life at the moment. I can't spot him right away, but soon my eyes direct their attention to the dim light coming from a different room to his master bedroom. I can tell he's in the kitchen and I feel rather excited at the thought of having dinner at the same time as him. It makes me feel as though we have one more thing in common. I cannot really see much of what he's doing other than he's handling some form of meat, and I wonder if he would be able to live a vegetarian lifestyle next to me or he's too loving of meat to let it be for at least two months. Suddenly I hear a feminine laugh. It's different to my loud and accustomed annoying giggle which always ends in an uncontrollable snort. Hers is sweet, like honey slowly dripping from a beehive, sickening yet too captivating to escape from its influence. I stand up and leave the plate rather loudly on the table, saddened... or is it jealousy? I press my face on the window, my breath creating a cloudy fog which is as turbulent as my present thoughts. Then I see her. Her hair is red, almost like copper and she looks majestic. She is tall, yet he's still more corpulent than her. Her eyes glow although I cannot make up the colour. If they are light, that renders her even more spectacular and if they're dark, these give her a more intriguing look which can captivate any human. She's barefoot, walking on her tiptoes. She wears a floral dress and with every step, the skirt flows like it's another part of her own. I see that she pulls a hair strand behind her ears, which only emphasizes her delicate facial features. I do the same, but I know that it only accentuates my fattened complexion as well as the many scars tattooing my face: the scars from so much pain and unrequited love.

Suddenly, I hear an argument and I see myself smiling at the sound of it. Somehow it reminds me of my husband and I and how he left us. I have a greater chance with Roy than I could imagine. I look over again and wipe off the cloudiness with which my breath has decorated the window. I cannot see her well since she's hidden behind his torso but I can hear her voice, still young and luscious despite much of the sweetness being dominated by this overwhelming fury. What is going on? What has he done?

"I'm leaving!" I hear some shuffling and some keys dropping. "No!" she says again, her voice interrupted in between by his authoritative, masculine tone. After some inaudible accusations she grabs her bag and motions towards the door. I laugh at them, at couples who think that love is possible and that anyone can live happily ever after. I know it's not true. I've experienced it first hand. I sit down again and grab my plate with certain satisfaction. However, after some minutes I hear a scream. It soon stops. Anyone who has not paid attention to silence would have probably ignored it, but my solitude is usually plagued with it and when it's broken my attention is instantly diverted towards that new sound. I leave the dish on the counter and run to the glass facing his kitchen but the lights are off and he is no longer there. I take a turn to my bedroom and there I see him with his guest. He holds her, her legs hanging out of his arms and her hair flowing beautifully, shining even brighter under the faint light of his room. She looks unconscious, though I'd like to think she might just have fallen asleep. However, can anyone immerse themselves in such a deep sleep that quickly? I doubt it, and seeing how appeased she looks, some unease awakes inside my body. What has he done? The question circulates my mind again, and so does the blood in my veins, running faster than before, trying to slide my thoughts away, keeping me oblivious from the secrets he may keep. I look closely and see that he has positioned her on his bed, and then I see it. A river of blood flows from her delicate skull, oozing without a halt. Her skin is too pale to consider her alive anymore. My fears may have become true: She might just be dead.