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"There are unheard-of encounters that escape the contingencies of common sense. Encounters that carve mirific imprints in us".
Mona Azzam - (On the pillow of sand)
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Arriving in front of the building, I struggle to get the keys out of my bag as my body dances in a frenzied dance up the stairs. I hear a commotion as I pass the third floor. The new neighbor must have arrived. He could have unpacked at another time. Who the hell does he think he is?
I finally reach the 4th floor. The door key knocks against the metal of the lock. After several ridiculous attempts, I finally manage to get in. I slam the door shut, remove my boots with my other foot and throw the shoes across the room.
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My apartment is pretty nice. 70 square meters, varnished oak parquet floor, open kitchen with mismatched floor tiles in shades of white and blue. There are lots of little decorations here, including pictures, framed posters, shelves with knick-knacks, dying plants here and there, and a yellow rug under the white sofa, which goes perfectly with the chick-yellow cushions on top. Above the white marble coffee table, white candles in their little ceramic pots inlaid with Aztec shapes, and a book documenting Chernobyl three-quarters open next to a candy box filled with sweets and lollies. It gave the impression of a perfectly normal young woman's apartment. Cool, isn't it? My complete opposite! But that's probably what I liked about this place, it felt like I am on an Airbnb vacation every night when I came home. Without bothering to put my shoes away, I went to the kitchen, opened one of the drawers and took out a packet of potato chips. I made my way to the window beside the living room, opened it and found myself outside on the terrace, in the cool breeze that was sure to sober me up before I fell asleep. I rolled up the sleeve of my brown leather jacket:
3 h 33 -
I pull out a half-crushed pack of Camel cigarettes and light one up, taking huge puffs. Think it would give me more oxygen, that's the last straw! So I was quietly smoking, overlooking the neighborhood park and my downstairs neighbor's terrace, when his window opened. My eyes couldn't help but scan him. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a fully open black shirt and rolled-up sleeves revealing thick veins and abs. Anyway, that's all there is to it, and I'm already upbeat. You could see his Calvin Klein shorts protruding from his gray chino pants. My gaze continued to wander, looking up at his face. A slight three-day beard, a well-defined jawline, dimples on each cheek, a fine slightly trumpet-shaped nose, beautiful lips, full eyebrows and a lightly shaven head reminiscent of military hairstyles. He reached for a cigarette and held it up to his lips. I must have been too insistent, because he raised his eyes slightly and they locked with mine. He rested his elbow on the edge of the terrace and waved. I shyly followed suit. Shit, Am I shy? I'd definitely had too much to drink.
- Hey! Neighbor! he calls out to me in a husky, sensual voice.
- Can you throw me your fire, please? he adds
It takes me a while to unhook my mind and reach into my pocket to find one, which I toss to him. He catches it without even taking his eyes off me.
- Thanks, a lot!
Fuck... Polite as well as good-looking. I'd have bet the opposite. He lights his cigarette and looks at the lighter.
- That's... Interesting. He lets out a laugh
He tosses me the lighter and I realize it was one of my many lighters marked "Fucking life!"
How did I look? Like a crazy, drunken, rebellious girl smoking on her terrace, filled with a few dead plants and old paintings that were getting damp. Paintings I'd done a long time ago.
I suddenly felt dizzy... Probably due to alcohol and fatigue, but I didn't usually react this way. My body began to sway, and the last thing I saw before sinking was this pretty neighbor looking at me with a worried expression. I woke up lying on the sofa, a cold towel on my forehead and a bandage on my elbow. I tried to get up and my head was pounding. I caught myself against the edge of the sofa, my body trembling.
- Easy, you're feverish. Told a raspy voice in an accent from the south
I gasped, facing the neighbor?!
- What the hell are you doing in my house?! Get out! I shouted in his face. I look around, but nothing seems to have moved. I step back as he takes a step towards me.
- Whoa whoa whoa I came after you passed out. I wasn't just going to stand there, was I? He says, raising his hands in the air.
I didn't answer, my memory struggling to recall what had happened. My headache is actually killing any logical sense right now.
- You didn't lock your door, so I let myself in. He pointed to the door.
Touché. Is this the part where I say thank you? Absolutely not.
- As you can see, I'm feeling good, so you can go home.
I push him towards the exit. As I got up, I caught the living room carpet in my foot and tripped right over him... Several objects on the table fall at the same time. I close my eyes and i can hear a vase breaking. I end up head first in his neck, my hand on his torso, now covered by his black button-down shirt.
- Crap. I swore as I got to my feet, breathing in the scent of his very pleasant cologne. His laughter filled my apartment.
- You don't know how to say thanks or sorry, do you?
I don't answer. He gets up, adjusts his shirt and as he turns to leave my house, I see a trail of blood running down his wrist. He must have injured himself on the pieces of vase. The wound looks deep. The door closed on him without a sound. Fuck! Why did I feel uncomfortable? To feel...I hadn't been able to do that for a long time. I approached the door and checked this time that it was locked. I returned to the sofa, closed my eyes and fell into the arms of Morpheus. My sleep was heavy, despite the sun's rays coming into the living room.
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