Page 8 of Alik

He likes to look at the street while he smokes, studying the people walking past like he’s trying to learn something. For the first month, I half expected him to start jotting things down on a notepad, but I think he’s just curious, like me. I wonder if he spends much time imagining what goes on in the lives of others or if it’s just confined to the length of his two cigarettes upon arriving home.

Two cigarettes, always at the end of the night, like a ritual of sorts to mark the end of his day. It’s only dusk, which makestoday especially strange. When I heard him come home, I didn’t hurry to the laundromat with the intention of watching him smoke his cigarettes. Using the best view I have through one of two windows, I thought maybe I’d glimpse him in his kitchen, heating up his microwave dinner or washing what I imagine is the lone fork and cup in the sink. I assumed he’d be leaving again, but the smoke he expels from his lungs tells me he’s home for the night.

After he stubs out his second cigarette on a makeshift aluminum foil ashtray, he closes the window and walks away, disappearing from view.

“Excuse me, can I borrow a few quarters?”

My sketchbook knocks me in the nose when I startle at a voice, the plastic chair rocking on the tile. I whirl to face the stranger, a young, pretty brunette with sparkly earrings and glossy lips who rears back like she’s disgusted all of a sudden. Like she can see right through me. See the pathetic loner I am, staring at my neighbor from a laundromat.

“I…” I clear my throat. I don’t have any quarters, so this is really awkward. I didn’t even bring laundry. “I’m sorry, I?—”

“Sorry, never mind.” She walks away quickly, like she might catch something from standing so close.

What is wrong with me?

Bile starts to rise up my throat as the back of my neck tingles, making my shoulders reflexively hunch. I dart my eyes around as if everyone will be staring at me, but only a man in a chair by the washers has looked up from his book with a curious expression. It doesn’t take away the sensation that I have a spotlight shining on me.

My hair becomes a curtain as I lower my head and hurry to close my sketchbook, then scurry out of the laundromat. My face is hot with shame, but that doesn’t stop me from peering up atthe second story as I cross the street to my building. 3B isn’t visible in either window.

I hang my lips in a frown while pushing on toward my apartment.

Alik

The backof my head knocks against my apartment door while I wait in the hall for the DEA princess to arrive, if she isn’t already home and hiding from me. She would be smart to hide, but as nervous as she seemed the other night, she didn’t strike me as smart. In fact, she struck me as the opposite. The moth to a flame type.

When the stairwell door opens, I pause my knocking and turn that way to see the princess appear hugging a large notepad to her chest. As always, her head is down.

When she spots me, she looks up, and her eyes widen, giving me a glimpse of the blueish-gray irises she hides so well before she ducks again. Her steps falter, but she continues my way while I grab the spiked wine and stand.

I want to force a smile, play the charming neighbor, but charming is not a part I play well, and the girl isn’t looking at me anyway. So instead, I just stand and wait for her. She reminds me of the rats that ate her father’s friends with the way she scurries and hunches. I wonder if she’ll look just as starved as they did when she sees the treat I have for her.

“Hey,” I say to her when she nears.

“Hi.”

“How are you? I haven’t seen you around the last few days.”

When she looks at me, I manage the smile I didn’t think I’d be able to force. I have no idea how it comes across, but the way she gazes… I’m almost perplexed by it. The other night, I thought maybe she was taken aback by my scar, but she’s already seen it, and she’s still looking at me like I’m the Sistine Chapel. What is she seeing?

Why isn’t she replying?

Why the fuck is she looking at me like that?

Clearing my throat, I break eye contact and hold up the spiked bottle of wine. I doubt I truly need to tranquilize her to stick a needle in her arm, but it’s efficient, and I like efficient. “I wanted to repay you for the brownies.”

“Oh.” She blinks and looks over the wine. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” Again, I smile. My mouth feels tight. “I wanted to.”

“Th-thank you.” She takes the wine and gives me a timid tilt of her lips before turning to her door.

I pat the supplies in my pocket while she gets the door open. When she slips inside, I have to leap to keep her from shutting the door on me.

“Woah.” I fake a laugh, my hand gripping the edge of the door. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“What?” Scared little doe-like eyes stare up at me. Scared? Or nervous? What is she thinking?

“I thought we could drink it together. And … you know, hang out.”

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