Page 3 of Dear Bad Boy Next Door
BECK
I don’t know much about the woman that lives across the hall from me, other than the few things I’ve noticed about her when we pass on the stairs. She’s willing to dislocate her shoulders, carrying two arms full of her shopping rather than making more than one trip. She just mumbled something and shook her head at me the first time I saw her struggling and asked if I could help. She loves to sing when she’s cleaning. I often hear her through the door when I come home, and the vacuum is running. She's probably the most painfully shy person I've ever met, that or she hates me, and that's why she doesn't say anything more to me other than a one-syllable word in passing, and that's only if I ask her a direct question.
I hope it isn't that she doesn't like me. I've seen some older blonde lady come and go a few times, and the look on her face when she sees me and my tattoos coming, you'd think that she smelled something foul.
“Yes, mother. I picked up everything on the list you sent me.”
I turn, grabbing the mail from my slot, and see my neighbor walking in. Canvas bags weigh down her arms, with an assortment of items spilling out of the top. She momentarily freezes halfway in the door when we lock gazes. I’ve never noticed how intense her eyes are before. It’s probably because she always keeps her head down whenever she’s around me.
“I’ve got to go,” she says, but it’s clear that whoever she’s on the phone with is still talking away. She rolls her eyes, and I turn away, trying not to laugh. "I said I've got—"
There’s a shuffling sound and then the sound of her falling on the ground. Her cell phone skitters across the lobby floor. I spin around, and she is flat on her stomach with half of the contents in her bag scattered on the floor.
“Are you okay?” I kneel next to her.
She looks momentarily stunned but recovers quickly enough. I was surprised by her next reaction when instead of getting embarrassed, she starts laughing. Her laughter is infectious, and I join in, realizing that she's okay. It takes us both a minute to settle down.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” she finally says.
“Are you okay?” I ask again.
“My pride is a bit bruised, but I’ll be fine.”
“Let me help you up.” I offer her my hands.
She pulls her arms out of the bag handles and lets me help pull her to her feet. The scent of roses wafts off her. It does things to me that I haven’t felt in a long time. I want to lean in commit the scent to memory, but she'd probably think I was weird.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
The sound of someone yelling into her phone on the floor interrupts us. I walk over and pick it up before handing it back to her. She looks down at it and takes a breath before putting it up to her ear.
“Yes, I’m still here.” She pauses. “I tripped coming into my building.” She pauses again but closes her eyes like she's trying to calm herself down. "I'm not sure if anything is broken, but I'm fine, by the way. Thank you for asking."
I busy myself by picking up all the items that fell out of her bags. Once I have everything collected, I ignore her holding out her hands to take the bags from me. I nod towards the stairs and gesture for her to follow. She does, the phone still pressed to her ear.
We walk up the four flights of stairs to our floor. I hand over her bags.
“Thank you,” she whispers to me, holding her hand over her phone.
"Any time." I give her a half-wave and back up towards my door.
She opens her door and heads inside, leaving me to stare at the 4B on her door. That is probably the most she’s ever spoken to me in all the years we’ve been neighbors. I can’t help but feel that I wouldn’t mind talking with her some more. I just need a good enough reason to go over and talk to her again.
A few hours later, I find my reason in the form of a purple envelope pushed under my apartment door. When I come out of my office, I find it after putting in a few hours of work on my side project—an online game that I’m developing.
I know I don't look the part of a computer coding nerd, but it's always just been something I've been interested in, and I'm good at it. But I learned young that girls weren’t into computer nerds. So, I started branching out in my interests. I got into rebuilding old motorcycles, which eventually led to an interest in tattoos. Suddenly, I started looking the part of this bad boy persona that women are definitely into.
I pick up the envelope. All that is written on the front is “4A." I flip it over, but there isn't anything on the back. I open my door and poke my head out, but it's empty. I head back inside and sit down on the couch to read the letter inside.
Dear Beck,
It’s me, the socially awkward girl from across the hall. You probably don't know my name, and that's okay. Most people don't. Hell, most people don't notice me even if I'm standing right next to them. I was told from a young age that I’m not meant to be seen. I’m meant to blend into my surroundings like a chameleon. But I’m tired of going unnoticed. I’m tired of people looking past me. I want to be seen. More specifically, I want to be seen by you. I understand that asking someone to see them in a letter is probably a weird request, but nothing about what I’m doing is normal. I've spent a long time playing it safe, but no more. My love for you is no less real, even if we haven't spoken more than a few words at a time with one another. It's your wild spirit that draws me to you. The uninhibited freedom you live in your day to day life. I want that for me too. I want to live my life without thinking about how others will think of me. So, if there is any chance that you are looking for more and think you might find that with the quiet girl from across the hall, all you have to do is knock on my door.
Sincerely Yours,
Lucy in 4B
