Page 3 of Dare
“Justfinished lunch and thinking about getting some work done. What are you up to?”
“Justleaving my last whiner of the day. Lunch at four-thirty? Are you ever going tokeep a healthy schedule?”
Sadieis a physical therapist and all around health nut. I met her five years ago andhated her with a passion. To be fair, she was twisting and pulling my body tokeep the skin pliable around my scars. It’s hard to like someone who’storturing you. We grew close throughout my rehab though, and became friends.
“Ikeep a schedule. Bed by three a.m., up by noon, eat when hungry. Seems to keepme alive.”
“Whatever.Let’s go out for a drink tonight.”
Thisis the reason I hesitated to answer my phone. Sadie is always trying to pry meout of the house to do things I’m not comfortable with. I know she means well,but parading around in public while people talk shit just isn’t my idea of agood time.
“Nottonight. I have two ads to design and a ton of emails to answer.”
“Saidthe liar,” she scoffs. “Fine, meet me at the studio tomorrow night afterclosing?”
“I’llbe there. I’ve been working on some new choreography.”
“Allright, woman. I’ll let you work, but if you don’t show tomorrow, I’m huntingyou down.” I hear the squeal of brakes and a string of swear words.
“Sadie?You okay?”
“Someshit for brains just cut me off! Hey! Yeah, suck a bag of dicks, buddy!”
“Sadie!”I can’t help but laugh. “I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow, chick.”
Thegirl is crazy, but I love her. What I’d do to be that fearless. After theslight interruption, I get back to work. Over the past few years I’ve managedto build a successful little online business offering graphic design andmarketing help to small businesses.
Ienjoy the artistic aspects more than the marketing, but I’ve learned that aneye catching ad is a powerful tool. Creating images that draw the eye andcaptivate an audience just comes natural to me. Best of all, I never have toleave the house.
It’safter midnight when I close my laptop and crawl into bed. Hmm…Kindle or Netflixtonight? I’ve been binge watching a show with a cute British detective, so T.V.wins. No sooner than the episode starts, the moaning begins. Great. Newneighbors moved in last year, and for a luxury apartment, our walls are reallythin. Based on the things I’ve heard, my bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen share arazor thin wall with Mr. Fucks Everything next door.
We’venever met, but I’ve caught glimpses of him coming and going, and I see why hehas no shortage of women. At least six foot four with broad shoulders and afull sleeve of tattoos, he’s got that dangerous look too many women fall for.Me included.
Turningup my T.V. is futile, so I play around on the internet for a few minutes.Hopefully, they’ll make it a quickie. The fake high pitched cries grow until Ihave tears in my eyes from laughing. I’ve seen amateur porn with better acting.A woman’s voice cries, “Yes! Oh, yes!” Just before a shrill screech nearlypierces my eardrums.
“Forfuck’s sake!” I exclaim, maybe a bit louder than I intended. Especially becausethe room falls dead silent as soon as I open my mouth.
Arumbling laugh cuts through the plaster and a deep voice responds, “Sorrysweetheart. Didn’t mean to disturb you. You can go back to your show.”
Hissmug voice pisses me off. He must be able to hear my daily life as well as I dohis. Boring as it may be. I’m not deigning to answer him, choosing instead tocrank up my music to a level that drowns out any further noises.
Afterhalf an hour, I turn off the music and go back to my show. “Are you finishedgetting revenge on me?” the asshole asks. I’m sitting in bed, leaning againstthe wall, and judging by how clearly I can hear him, he’s right on the otherside of it.
“NothingI do is any of your business and certainly doesn’t have anything to do withyou.”
“Maybeyou just don’t like hearing me fuck because you aren’t getting any.”
Mycheeks heat with anger. “Maybe you’re just a cocky asshole who thinks far toohighly of himself.”
“I’mdefinitely cocky. What’s your name?”
Imassage my temples with my fingertips. “Can’t you just shut up and pretend wecan’t hear each other?”
“Ifyou tell me your name.”
“It’sAyda,” I sigh, frustrated.
Aftera few seconds of silence, he asks, “Don’t you want to know mine?”
