21. Bang

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

If we're still keeping track, my heart drops to my ass for the third time today.

Staring at the numbers nailed to the door, my arm drops back down to my side heavier than a bowling ball, and the sharp accusations of calling him a psycho stalker die momentarily on my lips.

I stare at the numbers for what seems like forever, but in reality, I've probably only been standing in the middle of the hallway staring for five minutes. I blink a few times, thinking my eyes are playing tricks on me, but every time they open the number on the door is still one off from mine.

My mind races, thinking of everything and nothing at the same time, if that makes sense? My brain desperately wants to piece it all together but I think my body has gone numb in confusion and shock and anger. It's sort of like that moment in nightmares when you're trying so hard to run away but all you're doing is running in place, unable to progress further no matter how hard you try.

My head whips to my door, to the door in front of me, back to my door. Maybe I made a mistake, maybe I misjudged which door he went into. Grabbing my grocery bags from the floor, I juggle them while digging through my purse for my keys. Finding the carved metal, I jam it into the lock and fling open my door, half expecting to find Brad smugly lounging on my couch, but my apartment seems to be empty.

Kicking the door closed behind me, I drop my groceries onto the counter and march to my room, expecting to find a delusional, half naked Brad in my bed. I find no such thing, only my comforter haphazardly strewn on my mattress from this morning, and I go to the last place I have to look.

Flipping on the light to the bathroom, I rip back the shower curtain, the metal rings sharply scraping across the rod, to find the tub empty.

With a huff, I close the curtain and march back to the living room, pacing. I actually saw Brad, right? He wasn't some figment of my imagination, I'm sure of it. Or maybe I am actually going crazy? Today has been really off, and I start to question if this day has just been one long ongoing nightmare.

Feeling antsy, I stop my pacing and run to the living room wall that butts up to my neighbor's, placing my ear against the drywall, listening intently. When I don't detect any signs of movement, I run to my bedroom and do the same thing. Jumping on the bed, my knees dig into the mattress as I plaster my ear to the wall. I listen for a few seconds, and when the AC kicks off I'm able to hear the slightest of noise. A closet door shutting. Shuffling. Keys rustling.

Keys.

I run to the front door faster than an Olympic track star, listening. The neighbor's door opens and shuts, footsteps wandering down the hallway.

Quietly, I crack my door and peek out, finding a tall form retreating to the stairwell. He's in gym clothes: tennis shoes, basketball shorts and an old T-shirt that has the sleeves and part of the sides cut off to show off his toned arms and defined obliques. I'm only able to see his back, but I know just from the dark, wavy hair—hair that I've ran my fingers through multiple times—it's Brad.

My heartbeat quickens and I shut my door, beginning to pace again.

He lives next door. Bradly Gallow lives next door.

And he didn't tell me.

Anger prickles my spine, knowing he's been this close all along and hasn't said a damn word. All this time, when he dropped me off he was pretending to go home after, driving all the way down the street just to turn right back around, park in the garage, and sneak upstairs. And pretending to leave after screwing me just to walk a few feet down the hall and...

Oh God.

Brad's the neighbor. The neighbor that's kept me up multiple nights by having sex... and not with me.

All of a sudden I feel sick as the reality of it all comes crashing down on me.

I always knew Brad and I were just fooling around, we had nothing exclusive whatsoever. I always knew I was just another notch in his belt, but the thought of being rotated out with who knows how many other women at the same time has me feeling... dirty. Disposable in a way I didn't think possible.

The thought of him putting back on his clothes after having me just to take them right back off to fuck another girl a few feet away has my stomach churning and my blood boiling. I always knew Brad had a reputation of being a fuck boy, I just didn't think he was this shallow.

Restless beyond belief, I grab my keys and march down to the apartment's main floor gym, hoping to find Brad in the tiny, stuffy room they like to pass off as a gym by adding a treadmill, ellipitical, and a hand full of weights. I think there was a jump rope tacked onto the wall at one point, but it seems to be long gone now. And of course Brad isn't in the apartment's 'gym'. He would never work out here. He probably goes to some boujee, state-of-the-art gym that hands out cucumber water or some crap. Regardless, I head to the garage to see if I can spot his car with no such luck.

He's gone.

Exasperated, I walk back up to my apartment to pace some more, only to realize I never put away my groceries. Cursing under my breath, I race to put away the refrigerated items, my annoyance only deepening when I realize the pint of ice cream I bought myself in celebration of Dr. Allen asking me to scrub in on an advanced procedure is nearly soup. With no other choice, I find my metal straw (because save the turtles) and stick it into the melty ice cream and park my ass on the couch, gulping down the sugary goodness while watching some trash TV show where everyone is yelling at each other. I try to live vicariously through them—since the person I want to be screaming at currently isn't home at the moment.

Why didn't he tell me? That million dollar question keeps circling my mind.

Did he know I lived here when we moved in? Did he choose to live here because he somehow knew I was going to live here? Was this all some ploy he had in order to take me down? I know he said he wanted to end our rivalry, but was that just something he said so I'd let my guard down? What's that saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer?

He was the one that came up with Brain Games in the first place. But I sort of drove him to it, refusing to become allies.

But why didn't he tell me?

My head begins to throb, and it's not due to a brain freeze from the ice cream.

Speaking of ice cream, an obnoxious slurp tells me I'm done with it, and I look down to verify that the contents of the pint are gone. I sigh, setting the empty carton on the coffee table.

I told myself when I bought the pint that I'd only eat half tonight and then save the rest for when I completed the advanced procedure, but I already had a feeling in the grocery store that was an optimistic lie. Like always.

Oh well. Fuck it. After the day I've had, I deserve a whole pint of ice cream. Maybe two.

I sit in my apartment, stewing in my thoughts as the sun sinks below the horizon and the television and city lights dimly illuminate my living room and kitchen. By the time I even think to look at the clock its past ten and I groan, forcing myself to get up and get ready for bed.

After changing into my pajamas and brushing my teeth, I craw into bed and try to get settled, only to end up tossing and turning. I flop onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, unease pooling in my stomach at the sudden realization that Brad is probably sleeping just a few feet away from me on the other side of the wall.

That is, if he even came home at all. I was too much in my own head to even pay attention if he came home or not. Maybe he stayed the night at someone else's house, I think bitterly, not liking the strange emotions swamping me with that thought.

Either way, in the dark silence of my bedroom my senses seem to be heightened, and I feel like I can hear every breath Brad may be taking. Unsettled, I grab my pillow and blanket and camp out on my couch, as far away from him as possible.

*

Unable to sleep, I get up early and go to the hospital. I convince myself I'm going to get work done and study up on some cases, but that was another optimistic lie. I'm unable to focus on anything, tucked away and hiding out in an empty conference room to avoid seeing Brad until rounds when I absolutely have to.

When there's five minutes until rounds start I force myself to get up and endure seeing Brad, not knowing exactly how to feel about it. On one hand, I want to avoid him at all costs, and on the other hand, I want to throw hands like an inmate serving life in prison. Conflicted on which option is better, and distracted, I open the door and the wood nearly flies into another person's face.

Mateo abruptly stops, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor. His wide eyes blink at me once, twice, a smirk smoothing over his shocked features after a few beats. "You're really determined to bang me, huh?"

My own shock, and the profusive apology I was ready to have slip off my tongue, fades. I narrow my eyes, slightly amused. "You're really determined to try to sue me again, huh?" I retort.

His eyes light up and his smirk sharpens. "You know me so well," he coos.

I roll my eyes, stepping out of the doorway and walking down the hall. Mateo falls into step with me, a comfortable but almost playful silence floating between us.

I sneak a glance at him, noting how handsome he really is. He's tall, very muscular, and it's hard not to admit that he's charming. He clearly flirts with me, so I know he's interested to some degree. Maybe I should give him a chance. Clearly things with Brad are coming to an abrupt halt, at least on my end. 

My stomach flutters and I speak up before I can talk myself out of it. "So... how good is that Italian restaurant you mentioned before?"

His eyes sparkle, catching on. "To die for."

I let out a small laugh. "Maybe we can go sometime? You know, since I made your life flash before your eyes. Twice now."

There's that sharp grin again. "It's the least you can do," he teases. "But what about your complication?"

I sigh, lips vibrating together. "Things got way more... complicated."

He nods, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. "Ah."

"Yeah," I sigh, that unsettling feeling pooling in my belly once again.

"Well, how about Friday night?" he asks, hopeful.

I frown, feeling a bit guilty. "Can we postpone until next week? Dr. Allen asked me to scrub in on an advance procedure for early next week and I want to study as much as I can over the weekend."

Mateo's eyes grow wide. "Woah, that's awesome. I told you he likes you," he mocks knowingly. "How about next week then? We'll go out to celebrate the night of your surgery and you can tell me all about it."

I smile, genuinely smile. "I'd love that," I admit.

Originally, I'd planned on going home and stuffing my face with my leftover ice cream to celebrate, maybe go out to EBS with Ashlee and Patrick if I felt really crazy, but since my ice cream is long gone and I have a chance of running into Brad at EBS, I think a night out with Mateo and some supposedly really great pasta is a good alternative. Good company and loading up on a lot of carbs will do me some good.

"Perfect," he says as we approach the neurosurgery department, Brad and Jack standing outside the door, waiting on me and Dr. Allen to begin rounds. I slow my stride as we approach, as does Mateo. "Here," he says, stopping and reaching for a pen in the pocket of his scrub top. "Are you scrubbing in today at all?"

I shake my head. Today we're supposed to just work with patients and then observe a case Dr. Allen has late this afternoon.

Mateo smiles, grabbing my wrist and flipping it over to where my hand is positioned palm side up. He takes the pen and scribbles a ten digit number on my skin. Closing the pen with a click, he smiles, letting go of my hand after a few delicate, intimate, strokes of his thumb across the flesh. "I'll see you next week," he confirms, backpedaling towards the OR.

I feel heat rush to my face and smile, giving him a confirming nod as he turns to walk away.

After watching Mateo disappear down the hall, I turn back around to find Brad and Jack staring at me, Jack more so amused than Brad, whose face is steeled over, not displaying any emotion. Despite his lack of emotion, a dozen different emotions swirl around in my chest at seeing him face to face. Anger the most prominent.

Steeling myself over, I walk up to the two men. Brad's eyes are locked on me, and thankfully before there's any sort of interrogation from either man, the department door opens and out walks Dr. Allen, ready to get the day started.


You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net