🌷Anastasia.🌷

One month later...

"Ohhhh, Freddie! Don't stop! Don't you dare fucking stop!"

I open my eyes and stare up at my ceiling, questioning how life got to this point.

"Baby, yes, yes, YES!"

NO, NO, NO!

I bury my face into my pillow and release a frustrated scream. After the month I've had—not to mention lugging a suitcase the size of my Nan up three flights of stairs—

I.

JUST.

WANT.

TO.

SLEEP.

"Ohhh, yeah! Right there, baby, Don't stop. Don't fucking stop!"

I press my face further into the pillow, desperately trying to absorb as much of the lavender laundry detergent as possible in the hopes it calms me. It doesn't. It only reminds me that I hate lavender and it's all that was left over from the previous tenants.

"Ugh!"

I'm suddenly exposed to the silence and just when I think my prayers have been answered, it starts again. Only this time, there's banging involved too. And judging by the brief interval between each one, I'd say whoever is on the other side of my new bedroom wall is getting fucked up against it.

"FREDDIEEEEE!"

I lose my shit.

Before I can rationalise my actions, my fist hammers against the wall, interrupting their fuck fest.

"Keep it down!"

The woman giggles and it only serves to infuriate me more. My therapist would tell me I'm overreacting. She'd say I was projecting my anger onto my surroundings as a coping mechanism. And she'd be right. That's exactly what I'm doing. I'm desperately trying to keep my rage contained, but it's becoming more and more difficult. I'm angry. Simple as that. And what makes it worse is that I'm not angry at the Universe. I'm not even angry at Josh. Surprisingly, I feel nothing but numbness when it comes to my ex. I'm only angry at one person.

Myself.

For letting it go on as long as it did. For accepting a fate far less than I deserve.

"SORRY!" yells the woman, though makes no attempt to rectify the situation.

If anything, she's louder.

I reach for my earphones and blast Taylor Swift, hoping some upbeat music will deter my anger. I do my best to deep breath through each ugly thought, but in the end it's pointless. I hate that I've become this. That the music I used to enjoy feels somehow tarnished now. I used to read romance novels, but they only serve only to piss me off. Even baking feels like a slog because Josh always did like my banana bread and I no longer like Josh, so why the hell would I ever bake again?

I hit pause on my playlist after twenty minutes, only to find they're still going at it. I'll be honest, if I wasn't so sleep deprived, I'd be impressed. This woman—whoever she is—has had well over three orgasms and Freddie—my new neighbour who I've not yet met—is showing no signs of slowing down. Dan, my landlord, told me I'd have no issues with a neighbour like him. Dan obviously doesn't know what his beloved Freddie gets up to on a Friday night.

Fuck Dan!

And fuck Freddie!

I'm saying fuck too much!

I decide to listen and after a while, I notice I can't hear Freddie at all. Either he's a quiet lover or he isn't enjoying the moment half as much as his partner. I can't say I'm a fan of the vocally expressive type. I always find it kind of cringy whenever a man attempts dirty talk. They never quite get the tone right and don't even get me started on shit that spills from their lips. I once had a man tell me he was going to tear me a new vagina. I mean—WHAT THE FUCK? I like my vagina the way God intended it, thank you very much.

In one piece.

"Right there, right there! OH MY GOD!"

I imagine Freddie incorporating fingers now. It's the only explanation for her sudden peak in volume. The banging persists and with each knock against the wall, my anger returns. I have a picture of my mother on my nightstand, her smiling face a comforting ache. She died a week after it was taken and it's my most recent picture of her. It vibrates at the sheer force in which these two people are going at it and when it falls to the floor I spring from my bed.

"That's it!" I fume, storming through my apartment, towards the front door.

Boxes are scattered everywhere and although the space itself is gorgeous, it doesn't quite feel like home yet.

"FREDDIE!" I yell, banging on his front door opposite.

I'm not worried about waking anyone else up. There're only two apartments on each floor and it just so happens that I get lumped with the guy who enjoys loud sex.

"FREDDIE, OPEN UP!!!"

I don't know why I'm doing this exactly. Banging on my neighbour's front door to issue a noise complaint at two AM isn't usually my style, but I feel the need deep within me to do this. To prove to myself that I'm not a fucking doormat. I will not be walked over by another man again for as long as I live.

"FREDDIE!"

His front door swings open, revealing what is—quite frankly—sex on legs. He's thrown on some grey sweatpants in his haste to open his door, and nothing else. The stomach that greets me is perfect in every way, dipping and curving in all the right places. He even has one of those V's that seem to point towards his—

Yep!—He has an erection.

I quickly lift my gaze in an attempt to unsee his penis and am gifted his gorgeous face upon doing so. A face I recognise.

"Freddie?" My tone is far softer this time.

He squints and reaches for his glasses, locating them in a bowl he keeps beside his front door.

"Anastasia?"

This cannot be happening. I refuse to believe my new neighbour is the police officer who arrested Josh two weeks ago because why would anyone be that unlucky? Memories of me crying and him holding me come hurtling back, making me blush. The fact he's seen me at my most vulnerable feels strangely intimate. Like I've known him my whole life.

"Hi." His voice is barely a whisper.

We stare at each other, entrapped by whatever situation this is. Dirt blonde hair sits in a mess atop his beautiful head, ruffled beyond repair. I've seen him twice in my life, but never in this light. Never this exposed. I love that up close, he appears bigger. Stronger. Not that this benefits me in any way. Freddie and I aren't friends. We're simply acquaintances. Neighbours.

Nothing more.

"What's up?"

Is he for real?

"What up?" I repeat, bewildered. "Freddie, you're having extremely loud sex and it's two AM!"

His eyes—the colour of lush grass—regard me closely, casual in their descent. He shamelessly checks me out and I'm suddenly regretting not covering up before storming over here. Today was the hottest day on record in the UK and I'm only in a pair of panties and a flimsy top that lost its life about fifty washes ago.

He stops at my chest and smirks. "I like your shirt."

I look down, mortified at what it says.

'The twins say hi!'

It was a gift from one of the nurses at the hospital last Christmas. Every year, we do a secret Santa, and the rule is the more inappropriate the gift, the better.

"Can you please keep it down?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

He can definitely see my nipples through this shirt.

"I'm not the one making all the noise," he defends, positioning both of his hands on the door frame above him.

Holy shit!

His muscles grow about an inch in size, and I swear I can smell his aftershave from here.

"Well, can you at least be bad at it, so she doesn't enjoy it so much?"

He laughs and it's a nice sound. A combination of masculinity and boyish charm. Given the circumstances surrounding our last two meetings, I've not had the pleasure of hearing him laugh. Come to think of it, I haven't seen his smile until tonight. Not a real one, anyway. When I was nursing his brother back to health after sustaining a nasty injury, everything was very stoic. Very serious. Now, hearing him laugh for the first time is so refreshing.

So beautiful.

"Look, Ana—"

"Anastasia," I correct, feeling he hasn't earned the privilege of calling me Ana just yet.

If he doesn't stop having annoyingly loud sex, he may never earn it.

"Anastasia..." he corrects, smirking.

I match his expression and in doing so, something shifts. That smirk alone charges the very hallway we're standing in. Perhaps it's because I haven't smiled in almost a month. Or maybe it's because he looks so good doing it. Either way, it sparks something between us. Something I'm not even going to begin to try and understand.

"I'm sorry I'm keeping you awake."

This is progress...

"But you're very welcome to join us."

I slam the door in his face, embarrassed.

Not because what he said was inappropriate or unnecessary, but because his suggestion tugged at my stomach in ways it shouldn't.

I tare through my apartment, angry at myself again. Only, this time it has nothing to do with my past and everything to do with how I handled things. I usually pride myself on being calm and adopting such a diplomatic approach. Tonight, there was none of that. Tonight, I was a hot, liquid mess. I tell myself it's anger. That's a lie. There's something else there too.

Something else resembling arousal.

***

I wake up to the sound of my alarm, still reeling from last night's two AM interaction. My eyes are heavy as I attempt to resurface, knowing I have a to-do list the length of my arm. I throw together a bowl of cereal and squirm when the taste of sour milk reaches my tongue. The rest ends up in the bin and I grab my keys, on a mission to source some fresh milk. I'm locking up behind me when Freddie's front door opens, revealing the face of the woman responsible for all that noise.

"Last night was fun,"

I pretend I don't hear.

"See you around, Freddie."

She leaves, shooting me a small smile when she passes. I return the favour, not particularly feeling it, but not wanting to be hostile either.

"Morning, Anastasia," sings Freddie, bending over to retrieve his doorstep milk.

"How do you get that?" I ask, figuring a milk delivery service would be pretty damn useful for me.

I'm always forgetting to pick some up.

"Fill in a form, I guess?"

It makes sense the complex would offer a service like this. I found it through work. It's privately owned, though the landlord—Dan—has some sort of contract in place that states he can only let his properties out to people who work for the emergency services. I guess even he understands how forgetful we can be sometimes.

"What form?" I question.

"Leave it with me."

I nod, shoving my keys into my purse and heading for the elevator.

"Anastasia?"

I turn and face him, half expecting him to apologise for last night.

"Tell the twins I say hi."

Arsehole!

I throw him my filthiest look—which only seems to make his already huge grin grow even further—and wait for the elevator doors to close before I let slip my own smile. In a strange way, I like how Freddie is handling the situation. He isn't making out I'm some delicate flower in need of protection. He knows things about me. Things that even my closest friends at the hospital don't know. Yet, he isn't holding my past against me.

I like that.

I like him.

I have the strongest urge to break down those inner barriers because despite him knowing a lot about me, I know very little about him. And I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about him every day since I first met him at the hospital last year. Back then, he was a kind stranger. A light amongst my dark.

Now, he's Freddie, the sex God.

Freddie, the police officer.

Freddie, my hot neighbour.

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Hello, lovely! 💕

I am SO excited to be officially starting this story. I have such a ride planned for you all.

What do we all think of Freddie so far? I'm not gonna lie...I'm already in LOVE with him and it's only chapter one.

If, like me, you're already OBSESSED, I have something wonderful for you. You can read EVERYTHING from Freddie's POV. If you want to know what he's thinking when he realises Anastasia is his new neighbour, click the magical button below.

Enjoy this ENTIRE chapter told from his perspective.

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Speak soon!

Rebecca xo