The Neighbor Next Door (Part 1)
The city never truly sleeps. It moans. It hums. It breathes heavy at night like a restless lover.
I had just moved into my new apartment-a brownstone in a part of town that people like to call “up and coming.” Gentrified just enough to have overpriced coffee shops on one end, and on the other, corner boys still posted up like statues carved out of concrete.
It was a fresh start. Again.
Boxes were still stacked by the door, my wine glasses in bubble wrap, and my candles untouched on the mantle. But I didn’t need everything to be in its place to feel at home. I just needed silence, my playlist, and this soft black robe hugging these hips like it knew what to do.
I had just taken my first long drag from a freshly rolled blunt- lavender oil on my neck, jazz humming low in the background-when it started.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Bass. Vibrations crawling through my wall like the start of an earthquake.
I closed my eyes, held the smoke in my lungs, and exhaled slowly.
Not again.
It was the third time this week. And I already knew who it was.
My neighbor.
Young. Cornrows always freshly done, beard neatly trimmed. Body built like a man who fights his way through life-and wins. The kind of man that makes your thighs tense when he walks past but also makes your spirit tell you don’t go there.
I’d seen him maybe four times since I moved in. Once on the steps, once taking out trash shirtless, once with a pitbull tugging at a red leash, and once when he held the door open for me and said, “Evenin’, baby,” with this sly little grin.
He couldn’t be more than 23. Trouble like that always came wrapped in youth.
Tonight, I wasn’t in the mood.
I slipped on my house shoes, tied my robe a little tighter across my chest, and headed into the hallway. The smell hit me first-loud weed, cheap incense, and jerk chicken with too much pepper.
I knocked. Firm. Three times.
The bass stopped, like I’d unplugged the speaker with my fist. Footsteps approached the door. I heard a lock click.
Then it opened.
He leaned in the doorway like a problem waiting to happen. No shirt, low-slung jeans, and skin that gleamed under the hallway light. Tattoos sprawled across his arms, and those braids-tight, fresh, and clean. A single gold chain caught the light against his chest.
His eyes dropped to my cleavage, then back up to my face. Bold. No shame.
“Yuh knock like yuh run di buildin’,” he said, smirking. “Wah gwaan?”
“I came to ask if you were planning to let the whole block feel your music tonight.”
He shrugged, slow and smooth. “Mi vibes different when di music loud – it help mi think, yuh zimme?”
“You can think quieter.”
His smile deepened, sharp but lazy. “You always dis sweet at midnight?”
“I’m always this direct when I’m disrespected.”
He raised a brow, clearly amused. “Alright, Miss Proper. I got you. Music done.”
Before I could turn away, I noticed it- a dark line trailing from just under his ribcage. Blood. Thin, but real.
“Are you-” I paused. “You’re bleeding.”
He looked down like he hadn’t noticed. “Nah, it’s nuttin. Jus’ a likkle scratch.”
“You’re bleeding,” I repeated. “Come inside.”
“I’m good, trust me.”
“I didn’t ask you that.”
He blinked at me. Something shifted in his stance. “Alright, then. Lead the way.”
—
I let him into my apartment.
He walked like he didn’t quite trust the softness of it. The lavender-scented air, the gold accents, the plush rug. He looked out of place, but then again, so did I sometimes.
“Sit,” I said, nodding to the stool at the kitchen counter.
He lowered himself carefully, eyes never leaving me.
“Di name Malik, by di way.”
“I’m Fe,” I said, grabbing my first aid kit.
“Fe…” he repeated, slow and low, like the name tasted good on his tongue.
I ignored the way he said it. I focused on cleaning the cut. Not deep, but fresh. Probably a knife. Maybe worse.
“You get into fights often?” I asked, dabbing antiseptic across the skin.
He hissed, just barely. “Comes with di life sometimes. Man waan test mi, mi had fi let him know mi a di boss.”
“You live like this on purpose?”
He chuckled. “Mi jus’ a live mi life. Nuttin’ wrong wid peace, some people just can’t handle it.”
I shook my head, but I didn’t press. His chest rose steady under my hands, his skin warm and taut. There was a scar near his ribs, an older one. A story I didn’t ask for yet.
“You always this… bossy?” he asked, eyes gleaming.
“I prefer ‘assertive.’”
He leaned forward a little, just enough for me to catch the scent of him-smoke, leather, and the faint spice of clove.
“Well,” he murmured, “assertive look good on you, sweetheart.”
My eyes narrowed. “Watch your mouth.”
He smiled. “I am.”
Malik settled in a little too comfortably on the stool, as if he belonged there, like the space had been made for him without anyone ever saying so.
I went to the counter and poured some water into a glass, my back turned to him. His presence pressed into the room, made it smaller, filled it with an energy I couldn’t shake.
“You don’t act like you’re scared of anything,” I said, avoiding his gaze. I could still feel him watching me.
“Mi nuh fraid a nuttin,” he said softly, his voice smooth, like the statement had been made a hundred times before. “Mi jus live.”
I handed him the glass. He took it without saying thank you, and I didn’t mind. Not with him.
The bloodied cut on his side still needed tending, but something about his cocky attitude made me want to take my time, keep him waiting. That feeling, the power in knowing I had control, was too enticing to let go.
“Doesn’t seem like you’ve got much respect for anyone,” I said, watching him sip the water like he was savoring it.
“I got respect for who respect mi,” he said, leaning back and eyeing me. “Yuh nuh fi worry ’bout dat. Mi a treat yuh good.”
“Do you?” I leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You’re bleeding, and I’m helping you-so far, I’m the only one giving something here.”
He chuckled, a soft, low sound that vibrated through me. “Mi see how you carry yuhself. You different, Miss Proper. Don’t need much to be satisfied. You look like you got everything figured out. But everybody need a little help sometimes, no?”
I didn’t let him see how his words twisted something inside me. “Maybe.”
“I didn’t say thank you yet,” he added, finally placing the glass down. “But, mi grateful.”
It felt like a dare, like he was testing me. To see if I’d bend, if I’d cave to whatever twisted game he wanted to play.
“I didn’t do this for gratitude,” I said, still cool, even though the heat between us was undeniable. “You should’ve been more careful.”
“I am careful,” he answered with a shrug. “Most of the time, anyway. Jus’ sometimes mi get… distracted.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Distracted? By what?”
His eyes flickered with that same lazy confidence. “By the finer things in life.”
Something inside me stirred. I couldn’t tell if it was frustration, curiosity, or a bit of both. But whatever it was, it was pulling me closer to him, inch by inch.
“Well,” I said, my voice quieter now, “you’re here, so what do you want?”
His smile spread wider, mischievous. He stood up, closing the gap between us. The air in the room grew thicker as his presence surrounded me.
“Don’t know yet,” he said, his voice dropping to a more intimate register. “But mi a go figure it out.”
I held my ground, resisting the pull of him. “You’re bold.”
“Mi nuh like fi waste time.” He was inches away from me now, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. I inhaled deeply, trying to steady myself. “Wasting time feel like wasting life. Yuh nuh look like di type who do dat.”
My heartbeat quickened. This was no longer about just a simple cut on his side. The space between us was filled with something else- something deeper, heavier, something I had no intention of addressing. At least, not yet.
“You think you know me?” I asked, keeping my voice steady even though my body was betraying me.
He grinned, eyes twinkling. “I think I could get to know you real well, Miss Proper. Mi could show yuh a ting or two.”
I swallowed hard. His words, low and seductive, dug into me. The way he leaned in just a little too close, his breath brushing against my neck, made my pulse skip.
“I don’t think you’re my type,” I said, even though the words felt hollow the moment they left my lips.
Malik’s gaze flickered to my lips before he took a step back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Nah? Well, mi got plenty of time to change dat.”
He turned toward the door, but before he could leave, he glanced back, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite place. “Yuh know where mi live if yuh change yuh mind. Mi nah go no weh.”
He gave me one last look- a slow, deliberate stare that promised things I wasn’t sure I was ready for- and then walked out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My heart still raced in my chest, and my skin tingled from the brief encounter.
I shouldn’t have let him in. I shouldn’t have even spoken to him.
But something told me this was just the beginning.
To be continued…
