The Watcher
“Good as new in a week,” Dean chirps, like 6 weeks of house arrest is nothing. I didn’t know then that the sounds from across the street would keep me up at night.
I scowl at my friend and doctor, Dean. I’ve been stuck mostly in my little cottage for over a week since I had surgery on my left eye and now that I’m almost healed, I’ve found out that I still need to take a further 6 weeks off work.
6 weeks!! What the hell am I supposed to do if I can't dance? Eye patches can be sexy, I’m sure of it. Although with Halloween only being a month ago, I can’t be sure that people won’t think I just haven’t taken off the pirate costume. I huff and fall back on the sofa, letting my head roll on to Dean’s shoulder as he sits beside me.
“It’s not all bad, Jordan. You can actually leave the house, you know. It’s not like you’ve broken your leg.”
“No, I’m hideous! What if one of my hookups see me like this and then never booty calls me again? I can’t afford to lose that Dean. I love dick too much!” I whine into his face, but he just chuckles and shoves me off him.
“Well, maybe that sexy lumberjack across the street can help you,” Dean says as he wiggles his eyebrows. Dean himself is quite the hottie, but not my type.
A twink with just enough muscle that pokes through those tight shirts he wears when he isn’t wearing a white coat. Not that I’m fussy, but I like the whole, thrown about growly vibe.
My neighbour certainly gives off that vibe, however….”He’s straight,” I pout.
“Oh well. Maybe he has a brother? I need to get going, but please remember your eye drops. Frankie is on grocery duty, so make sure you send a food list to him, or you’ll be eating nothing but bagels and cream cheese.” He makes a sick face at Frankie’s favourite meal, then collects his bag and jacket.
I see him out, waiting for him to drive off before stepping back up the porch steps to my house. I hear a whistle that makes my head spin round.
Garett is unlocking his door, boxes of Christmas lights at his feet as he waves over to me with his flashy white smile. Ugh, he has tiny little dimples. I wave back before ushering inside as quick as I can. He might be off limits, but I still want to look my best, and right now, I look like a washed out sea pirate.
I send my food list to Frankie, and he replies immediately with a thumbs up. He’s soooo old. Who put a thumbs up in their messages? I laugh and head to the kitchen to make myself some hot chocolate. I grab my green Christmas tree mug that I made with the guys at Cheeks last Christmas at our drunken pottery class that Raj had booked.
I carry it through to my den where I have recently set up in. My little cottage is only one floor with a bedroom, living room, kitchen, and bathroom.
This little den is across from my bedroom and used to be an office, but since I’m a pole dancer for a gay club, I don’t really need an office.
Instead, I painted it a vanilla cream and decorated it with a huge bean bag sofa, blankets, paintings of erotica and a huge tv for when my friends come over, and we order Chinese and watch trash tv.
There's plenty of low lighting to set the mood to cozy or my favourite kind of filthy night in.
It’s also where I spy on Garett. Because despite him playing for another team, I have been bored and well, he’s right there! Tall, dark, handsome. Rugged with a square jaw covered in stubble. He actually wears flannel shirts rolled up that expose his delicious veiny forearms, which he uses to chop wood at the side of his house.
His home is a two-story. I’m pretty sure he has a basement too. When I spy on him in the little hours of the night with my one good eye on my binoculars, that I overnight express ordered once I heard the first screams coming from a small window that lies along the bottom of his house. The lights dim and flickering through the snow that almost covers it.
Those high-pitched screams scare me. Because I sometimes see men arriving at his home late at night, but I never see them leave again.
Which makes me pretty sure my neighbour is a serial killer.
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Thanks for reading, auden xo
