The Good Neighbor by Kimberly A. Bettes

I
wasn’t going to wear clothes for long.
    I didn’t waste time wiping or flushing. I
jumped in the shower. I remembered a time when there wasn’t mold
and mildew growing in the shower. It was in that other lifetime of
mine.
    I never used wash rags. I just scrubbed with
the cracked bar of soap, making sure to give my love nub a good
scrubbing. I used the same soap to wash my hair. I grabbed a stiff
towel off the floor and dried myself with it. Long ago, I would’ve
used a fresh towel. It would’ve smelled clean and been soft on my
skin. That was so long ago, I could barely remember what it had
smelled and felt like. I didn’t care about those things anymore. I
didn’t care about anything anymore.
    I wiped some of the dust off the mirror to
better see my reflection. I turned my face left and right,
inspecting it. I could’ve stood to shave, but I didn’t feel like
it. The only problem from not shaving would be the chafing of her
neck and thighs. I didn’t figure she’d mind too much and I didn’t
care at all. I slapped on some after-shave anyway. I rolled on what
little deodorant I had left, not even picking the hairs off it. Who
cared?
    I sat on the edge of the bathtub and spread
my legs. This was going to hurt. I used both hands, one on each
side, and squeezed the boil on the inner thigh of my right leg. It
hurt like hell, but it had to be done. I didn’t want to have to
worry about it later.
    When the boil popped open, I cussed more than
a little. I grabbed the towel from the floor that I’d dried with
and wiped the blood and pus on it, then threw the towel back on the
floor. It felt better already.
    I went to the bedroom to dress. As I walked
past a full-length mirror in my bedroom, I noticed my boner. It
surprised me. I hadn’t even been thinking of the broad. If I didn’t
get her soon, I’d have to take matters into my own hands.
    I admired myself in my reflection for a
while. I couldn’t see anything about what I saw that she wouldn’t
like. It was going to be a hell of a night.
    I dressed in my bar clothes and went
downstairs. I still had plenty of time before it was time to go
next door. I went into the kitchen and rounded up some food. I was
going to need my strength later. I hoped the can of vegetable soup
I ate straight from the can would give me the strength I needed. If
not, the three beers I washed it down with would.
    I sat on the couch and watched TV, trying not
to think of how close I was to getting the broad next door. I
wondered if she was thinking about me as much as I was thinking
about her. Had she showered? Did she shave down there? I was sure
she did. She looked like the type.
    Adjusting my jeans, I reminded myself to stop
thinking about that. I had to save it.
    I glanced at the clock. I still had a few
hours. Time was going to drag by.
    Maybe since I already had my bar clothes on,
it wouldn’t hurt to go to the bar. But what if I got lucky? Would I
still be able to do the broad? I glanced at my bulge and figured I
probably could. But did I want to chance it? What if I was wrong?
I’d hate to waste it on some other bimbo.
    I didn’t need the bar. I had beer in the
fridge. I fetched one and drank it. I went back for another, and
guzzled it. I made another trip to the kitchen and grabbed two
more. I had one of them down before I made it back to the couch. I
made one last trip, grabbing only one beer this time. I stood at
the fridge, door open, and gulped it down.
    Belching loudly, I walked back to the living
room and sat on the couch. I sighed and leaned my head back. I
watched a cockroach crawl across the ceiling.
    Maybe I’d take a little nap. After all, I was
going to need my strength.
     
     
     
19 Jill
    I lay on the couch in the fetal position. I
wanted to catch Andy on his way to work. I still didn’t feel well
at all. But I needed to talk to him.
    I’d made his dinner and packed his lunch, as
usual. I didn’t put as much effort into it as I usually did,
though. I didn’t