The Men Next Door

Ch 7 - Campbell

I broke down in the shower after Brooks left, thankful he didn't try any harder to stay at my place. What I was feeling was far too complicated to explain to a man I just met. Hell, it didn't even make sense to me.

I wanted to fool around with him. I really did. And fuck, did I enjoy it. But that didn't stop the guilt from rolling in afterwards.

I'd come a long way from those confusing, conflicting teen years when every ounce of desire made me feel like there was something wrong with me; when the first time I admitted to a friend that I touched myself she asked to add me to a prayer list; when losing my virginity made me feel like I was damaged goods. But every once in a while, guilt and shame came knocking again.

And damn did they knock.

I hadn't felt that low in years, and I didn't understand why it was happening with Brooks. We didn't even have sex, for fucks sake. He didn't so much as hint that I owed him anything in return. The man didn't even take any clothes off.

I'd had one night stands that didn't make me feel that low. Okay, one one night stand. And it was with a friend of a friend who I already knew, so maybe that didn't really count.

The point is, I wasn't against having casual sex. And I hadn't had a full on meltdown like that since I fooled around with a woman when I was 23. The confusion I felt then wasn't as surprising, given the way I was raised... but now? I'd spent an hour crying my eyes out in a too-hot shower, all because I had an extremely pleasurable interaction with a man who made sure I still wanted to continue at every turn.

What a fucking joke.

~~~

The next morning, I stared dejectedly at my reflection as I brushed my teeth. It was impossible to miss my slightly-swollen eyelids — the result of my self-imposed pity party the previous night.

I splashed some ice-cold water on my face to bring me back to the present, then headed to the kitchen to get some coffee. The misplaced piece of paper caught my eye from across the room.

Cam,

Thanks for trusting me. I'm here if you need me. Really.

Brooks had scrawled his phone number at the bottom with a goofy-looking smiley face, and I simultaneously held back a grin and another round of tears.

Me: Howdy neighbor. Thanks for the note, that was thoughtful of you

I went through most of my work day without hearing anything back, and I almost convinced myself that he was never going to respond. But the more I thought about Brooks — about the way he talked and told me exactly what he wanted, exactly how he was feeling — I realized he wouldn't have left his number if he didn't intend for me to reach out. It was a Thursday, after all, and he was probably busy with client projects or chores or some other adult-y responsibilities.

My phone finally vibrated when I was closing my laptop for the day. The force of the buzz made it twist around on the desk and tumble to the floor, and the whole scene reminded me of some other things that twisted and buzzed recently, but the message on the screen was a little more innocent than my memories.

Brooks: Didn't want to knock on the door every time I want to see you... needed a better way to get in touch :)

A few seconds later, another message came through.

Brooks: Hope you're feeling better today

I squinted my eyes at the phone like I was suspicious of its crimes. I was fine while he was at my apartment, how would he know any different?