Confessions Next Door Pt. 01

Prologue

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My name is Tom. I'm twenty-seven, and for the past three years, I've been living with my girlfriend, Milly. She's twenty-three, a redhead with a shy smile and a nervous laugh, blue eyes that always seem to be searching for reassurance. We met during her first semester at university--me freshly out of a training program, stumbling into adult life, just as she was stumbling out of home for the first time. Neither of us had been in a real relationship before. Neither of us had much experience in anything at all.

Our apartment is bright, modern, on the top floor of a freshly renovated building--a little more than we should have afforded, if I'm honest. But back then, I had a steady job in IT and Milly's student loan covered the rest. It wasn't luxury, but it felt like the start of something. Milly's still studying, and I'm still looking for the next step, both of us balancing somewhere between youth and responsibility.

We're good together--solid, comfortable. Sex is... nice. Tender, familiar, maybe a little cautious. Sometimes, I wish we'd do more, push boundaries, take risks. But Milly's shy, and I don't want to push her. She's the only one I've ever really been with, the only one who's ever truly known me. I get the feeling she feels the same. We laugh, we talk about everything--except, maybe, the things we want but haven't learned how to ask for.

We have a neighbor--Frank. He's our landlord, lives just down the hall, old enough to be our father. He's loud, broad-shouldered, friendly in a way that's hard to read, always quick with a dirty joke or a wink. We mostly keep to ourselves, but sometimes I wonder what he thinks of us--two kids playing house, a little out of our depth.

If there's trouble on the horizon, I can't see it yet. All I know is, life feels steady. Maybe too steady.

And lately, every time I look at Milly, I can't shake the feeling that something is about to change.

Rent Day

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Rent day comes with a cold pit in my stomach. I watch Milly pace our cramped apartment, her bare feet tracing silent ovals across the cheap laminate floor. Her red hair is tied up, a nervous little bun. She fidgets with the hem of her thrift-store dress. I don't want to look at her, not like this--so tight-wound, lips chewed red. I haven't found work in weeks, and she's still pulling all-nighters for finals. The last thing I want to say: we're out of money.

The knock comes just after sunset. Frank, our landlord, always has this way of filling the doorway--wide, thick arms, the gut he rests his palms on, face weathered like an old ship's deck. He smells like cigarettes and cheap aftershave. He doesn't bother with greetings. Just, "You got the rent?" And I don't. My mouth moves, but no sound comes out.

He looks past me at Milly. She shrinks behind my shoulder, just peeking out. "If you two can't pay," he says, "maybe we can work something out."

The way he says it--my fists ball at my sides. I want to shout, but I don't. Milly's hand wraps around my wrist, squeezing. Her fingers are cold and trembling.

Frank's smile is lazy. "Look. It's just two minutes. All I want is to see your girl naked, that's all. No touching. No photos. She stands in front of me, drops her dress. Two minutes. Rent's covered."

My jaw clenches. Milly goes even paler. Frank doesn't even blink. "It's up to you," he says. "I'll be back in the morning for an answer."

When he leaves, the silence is a physical thing. Milly lets go of my arm, sits on the edge of our lumpy futon, and stares at her knees. "Tom..." Her voice is so small I can barely hear it.

I kneel down in front of her. I try to hold her hand but she pulls away, curling her arms around her chest. "No way," I say. "Absolutely not. He's a creep, Milly."

She just nods, but doesn't argue. The hours drag. We talk in circles--about the bills, about our options, about how much we hate even thinking about this. At some point, I get angry, frustrated, pacing the apartment, listing off jobs I've applied for, things we could sell, favors we could ask. She sits there, quiet, breathing in slow, uneven sighs.

By midnight, our arguments have died out. The only sound is the fridge humming. I find her sitting by the window, hugging her knees, face shadowed by city lights. "If we don't pay tomorrow," she whispers, "he'll evict us, won't he?"

I don't answer. She already knows.

She doesn't sleep that night. Neither do I. She gets dressed in silence the next morning--simple jeans and a pale blue shirt that makes her look even more fragile. When Frank knocks, she meets my eyes. "Wait here," she says. "Please."

"Are you sure?" My voice shakes, and I hate it.

She nods, quick and birdlike, then slips out into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Those two minutes feel like the longest of my life. I stand at the door, every muscle in my body tensed, straining to hear. Voices, low and muffled. Silence. I imagine every possible humiliation. My fists clench and unclench. I nearly open the door a dozen times. I don't.

When she comes back, she's flushed, lips pressed in a thin line. She closes the door behind her, locks it, and leans back against the wood. She's breathing fast, face bright with embarrassment and something else--relief, maybe, or shock.

I go to her, but she just shakes her head. "It's done," she says quietly. "He--he just looked. I took everything off. He watched. It was... weird. But I did it."

She bites her lip, eyes darting anywhere but mine. "He stared the whole time. Didn't say a word. Just... watched. I kept thinking about you, the whole time, and how you were right there, just a wall away. When it was over, he just said 'Thank you,' and let me go."

I want to hold her, comfort her, but she shrugs off my hands, goes straight to the bathroom, turns on the shower. I stand there in the kitchen, heart thumping, trying to imagine what exactly just happened, and what it's done to us.

When she comes out, she puts on fresh clothes, sits beside me, and after a long moment she leans in, whispering, "We don't owe him anything for a month now."

But I can't stop thinking about Frank's offer, about how easily she said yes, and about how a line I thought was uncrossable is now gone.