Chapter 1: Beginning
The city was a familiar blur outside Thomas's window. He had seen it a thousand times, and it had never been any more compelling than the backdrop of a forgotten dream. But tonight, the lights seemed to sparkle with an urgency he couldn't ignore. He was not a man of impulse, but tonight he was driven by a force greater than himself. He was driven by the woman who lived next door.
Sarah.
Her name was a whisper, a secret only he knew, and it echoed through the hollow chambers of his heart.
He had watched her through the window, her long red hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of fire, her laugh a melody that carried through the thin walls of their apartments. He had memorized every curve of her body, every line of her face, every freckle that dotted her flawless skin. He had dreamt of her, of her green eyes that could pierce the darkest corners of his soul, and he had woken up every morning with a hunger that grew more insatiable with each passing day.
Tonight, he decided, he would tell her.
He would stand at her door, knock, and when she opened it, he would pour out his heart like a drunken poet. It was a stupid idea, he knew, but he couldn't shake the feeling that if he didn't do it tonight, he never would.
He stood in front of her door, his heart pounding in his chest like a drummer on speed. He raised his hand, his knuckles brushing against the cool wood, and then he faltered. What if she laughed? What if she slammed the door in his face? What if she called the cops?
He was about to turn away when the door swung open.
Sarah stood there, her red hair in a messy bun, her green eyes wide with surprise. She was wearing a thin, white tank top and shorts that left little to the imagination. He could see the faint outline of her nipples through the fabric, and his mouth went dry.
"Thomas," she said, her voice hesitant. "What are you doing here?"
He took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heart. "I had to talk to you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
She looked at him for a moment, her eyes searching his face. Then she stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in.
"You'd better sit down," she said, her voice softening. She closed the door behind him, and he felt the air in the room shift, as if the very atmosphere knew something momentous was about to happen.
He sat on the edge of her couch, his hands clasped together to keep them from shaking. Sarah sat down opposite him, her legs crossed, her eyes never leaving his face.
"You've been looking at me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've seen you, through the window."
He swallowed hard, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said.