Literally, there could’ve been anyone to hit me today, and I would’ve probably been okay with it. But not him. And I certainly wouldn’t have wanted him to feel obligated to take care of me since he was the one who hit me.
Though, I didn’t know if it counted as him hitting me when I was the one who slid into him.
Fucking asshole neighbors.
If there was ever a reason to live with a homeowner’s association for the neighborhood, this would’ve been it.
From the get-go, they’d been pains in my asses.
When I’d moved in a couple of weeks ago, thankful as fuck that I could find a place within my price range, the Hubers had sat out on their porch and watched as I hauled everything in by myself. They hadn’t offered to help—not that I would’ve ever asked them to seeing as they creeped me out—and had watched me struggle for three solid hours as I unloaded my U-Haul.
But that wasn’t the last time that they watched me.
If I checked the mail, washed my car, went on a walk, or even left to go to work in the morning, they were there watching.
Hell, the most excited they’d been was when my stepfather showed up last week demanding that I give him a place to stay for the week until he could find a place to rent on his own. When I’d said no, he’d gotten forceful and demanded that I allow it. When I hadn’t, he’d started to yell.
That’s when I noticed that the Hubers were practically on the edge of their seats watching.
It never ceased to creep me out.
The phone started to ring again, and I managed to crack one eyelid open.
It was still dark outside, that I could tell. But other than that, I had no gauge on what time it was.
I groaned and rolled over, sitting up.
As I did, I heard something fall to the floor, and frowned when I looked toward the door.
“What was that?” I asked quietly as I stood and started to shuffle into the kitchen.
Just as I got to the living room, I tripped over a blanket that I could’ve sworn was in the hall closet with my extra bath towels and linens.
Leaving it where it was, I headed toward the wall phone that hung in my kitchen.
It’d come with the house and was likely older than I was.
When it stopped ringing, I contemplated standing there and waiting for it to ring again, but a wave of nausea and dizziness assailed me.
“Shit,” I said as I lurched toward the couch.
The only thing that saved me from going down was the fact that I was only steps away from the sofa where I could all but fall over the back of the couch.
“Shit,” I groaned as my head bounced onto the cushion. “Owwww.”
The ringing started again, but I was way too far from it, and there was no way I was getting back up.
I lay there as it rang several more times before stopping.
I closed my eyes, wondering how I was going to get up in the morning to go to work, and came up empty.
I don’t know how long I waited there, wishing the nausea away, but it was evidently long enough for someone to pull into my driveway and pound on the door.
“I can’t get up!” I called out.
The pounding stopped and a man’s voice called out, “Birdee?”
“I’m here. I’m awake. But if I get up, I’m going to throw up and pass out. And I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
