My New Neighbor Used Me As A Fake Boyfriend To Escape Her Ex — Then I Realized I Already Had Her Apartment Key
Part 2
I watched Craig’s smile curdle into boredom before he finally turned away and disappeared into the cafe.
That night, when I opened my apartment door, I nearly stepped on a small bent metal clothing clip.
It rested directly on the warped floorboards with a torn piece of receipt paper tucked neatly underneath it.
The handwriting on the paper was sharp and rushed.
“The wall did good work today.”
The next evening, a heavy storm moved in, washing away the biting wind and replacing it with a steady, quiet drumming.
I couldn’t sleep.
My shoulders ached from a long day of lifting heavy furniture, but my mind ran in endless loops around the image of her hand on my elbow.
I grabbed a cold beer from the fridge and walked out the back door of the building, stepping onto the covered wooden stairs that led down to the alley.
She was already there.
Megan sat on the top step, her knees pulled tight to her chest, watching the rain hit the dark asphalt.
She looked up when the heavy door creaked open.
“I can leave,” I offered, standing awkwardly in the doorway.
“No,” she said softly, shifting slightly to make room on the narrow wooden slats.
“Sit.”
“If you stand there looming, you’ll ruin the aesthetic of my brooding.”
I sat down on the step below hers, leaving a safe distance between us.
I took a slow sip of the cold beer.
I pulled the bent metal clothing clip from my pocket and turned it over quietly in my rough fingers.
She watched the small piece of metal for a long moment.
“You kept my garbage,” she noted.
“It’s structural,” I said, sliding it carefully back into my pocket.
“Reminds me not to blow away.”
We sat in silence for a very long time.
It wasn’t the awkward silence of the narrow hallway we usually shared.
It was the quiet of two people who were far too tired to keep their heavy armor up.
“Heather called me an hour ago,” Megan said suddenly, her voice barely louder than the steady rain.
Heather was her best friend and the main coordinator for the upcoming weekend market.
“Craig is going to be at the showcase tomorrow,” she continued, her fingers tracing the edge of her knee.
“He’s one of the legacy sponsors.”
“He’s going to stand there and watch me and wait for me to look pathetic so he can publicly offer to help.”
I looked at her, really looked at her, seeing past the sharp words and the impulsive actions.
I saw a fiercely independent woman who was terrified of hoping for a good thing because good things had always been weaponized against her.
“I don’t know how to do this, Dan,” she admitted quietly.
“I spent three years letting him make the big decisions because it was easier.”
“And now, happiness or success or whatever this is supposed to be, it feels like a beautiful dress hung outside in a storm.”
“The second I hang it up, I’m just waiting for the wind to rip it away.”
“So, I try not to want it too much.”
That first day when she kissed me, she did not do it because she wanted drama.
She did it because he had cornered her in public and my shoulders were the closest solid thing.
“I’m learning, Megan,” I told her the truth, the words feeling heavy in my mouth.
“I’m a guy who steps in front, but I know that’s not what you need.”
“I’m trying to learn how to stand beside.”
She did not answer right away.
The street lamp caught the reflection of the cold rain on her dark lashes.
The distance between us on the stairs felt infinitely smaller than it had an hour earlier.
Tomorrow was the autumn showcase.
She had to step out in front of the entire town, in front of Craig, with every whisper waiting to see whether she would shrink or stand tall.
The question stayed completely open in the wet air between us.
Would she use me as a prop again, or would she finally let me stand with her for real?
