"Alexander..."

I moan, my body raising from the mattress.

His hands press onto my stomach as he pushes me back down, I felt my legs almost buckle. I look down to see him between my legs, his arms wrapped around my thighs. His tongue glides up my clit ever so gently, almost as if he was teasing me.

My fingers grabs onto the covers, twisting them.

His hands suddenly travel underneath my shirt, he grabs onto one of my breasts. "Alexander!"

A knock on my door wakes me up, I sit up and my eyes widen once I realise that I just had-I just had a sex dream about my neighbour. I rip the covers over my legs and slide out of the bed, I grab an oversized shirt from my draw. The banging on my door continued.

"I'm coming!" I yell loudly, rubbing onto my eyes as I walk towards my door.

Once I open it, I look up to see Alexander at my door. He stood there looking so perfect, his dark hair messy and lingering on his forehead.

"It's six in the morning-"

"Exactly, can you stop moaning my fucking name?" I slam the door shut in his face, my cheeks flood with absolute embarrassment.

I- I was moaning his name in my dreams out loud? No, not this-this is the end of the stick. I contemplated on opening the door again, and the second-hand embarrassment just sucked up into my stomach.

I finally brought up the courage to open my door again.

"Who said it was about you anyways?" I shoot back folding my arms, "what if I know another Alexander?" He raises a brow, not a single ounce of emotion rushes through his features.

"Listen Nina, I'm only deaf in one ear. The other ear can hear you loud and clear, shut the fuck up."

"You have an attitude problem Alexander, sort it out." I stab my index finger into his rock-hard chest, he leans in closer.

"Or what? What are you going to do?" I step forward, a smile printing across my cheeks as our bodies brush against one another. Alexander had to bend his neck down for his forehead to reach mine, his arms hold the top of my door.

"I'll moan your name even louder and annoy you when you sleep."

Our lips hover over one another, and the chemistry between us ignites. "I knew it was my name." He whispers back against my lips, "keep it down or just do it when I'm not sleeping."

I watch him enter his apartment again, does this man actually have such a big ego? What if it was another man? What if i knew another Alexander? The funny thing is that-I don't. And it was him in that dream.

I roll my eyes and slam my door shut, oh god, I really have to get laid.

I really need to get laid or get a job.

Either is fine.

Maybe a job.

A job sounds nice.

I glance at the clock I drilled in the other day: seven in the morning now. Since I'm awake now, and there is no way in hell I am going back to sleep. I fear the fact I'd moan his name again, oh god, how deeply embarrassing is that?

Moaning your neighbours name.

I freshen up and put on a nice blouse and pair of jeans; job hunting begins now! After an hour of getting ready, I tie my hair, grab my car keys, and leave the house. Could you blame me for taking the stairs instead of the elevator? The fear of being stuck alone hit me harder than the elevator's fall.

I say my goodbyes to the receptionist and decide to walk around the delightful city of Seattle. And, amusingly, everyone was wide awake? During my walk, I come across a store. By the banner, it appears to be a new store; I pull over in front of it and, to my surprise, it was a bakery.

A very busy bakery.

On the front of the door was a big letter: HIRING!

When I push the door open, the bell above it rings into the crowded room. Look how busy it is, I could see why they needed staff! The smell of fresh bread overpowered my new perfume, and as I approached the front, I noticed an elderly lady wiping her brow. She returns my gaze, a smile on her lips.

"And what can I get you?"

She was an elderly lady dressed in a red gown with an apron wrapped around her waist. It didn't do her justice because she had flour all over her clothes. Her hair was dark grey with a few strands of brown remaining, and her eyes were a deep brown colour. I could tell she was upbeat just by looking at her.

"Sorry-I-Uh-I'm here for the job, it says you're hiring." I point to the door; she sighs and her jaw tenses.

"We actually just hired someone, I guess we forgot to take it down." She pats her hands, removing the flour.

"Oh right, I'm sorry-"

"No don't be! We actually have been very busy, you got it!" What?

"Sorry-"

"You've got the job; when can you start?" She inquires, I have never been offered a job so quickly in my life. My stuttering was probably caused by the fact that she is hiring me without a CV or an interview.

"I can start tomorrow." I offer.

"Great! We are busy on Thursdays, come in at seven to get the prep and training ready. The names Olivia. What is your name?"

"Nova, Nova Johnson." I extend my hand to shake, but she pauses halfway to touch mine, then returns her gaze to me. She looks around the bakery seating area before gently pulling me to the side; I begin to find her behaviour strange.

"Your mother is Lisa Johnson?" She whispers, as if it was a forbidden name to say. "The Author of The Silent Neighbour?"

"She is."

Oh. Oh great. My mother really has made a name for herself, hasn't she. "You should change your surname around here Nova."

I've never read my mother's book, and I don't intend to, but given that everyone despises my mother, I needed to know why. I think it was just the fear of holding a memory of my mother in my hands that caused me to see her dead body at the funeral.

"I don't understand-"

"Nova, your mother-she wrote horrible things about a little boy, a little boy who passed away-if you say your surname around here, people will hurt you...the community cared deeply for him." She explains to me. Olivia's eyes were filled with worry and sympathy, what on earth did my mother write?

She strokes my face and I watch her step back, "I'll see you on Monday Nova." She smiles gracefully before returning back to her busy bakery.

I walk out of the bakery and look up at the sky, wondering what my mother did. What did she do to deserve such hatred for our surname? I pushed a strand of my hair away from my eyes, trying to find anything to distract me.

I continue my walk, and the image of the little boy lingers in my mind.

The way he stood at the window; his hands full of blood...did his parents hit him? Did they hit him for giving my ball back? Is that it? Is that the reason? Tears of guilt flood my eyes; I brush them away and decide to go home.

Maybe if I grew enough courage to get that damn ball-maybe if I tried to actually help him instead of ignoring him.

On my way, my body accidentally collides with another. When I look back and see a redhead girl picking up her books that I had knocked over, I immediately bend down to assist her. She looks at me, her glasses pressed against the bridge of her nose.

"Sorry about that, my glasses were getting foggy." She chuckles.

"Oh, no worries. I should have watched where I was going." I help her on her feet, I hand her the rest of her books.

"Are you new in town?" She asks.

"Yep, just moved in for university recently."

"Oh-wait-you're the girl, the smart one from our maths class? Nova, right?"

"That's me." She gasps.

"I've always wanted to introduce myself to you, but you always run to your car after class. I'm Ilene, I'm in the same class as you." I smile, shaking her hands as we begin to walk together.

"Yeah, I just want to go home after a two-hour lecture." I chuckle out.

"I understand, I hate Mr Harold with my entire heart."

We begin to talk about each other, and it was nice. It was nice having someone to chat to without wanting to kill you or bully you. I guess you could say that Ilene was looking like a good friend to me, she had a kind heart and nothing but positive vibes.

We actually had a lot more in common than we thought, she was also a foster kid before a family adopted her. "Hey, listen, my friends and I are getting drink tomorrow. You should join us."

"Oh-I wouldn't want to intervene."

"Nonsense, come. Great, I have to get going now, but I'll text you!" I watch her rush past me and enter a truck, she closes the door behind her, and I watch it drive away. Then I look ahead of me and see Leo, he stood at the end of the pathway with his arms tucked into his leather jacket. I look around to see an empty road and no one from the public.

Fear creeps up into my bones.

Leo then takes out his hands, and I see red all over it.

The same way the little boy stood by the window; I trip on my steps backwards. I trip and rush down the road, our fears can be triggered by real threats and by memories of threats.