If I stare at this door handle any longer, I may just burn it right off. The looming threat of stepping out into the common hallway is slowly eating away at me. It probably isn't rational to have a fear of stepping out of one's apartment and into the hallway, but just the thought of having to see my neighbor across the hall was enough to keep me holed up in here for the rest of the day.
This is a bi-weekly occurrence here on the 37th floor of Aspira Apartments. (And by bi-weekly, I don't mean every two weeks, but twice a week, if not more.) There are so many wonderful things about living in one of the two penthouse apartments in this building; lots of space, living in the first "Green" high-rise in Seattle, a pet-friendly environment, and basically any amenity you can think of within the walls of the building-including a yoga studio. The one major drawback? Very. Thin. . Thin. Walls.
By some major design flaw, the master bedrooms of both penthouse apartments on this level share a wall. I am fortunate enough to share said wall with a particularly "sexually vocal" neighbor. Why not complain to the building manager? Because the building manager/owner of Aspira happens to be my neighbor's father. Thinking I could have a mature conversation with my neighbor about my sleepless nights caused by all the noise in the room next door proved fruitless as well. That was the first time I was privy to The Eyebrow Raise and her snide, "Jealous Bella?"
Rosalie Cullen. Spoiled, rude, snobby, sexually vocal daughter of Carlisle Cullen. She acts as though, simply because this is her father's building and her apartment is approximately 20 sq. ft. larger than mine, I should have to deal with her squawking and mewling two times a week. Ever since my attempt at a conversation with her, the morning after the dreadful nights of audible torture, she would be out in the hall at the exact same time that I would have to leave to go to work, lapping at the face of her previous night's companion with her overly sloppy tongue. He would turn to leave- usually in a Rosalie-induced haze- and she would turn to me, just before heading back into her apartment, and arch her eyebrow at me just daring me to say something about it again. I have now dubbed it simply, The Eyebrow Raise. Then she turns back to her door, giggling to herself and completely self-satisfied. (Unlike the night before. She definitely had help in the satisfaction portion of the evening.) Oh God, maybe I am jealous.
No. I cannot accept that as a possibility. It doesn't matter that your last sexual partner was…well, I haven't been counting days. Or months. It is simply the fact that she is arrogant enough to flaunt her attitude just because her daddy owns the building.
I doubt Rosalie has had to work a day in her life. I work hard to afford this place, and the only reason I can even afford it is because Carlisle gives a discount to people holding jobs with specific employers: Starbucks, The Navy, , and, thankfully, University of Washington, where I am currently on staff with Sustainable Design in the Architecture department.
I had my claim on this apartment building from its initial conception. I love sustainable design and this is the first building in Seattle that was built completely under the idea of environmental friendliness. It was the perfect place for me to move upon accepting my job at the university. There's abundant natural light to minimize use of electricity, a building-wide recycling program, lush landscaping on an outdoor garden terrace, at street level and in the parking garage, secure bicycle storage for a car-free commute. There is only one thing I don't like about this building, and she isn't going anywhere any time soon.
After checking my watch for the twentieth time and calculating that I was going to be approximately eighteen minutes late to work-after waiting on the incredibly slow elevator, and if I didn't catch the bus on time- I inhaled deeply, looked skyward in hopes that someone was looking out for me today, took one last look through the peephole, and turned the dreaded 'doorknob-of-doom.'
No one. Silence. I had finally made the perfect escape. Taking all cautionary measures possible I tip-toed down the hall glancing once over my shoulder to make sure all was in order and gently pressed the elevator button. I cringed as I heard the telltale ding indicating that the elevator was already on this level, possibly alerting any waitingneighbor of my lucky escape. My level of panic rose while the doors were purposely taking their time to open. "Please, please God, hurry up!" I begged, probably a little too loud. I was staring at my feet when the doors finally parted completely. Not wanting to waste time I began to charge forward, but stopped abruptly in my tracks when I saw that the elevator seemed to already have an occupant. Or two.
"Sorry Bella. There are some things too good to rush." She giggled. "You should probably try the stairs," Rosalie smirked at me while her "special friend" continued to maul her neck and paw at her…wait. Is he trying to milk her or something? If I hadn't been so distracted by the guy's borderline-amateur groping- and if I had half a brain, or a full night's sleep- I would have turned around and booked it two levels below where I could pick up another elevator, but apparently I'm a masochist because I remained standing there, mouth agape when she did it. The Eyebrow Raise.
I stayed there, in that spot, for what seemed like forever. The doors closed again and finally shook my mind back to reality.
I'm not even really sure how I got down to the first level of the complex- I'm assuming the stairs based on my heaving breathing, but that could also be the raging anger boiling in my very skin. I only came to when I watched as my bus sped by without even slowing and further improved my day when it showered me with dirty, skanky, street puddle water. Just another reason to love Washington; constant rain.
It was then and there that my plan finally began to take shape. Rosalie was going to pay.
After all, revenge is a dish best served…immediately. It was my turn to rock the 37th floor.
Welcome to my first attempt at writing.
I have only been in the 'fic world' for a little over a year now. But, as with many of you, my own thoughts could not be retained any longer. I welcome all feedback I can get. This side of the screen is totaly new to me, and totally scary!
It sounds like things are going to be getting juicy for Bella pretty soon, hm?
-Insert Alice, Jasper, and Emmett and things should really get cooking. Hm, wait...it feels like I'm forgetting someone. Oh yeah.
Edward
Need I say more? Shall we continue with this tale?