The smell of homemade cooking wafts through my nose. The subtle sound of someone chopping vegetables while softly humming to themselves drifts into my ears. My senses are overwhelmed and my mind wanders to a place it hasn't been in a long long time.

There she is. She's standing there with her beautiful wavy brown hair over her shoulder by the kitchen stove. She's humming that song she always hums and there's no sound more comforting than that. She's content. Happy for once. It's a rare thing and it makes me smile as I play with my toy cars on the hardwood floor.

She tells me the soup is going to be ready soon and she made it the special way I like it. Made it with extra care and extra love just for me so that I will get all better. It will make me all better. Everything will be all better.

These cold North Eastern winter months are when I always fall ill. Fevers and bouts of coughing overtake me the majority of this time. It never seems to fail. Sickness seems to be the one thing I can depend on this time of year.

She's in the process of setting the table for just her and I. It's always my favorite when it's just her and I. It's always better when dad is gone. She's always better then. She smiles at me and tells me to put my toy cars away.

I stand up and cover my mouth as I begin to wrack with coughs. She tells me I'm a good boy for covering my mouth. I smile and pick up the cars from the floor but I drop them when the door flings open and slams shut again.

Looking up I see him. He's stumbling. He's throwing his things down on the floor. Why is daddy so angry? Why is daddy screaming? Why is he hitting mommy? Why is mommy bleeding? Maybe he doesn't like the soup.

Another round of coughing overtakes me and that's when his eyes fixate on me. "No, please no, David! No!" He doesn't listen to mommy as he comes over to me, lifting me off the ground with a strong grip with his eyes blazing in fury.

"David! No!" She's screaming. So much screaming.

Screaming. Screaming. Screaming...

"Sean, wake up. You're okay. It's okay. It was only a dream." Someone is shaking me. Someone is touching me. I instantly push myself back and put my hands in front of me defensively. Once I regain my focus I see Monica sitting quietly, watching me with apprehension. "I'm sorry for touching you." She says the words calmly. "I know you don't like it."

What the fuck words just came out of her mouth?

She shrugs, "I noticed it on Friday. When I threw myself into you your entire body went stiff as a board." She searches my eyes but I close myself off and grit my jaw. "I thought I was mistaken because you held my hand until we went into your apartment but then..." She doesn't finish and that's probably because of the icy glare I'm giving her. She looks away from me immediately and shifts on the bed looking uncomfortable.

And here I'm thinking she's completely oblivious. Because that's how much of a fucking idiot I am. I may be a hot idiot, one who's good in bed, but still, an idiot. Her brown eyes find mine sympathetically but only momentarily. I throw my legs over the edge of the bed, putting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.

I can feel the sweat practically dripping off my skin from the dreams. The nightmares. The memories. This is why I don't sleep. One of the many reason I have seemingly never ending bouts of insomnia.

It's quiet for a few moments until she softly asks, "do you always let yourself get so messed up like you did the last few nights?"

"Why the fuck do you care?" I spit out looking over my shoulder at her. "It's none of your business what I do with my spare time or my fucking life. I don't pry into your shit."

"I'm an open book." Of course she is. Just like she was wide open on my bed the other night. "It's ok to open up to someone, Sean." I hold back the eye roll. "I can help you."

Nope, we're done here. "Get out, Monica." I say the words to the floor, head in hands again. "Seriously, just get out."

"I want to help you Sean."

"I don't need anyone's help. I'm completely fine." Lies.

She lets out a sarcastic laugh. "Oh really?"

"Yeah, really."

"You're in denial if you don't think you need some help. I've lived across from you for the past six months, Sean." I glare at her again but this time she doesn't look away. "I mean, Jesus, look at how you came home yesterday."

I furrow my brow in confusion. "Yesterday?"

"Yes, yesterday. It's Monday night." I'm honestly astounded by her statement because I never sleep, especially for that long. Not even when I'm nursing a terrible hangover. I can't because I usually dream like I just had. I usually just drink until I black out and can't remember anything.

"So, if I was knocked out for that long then where were you?"

She shifts uncomfortably on the bed again. "I, uh, I stayed here with you. I wanted to make sure you were okay and didn't choke on your own vomit or anything. I was really worried about you."

And there it is.

She fucking cares about me. I am the worst person in the world to care about because I don't care about a damn thing. I don't even care about my fucking self. I've lived next to this woman for six months and have only had a handful of conversations with her. She doesn't know what she's saying. She just thinks she cares.

"I made us some soup." Her voice is soft, delicate even. It's like she's talking to a skittish horse. Apparently, I'm a skittish horse. "I figured since you were sick it would make you feel better."

Those words. Those fucking words. There's a clenching feeling inside of my chest that is nearly completely foreign to me. I squeeze my eyes tightly together feeling an odd sensation inside of them. Oh fuck. Fuck that. I am not getting all teary-eyed like a fucking little bitch right now. Fuck, I am. I definitely am.

Monica reaches out toward me but she seems to think better of it as she drops her hand. She stands up wordlessly and goes into the kitchen as if sensing I need a minute to collect myself. Hey asshole, way to cry like a baby back bitch in front of your hot neighbor. If there was any way to fuck with my ego this would be it. Fuck my life.

"How'd you get that shiner?" She asks referring to my black eye.

That brings me out of my pit of self-loathing. "I tried to fuck some guys wife." She drops the spoon into the pot automatically. There goes my fucking mouth again.

"Did you?" If I'm correct, which I'm pretty certain I am, there's a hint of hurt and slight disappointment there.

Oh no, sweetheart. Don't you even begin do this to yourself. Don't you dare start to like someone like me. I'm no good. I fuck people's wives, even though I didn't this time.

"No, I didn't." I didn't have to confirm that for her but I just want her to stop looking like that. "I didn't fuck her although she kept asking for me to put my dick in her, apparently. But even if I didn't fuck her I've fucked other men's wives and I've done so on multiple occasions." Hopefully my statement scares her off. But it doesn't seem to because all she does is nod wordlessly and grab some bowls from the cabinet.

I let out an achy sigh as I stand up from the bed for the first time in two days. I stretch my arms out as I stand in front of my dresser which was only a step away in this small studio apartment. It only takes a few steps to really get anywhere in here. I pick out some new clothes and start to change.

"What are you doing?" she asks incredulously.

"What do you mean?" I know what she means because I am well aware that I am butt-ass naked in front of her right now. "You know, Monica, this is my apartment. I think I can change in it and that may involve me getting naked in it." I turn away from her and throw on some grey sweats and a white tee.

"I made chicken noodle, I hope that's fine." Of course she did. Monica just had to make my favorite fucking soup.

"Did you actually make it or did you just open a can and throw it in a pot?" I raise my eyebrows, challenging her. I'm such a fucking asshole. Hey, at least I know it, right?

She places both bowls on the table seemingly unfazed by my douchebagery. "I made it from scratch. I've been cooking while you've been sleeping."

"Why would you do that for me?" What do you want from me?

"Because you threw up for hours on end and then basically went fucking comatose!" She raises her voice at me and I am honestly a bit startled by her reaction but she continues to surprise me with, "I mean Jesus, Sean. Can you just come over here and eat the damn soup I've prepared for you? Is it too much to ask for you to be a civil human being for once?"

Yes. Yes, it is. And even though those are the thoughts in my head I put one foot in front of the other until I reach the table. I pull out a chair and sit my stubborn ass down.