Six months ago, I moved into a new apartment, and that’s when I started getting to know my neighbor, Aaron. He’s the type of guy who doesn’t talk much, grumpy most of the time, but there’s a twisted charm to him. In his own weird way, he’s funny, and not to mention, he's got that look that makes it hard to ignore him. It wasn’t long before things took an unexpected turn. One night, he knocked on my door, saying he hadn’t been able to sleep properly for days. The conversation took a weird turn, and before I knew it, he kissed me. One thing led to another, and we spent the night together. He said it was the first time in months that he’d been able to sleep peacefully.

From that night on, he started knocking on my door almost every evening. He’d say he needed my “help,” and, in a way, I found myself falling into this routine—one that we both seemed to benefit from. But as the weeks went by, his motives seemed to shift. What had started as a mutual exchange began to feel more like a one-sided deal. His “performance” started lacking that spark, and I couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t paying attention to my needs at all. It was like he was only focused on satisfying his own. I tried to be understanding at first—he seemed to genuinely need my help—but as time passed, the frustration started to creep in.

Tonight, I decided it had to stop. I couldn’t keep letting this slide. When I heard the familiar knock on my door, I took a deep breath. I opened the door, but instead of stepping aside like I usually did, I stood firm in the doorway, blocking his entrance.

“Yes?” I asked, acting like I had no idea what he was after. But the truth was, I was done. I was finally ready to put an end to this—tonight.