She sees an Unexpected Neighbor

Chapter 9: Surprise?

Natalie sat on the edge of her bed, phone in hand, scrolling through the food delivery apps. She picked the Starbucks down the street—simple, familiar, nothing that would require her to talk to anyone—and placed her order: a coffee and a breakfast sandwich. Five minutes. That’s all she had to wait.

Natalie shifted on the edge of her bed, her fingers brushing over the swollen, sore skin of her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress. A sharp jolt of pain ran through her chest when she adjusted her strap, making her wince. Tentatively, she lifted the hem of the dress just enough to peek under her breasts, where the underside had taken the brunt of Tanisha’s uppercuts.

The skin there was mottled dark purple and red, some areas still raised, tender to the touch. Tiny, angry welts formed along the curve where her ribcage met her chest. She pressed lightly, testing the edges, and flinched at the bruising that spread across her cleavage toward her sternum. Even now, just lifting them up, she could feel the lingering ache in her muscles—the chest, the pectorals, the connecting tissue.

Her hands traced carefully along the bruised underside, noting the way the skin pulled and ached, how the flesh felt heavier than usual from swelling. She caught herself imagining what Tanisha’s punches had done in real time, how her body had absorbed them, how her breasts had bounced and jiggled with every strike. The thought sent a confusing mix of sting and, unexpectedly, something else—something she hadn’t expected—through her chest.

Natalie lifted her boob slightly again, eyeing her swollen chest in the mirror. “Well,” she muttered sarcastically under her breath, “looks like these bruises made me even bigger than 34F.” The thought made her smirk, even through the pain. The swelling had puffed up her breasts, pressing more firmly against the fabric, exaggerating her curves in a way that was almost comical compared to her usual measurements.

Her fingers traced the tender skin again, brushing lightly over the bruised underside and up toward her nipples. The pressure, the soreness—it was sharp, achy, and yet somehow, inexplicably, it sparked a heat inside her. She flinched, then gasped softly as she felt her body respond to the painful touch, the sensations mixing the sting of injury with a surprising, guilty thrill.

The mirror reflected a battered, bruised woman—but one who was still undeniably alive, still present, and still… her slutty self.

Her phone buzzed. A message from George, the delivery driver: “I’m outside, ringing the bell.”

She hesitated, then typed quickly: “Leave it.”

She watched from the window as George stepped onto the sidewalk, the driver’s bag swinging from his hand. He set it down carefully, and then walked back to his car. Natalie exhaled slowly, feeling a mix of irritation and relief. She didn’t want to make a scene with her body still aching from the fight.

After a moment, she adjusted the straps of her dress over her shoulders, and made her way to the door. Each step made her chest throb sharply, the bruised underside of her breasts aching when her straps shifted. She winced, giving herself a mental shake. “It’s just coffee and a breakfast sandwich, Natalie. Just walk.”

She opened the door and descended the stairs, still keeping her posture careful, almost cautious, aware of the soreness and tenderness in her chest as she moved. The morning air was cool, brushing against her skin and reminding her how exposed and fragile she felt despite the skimpy, attention-grabbing outfit.

At the bottom, she bent slightly to grab the delivery from the doorstep. Her fingers brushed the bag, and for a brief second, she grimaced as the motion shifted her weight and pressed her chest again. A low, involuntary groan escaped her lips—but she straightened quickly, trying to look normal.

Then, she froze. Across the small lobby, reaching for his own mail, was Liam.