Member-only story
FICTION
Intrusive Thoughts
*No, I don’t normally write fiction, but maybe that’s what I’m supposed to be doing. Who effing knows?*
The man in the apartment below hers was moaning again. She had gone down once, knocking tentatively on the door in a way that made her realize she didn’t normally knock on anything. Who even knocked on doors anymore? It seemed an antiquated gesture, like men touching the bill of their cap as they passed you on the street.
When she knocked, the moaning stopped. “Yes?” the man called weakly.
“Are you all right? Do you need help?” she asked. By which she meant, did he want her to find somebody else who would help, as opposed to her, specifically, who had no actual help on hand.
“No. I’m fine,” the man said. “I have a toothache.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She walked back up to her apartment. The moaning had already resumed, blending in with the sounds of her other appliances. As if the man was just another motor, kicking on and off with predictable regularity.
She decided to make a cake. When she used her mixer, she had to take extra care not to purposefully stick her fingers into the blades. This was her mother’s fault. Her mother liked to tell her about a woman at the bakery where she once worked who got her fingers caught in a…
