The smell of smoke and curiosity

~Becoming curious part 1~

It's been 2 weeks since my little spat with the miserable man next door. And I had tried to get over it and be mature but I find myself still in anguish from it. Yet I still haven't seen him say anything more. I'm beginning to wonder if he ever leaves his flat at all.

Carrying on with my daily tasks and working through the very few pages I have written in my book so far but I can't concentrate, constantly thinking about what I could do to resolve this matter in an adult way, I decided to leave a small box of chocolates with a sticky note outside of his door and among the note I had written "I'm sorry for what I had said out of anger, I hope we can resolve this and speak in person about it, many thanks. Willow" and I placed it in front of his door and did a small knock.

I didn't want to wait for it to open as I had a feeling he probably wouldn't. So I trudged back into my home and ran myself a bath to relax. It was nearly 7 pm and I had been up all day writing and stuck in my anxious thoughts I needed some form of relief. Settled down into some comfy clothes and a pot noodle on the go I melted into my sofa to watch a movie to distract myself.
I must have fallen asleep after a while because I awoke in a daze to the credit screen of the film I had put on and all I could hear now was the sound of a door unlocking ever so quietly. It was him.

I glanced over at my small clock in the middle of my table and it said 10:23 pm, it was late and I could hear a rustling of the bag, he must have just picked up the chocolates I left. I didn't dare to pop out to try to catch him all I could do was sit and listen. Then the door locked again and footsteps lead away from the door. He was leaving. But where was he going at this time I thought to myself in confusion.

I shouldn't be so nosy, my parents always warned me to never get involved in such strange occurrences but I've always but too curious for my boots. But I had to know what he was doing and I don't know why. I sat by my front window with the living room light off just so I wouldn't be seen when he did come back. And eventually, he did. It was only an hour later he had returned nearly hitting the midnight mark. And it was then I finally saw him.
All black clothing with his long-sleeve T-shirt looking like he had just been jumped with specks of red on his hands unknown to the cause. Hair also black, slicked back with only a single piece drooping over his face, twice the size in height to me with a back so broad you use it as a table. He stopped and peered at his door for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, and suddenly shot a piercing glance at my window with his emerald green eyes and jawline so sharp you could cut yourself on, I threw my head down in shock of being seen. When I dared to look up again he was gone, not even a peep of noise.

My heart was beating like a drum. I held myself there for a moment more and then dragged myself to my bed. Not able to sleep as couldn't stop my thoughts from running wild. Did he see me? Why were his clothes like that? And was that blood on his hands? And better more, was it his blood or someone else's...