The Fence || h. s.

1 || Cherry, Is That You?

I run, bare feet kissing the sand. The suffocating humidity in the air is making the sports bra stick to my back in a way that makes me want to turn around and rush straight back to my air-conditioned house. I curse myself for ever thinking that the early hour would do anything to lessen the heat. Malibu is hot, no matter if you go out at noon or midnight. Since I'm used to living in a completely different climate, this may or may not be one of the reasons why I hate it here so much. Although, at this point, it's hard to say where my hatred stems from.

I bolt the last few steps up the hill like an Olympic champion, stopping only when I reach my destination. My spot. The sacred, only recently spoiled highlight of my day.

Admittedly, I've been scared to come back here after the awkward encounter last week. The man—who I not-so-cleverly started to refer to as the Stranger in my head—has been a frequent visitor in my thoughts. Not in a good way, either.

It's not that I necessarily have something against the man, but his slightly obnoxious and borderline narcissistic behaviour puts me on edge. And since I'm still not entirely sure whether I like it or not, I'd rather avoid him for the time being.

My heartbeat unwittingly picks up as I near my safe haven. All at once, the realization that I'm holding my breath hits me. Knowing that the house on the other side of the fence isn't uninhabited anymore makes me wary of someone hearing my ragged breathing. But, even if anyone were to sit close to my position, their hearing would have to be insanely sharp to pick up the sound of my soft approaching footsteps.

It's impossible. Or is it?

"Cherry, is that you?"

My blood runs cold in an instant. The voice belongs to none other than the man who graciously allowed me to keep "my spot" right outside of his house. I was hoping that our unfortunate meeting would be just a one-time situation, but it appears as if fate has other plans.

"Drop the act, I know it's you."

Maybe I should ignore him, wait it out?

"I can hear you breathin'," he tries again. "You might wanna start workin' on your stamina. I know a great personal trainer—"

"I just ran all the way here!" I huff, immidiately slapping a hand over my mouth. That little fucker!

"There she is!" comes a gleeful response from the other side. "How are we doin' today, Cherry?"

"What's with the nickname?" I avoid his question by replacing it with one of my own.

"Your red hair," he clarifies, "'s the only thing I know 'bout you so far. See, if you tell me more, we can change the name to somethin' else," he finishes smoothly, sounding way too proud of himself.

"Why are you talking to me?" There's no anger in my tone, just pure curiosity.

"Why not? We're both here, might as well do somethin' to pass the time." His simple answer surprises me.

"This isn't the right place for a chat," I emphasise the last word with a scoff. "We're literally separated by a six feet fence."

"S'just a place, like any other."

"You mean you don't find this situation awkward?" I bite my lip, shaking my head. "Not even in the slightest bit?"

"Nah," he drops casually, before I hear what sounds like a chair being dragged closer to the fence. "Though I gotta say that you've kept me on my toes, Cherry. Been dreadin' the call all week; spent my free time checkin' all the usual sites."

I say nothing in response, his words having absolutely no meaning to me. Undoubtedly, the Stranger can sense my confusion because he quickly adds, "Tell me somethin' 'bout you. I wanna get to know you."