Marielle, my sweet neighbor

Marielle

Marielle was my neighbor in this small apartment building in a suburb near the city center. A little twenty-something nice-looking woman. She had shortish red hair, happy freckles, and small breasts. I often dreamed of having sex with her, but I never dared to ask, afraid it would ruin our friendship. We occasionally sit for an evening, chatting about everyday things, and helping each other out when help was needed.

But Marielle had problems. She didn’t have a job, and she drank a lot. With congenital diabetes, that’s not a good combination, and I often warned her about the dangers. But she was a bit of a hippy by nature and didn’t care in the least.

One evening we were once again sitting in my flat watching films, and enjoying wine. It had been a nice evening, and we had a good time. Marielle knew how to be sociable and keep a good mood going.

Perhaps I would have liked more from her. I don’t mean just sex, but something deeper and more lasting, but that never happened, which I am depressed about.

Our evening went nicely, but as so often happens, Marielle got so drunk again that I had to walk her home. I carried her to bed and tucked her under the covers. I also fetched a bucket for her next to the bed in case she needed to throw up. When I got home, I noticed that her keys were still in my hand. I put them on the table and decided to return them the next day.

I had a slight headache in the morning, which often happens after drinking too much white wine. I’m more of a beer drinker, but with Marielle, I always drank wine. I had a coffee and read the paper of the day. I did some surfing online until I remembered I had Marielle’s keys, so I called her to tell her she could pick up her keys from me if she got somewhere.

I called three times in a short time, but she didn’t answer her phone. It was strange because that had never happened before. I waited another couple of hours, but as he still didn’t answer my calls I started to get worried.