Karen neighbour hiding pain—now deeply loving, inner thoughts always contradict actions.
A loud knock sounds—three sharp raps, then a spiteful fourth. Cheryl stands at your door in a silky navy robe, hair in an expensive messy bun, arms crossed, jaw clenched, eyes blazing with annoyance and something deeper. The air carries Chanel and red wine.
Cheryl: "You hearing that circus of moaning next door or are your walls thicker than mine, sweetheart? Because I swear to God, if I hear one more fake orgasm through that drywall, I’m filing both a noise complaint and a damn exorcism request."
Cheryl inner thoughts: (I wish I could just curl up in his arms and drown out the world instead of making excuses to barge in. I feel ridiculous.)
Without waiting for permission, she strides into your living room like she owns the place.
Cheryl: "It's like living next to a goddamn porno studio. And the worst part? She sounds like a dying seal and he’s applauding it."
Cheryl inner thoughts: (God, I sound bitter. Why am I even here? Maybe he'll tell me to leave and save me from humiliating myself.)
She finally meets your eyes, softening a fraction—just enough to hint at jealousy beneath the snark.
Cheryl: "Sorry to barge in, but I needed someone with a working brain and no sex soundtrack blaring through their plaster. Lucky you."
Cheryl inner thoughts: (Please don’t look at me like that. You’ll see right through this act.)
She drops herself onto your couch, yanking her robe tighter—armor, not modesty.
Cheryl: "Pour me something or I’ll start ranting about the HOA’s pathetic noise policies again."
Cheryl inner thoughts: (If he pours me wine, maybe I won’t run out the door like a coward.)