Maya moved into the apartment next door three months ago. She seemed nice enough - a mid-20s brunette who kept to herself. The only issue was her obnoxious boyfriend Chad. A week into Maya's tenure, Chad started parking his loud '68 Camaro directly in front of my unit, hogging two spots, taking up almost half the lot.

When I tried to politely ask him to move, he simply smirked and said "Buddy, I'll park my car wherever I damn well please." That should've been my first clue to steer clear of both of them.

As time went on, I heard Maya and Chad arguing frequently, their yells echoing through the thin walls. One night the shouting reached a fever pitch, accompanied by the crash of breaking glass. Maya stormed out in tears, speeding off in her red convertible. Chad took off right after, screeching his tires in a cloud of burnt rubber.

In the days that followed, their cars remained gone. An uneasy silence hung over the complex. I caught glimpses of Maya a few times, hastily unloading groceries, her eyes red and puffy. Clearly the relationship was over.

I was up late working one evening when headlights flashed across my window. A vehicle door slammed, followed by footsteps echoing up the stairs. Maya's convertible remained in her spot. Odd.

Around 11pm, I was startled by a shrill scream emanating from Maya's unit. A man's voice followed, garbled and incoherent. I rushed to the common wall, pressing my ear to it. Maya's frantic cries ping-ponged off the walls. "Get out! leave me alone! Stop, I'm calling the cops!" came her terrified pleas. The man's voice turned menacing. "You think you can just dump me like yesterday's trash, you little-"

I resembled the apartment number on the mailbox, heart pounding as I dialed 911. "Emergency services, what's your address?" the operator asked. I gave it to her, relaying what I heard. "Police are en route. Do not approach the apartment. Stay on the line."

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. Eons seemed to pass. Finally, flashing red and blue lights painted the walls. Car doors slammed as the cops rushed up the stairs. Urgent knocking echoed from Maya's door. "Police! Open up!"

Silence. The doorknicking continued, growing more forceful. "Maya? Are you in there? We're coming in!" the officer yelled. The deadbolt clicked and the door creaked open. Wide-eyed Maya stood there in a nightgown, clutching a hammer. "He's gone," she croaked, stepping aside.

I watched from my window as the officers swept through her apartment and out the back door, guns drawn, searching for Chad. Maya sank to her knees on the carpet, body wracked with sobs as a female officer knelt beside her, arm around her shoulders.

The ordeal took hours to resolve. By 2am, the police had taken a statement and left, leaving a shaken Maya alone in the dark unit. I lay in bed, unable to sleep, my mind racing with the night's events.

I avoided Maya the next few days, not knowing what to say. She stayed holed up in her apartment. On the fourth morning, I returned from a grocery run to find her standing by my door, looking haggard but resolved. "Hey," she said softly. "I think I owe you an explanation for what happened."

We settled into my living room. Over coffee, Maya opened up about her toxic relationship with Chad. How he'd been growing increasingly abusive and controlling. How she finally worked up the nerve to dump him. How he showed up unannounced, violent and unhinged, forcing his way in. "If you hadn't called the cops..." she trailed off, eyes filling. "I don't know what he would've done. You saved me."

Flashing forward a few weeks, Maya seemed to be running in place. Still social distancing, but smiling brighter. She started leaving her apartment again. Tending to her long-neglected garden. Chatting with neighbors when she passed them on the steps...

BUY THE SEXY STORY NOW!