Maybe I’m just another pith of dust and she intends to annihilate me. I breathed deeply and tried to forget the feeling but it needled the back of my neck. I heard her come in sometime later and ignored the ring of my cell phone. I wouldn’t be her little project and I couldn’t bear to see the look in her eyes if what I’d assumed was friendship had any twinge of sympathy in it. So I made up my mind then and there. I would have to try to ignore Ash, before she could burrow any further into my skin and leave me with the aftermath. Three days later, I found myself pacing my room incessantly. I swore the wood floors now bore a worn path where I’d stomped and slid my feet. I only went downstairs to get food and then bring my plate back down to put in the dishwasher. I got three calls and five texts from her, but I chose not to answer them. She tried to make conversation with me the first day after our little joy ride but I wasn’t having it. In fact, I didn’t even look at her. And as much as my mind told me it was for the best, I couldn’t help but feel the hairline break in my heart as I thought about her. Forget Agoraphobia, my official diagnosis, I was seriously beginning to think I was more bipolar than anything.
