I had finally climbed out of bed and Gabe left my door unlocked so I could shower and change. I wore my scrubs and a hooded sweatshirt. I ate a cereal bar but I had to force it down. My heart was pounding with nerves. A little before midnight, I heard a light tap at the door. I opened it and Gabe motioned for me to follow him. He walked ahead of me down the hall and I was careful to keep a few steps behind him. I needed the distance. Close human contact was starting to scare me. In the past few weeks, all I’d experienced around people was pain. When people were face-to-face, tragedy struck. A look felt like a bee sting. It started to seem natural to be separated from people. I craved being alone. No one could hurt me inside my wall screens. They were slowly becoming a comfort, a cushion between me and the harsh world outside. I was stepping out of it less and less. I had passed a girl in the hall twice this week on my way to the bathroom and each time we both kept our eyes averted and leaned toward opposite walls, staying far away from each other, as if we carried contagious disease.
