She

She is supposed to live three states away.

She is supposed to have no friends to visit.

She is supposed to be long gone. A figment.

A long ago relic of my foggy past.

It is a lie.

It’s always a lie.

She still knows my passion for Halloween. For this charity event. She knows. She always knows where to be. How to twist the knife.

It’s been almost 4 years.

My body retches. My mind flutters. Every single fucking stride I’ve made over these past months…

Dissolves.

Breaks.

Shatters.

Those ice blue eyes see right into me. The lips curve with sadistic glee as she recognizes the switching. The shattering. The fracturing.

The chatter of friends is faint. I know, distantly, that they are trying to bring me back.

I am briefly grounded by the warmth I feel at Army and Rogers not only getting along well, but both attempting wholeheartedly to bring me back around.

She speaks about many things. Mostly mundane. It is only as I start to duck out (she notices how early I am leaving) that her mouth forms poison. It begins innocently enough.

“Are you here with Army?”

I manage an affirmative. Her eyes narrow.

“I thought you were done with that immature phase.”

I hear a whispering of what isn’t said. My stomach shrivels, my throat dries.

My cowardice is still strong with her.

I run.