Paranoid

I hear footsteps and they are following me and they are following me.

"Did you hear that?" I ask her, gripping her shoulder, looking behind us. "No," she says, frowning at me, "What?"

"Someone's following me. Someone is following me." She rolls her eyes, brushing her hair out of her face and moving away from my grasp. "First off, if anyone was following you, they'd be following me, too. As in, they'd be following us." She rolls her eyes and brushes her hair back again, and I wonder for the millionth time how she doesn't cut her forehead with those acrylic nails. It's amazing, she just skims them right across the skin their, like a blade– like a blade, a blade across– a blade across bread. Down bread. Through a loaf of bread. She cuts the bread, but it doesn't bleed. Well...well, I guess that makes sense. Bread doesn't bleed, does it? Huh. No, I don't think bread does bleed. Wait...wait, I remember, someone's following me. "Second of all," she continues, "There is absolutely no one behind us, and I heard nothing at all."

"Someone is following me. And your forehead is not even bleeding."

"What?"

"Wait. That's not bread. It's skin. It is skin! It's skin. Wait, if it's skin, why isn't it bleeding?" She raises an eyebrow at me but says nothing, just speeds up her pace so that I have to walk extra fast to keep up with her. I mean, I have to walk really fast. Really fast. I mean, I'm almost running. I'm not, though. I'm not running. I'm just walking super fast. No, really fast. Really fast. "Slow down," I say as I walk up next to her, "Sloooow down! Slow down. Someone is following me! Why would you... someone is following me, didn't I tell you? Why would you leave me behind when someone is following me?"

"No one is following you. Or me neither."

"Or you neither?" Or her neither. Or her neither? Wait– or her neither? What– oh, no! Someone is following me! I shake her shoulder quick, "Quick," I say, "We gotta...we gotta...walk really...we gotta run! We gotta run!" My eyes are wild and frantic, and she raises her eyebrows again and brushes that hair out of her face with those...acrylic...knife-blade...acrylic nails. Again. Again. "What for?"

"Well, I told you– I mean, I told you...I told you, didn't I? Someone...I mean to say that, someone...I mean..."

"Someone is following you?"

"Someone is following me! Wait! Someone's following me?! Well, why didn't...I mean...I mean, why didn't you tell me? I...we...we better walk really– I mean, we better run! Run, I mean! We really–"

"Aw, shut up, wouldja? No one's following you." I stop dead in my tracks. "Oh my gosh," I say, my eyes wide as I spin around quickly in a circle, "Oh...oh...I mean...oh no!"

"What now?" she asks, irritation coating her...coating...I mean, coating her voice like butter...on...toast...she's not bleeding...Wait! What was that? I hear footsteps and they are following me and they are following me. "Did you hear that?" I ask her, gripping her shoulder, looking behind us.

© 2011