• Every since i was young, I have been a psychoanalyst. I'm not good at conversation. I just observe. Maybe this is why she has such a hold on me. One look in her eyes holds centuries of observation. They looked at me, sweet, innocent, and that's when the feelings developed. My brother warned me about her. Everyone did. Her eyes contain madness and nothing more for them. But i can see the essence of something.

    It's been two years. Two birthdays, two Christmases, and two Halloweens. She was singing a love song to her boyfriend and I told her she made me nauseus. I guess i shouldn't have. I asked for forgiveness and she told me I couldn't have it. This was the third time she had went out with my best friend. She said she wouldn't "tiptoe around me" this time. I told her that was fine. I guess I'm not perfect. I confessed.

    "You told me you didn't like me anymore." The anger wasn't in this text. Jackie walked by in time to catch a tear and prettended like she didn't notice, hurrying to remop the drive-thru. "Why do you believe things like that?" It took her a second to respond this time. When she did all she said was "You liked Ashely. Thought you liked all your girl friends." Ashley. Manipulative Ashley. I never loved Ashley. We said our goodnights, and there was a sincerity in them I hadn't felt in months. The sink sprayer washed away salty streaks across my face. Now i just looked tired. Which made sense. 2 a.m. was late to be at work, even on the night shift. Jackie passed me wordlessly for hours. She was a quiet manager. This was her second night shift. "You okay?" I asked. I wasn't concerned. I needed her to talk. "Not really." There was a pause after her answer. "How about you?" she asked. "Not really."