Apartment — Monday 9:47 am

There's a sharp knock on my door. My heart races. I'm not excepting anyone. A bolt of fear runs through me.

Is it him? Has he found me?

I struggle to breath, but the air in the room has dissipated. Sucked out by the fear invading my body.

Bang. Bang.

No,no,no,no,no,no. I can't go through this again. Please no. I need to hide. Turning off all the lights, I frantically look around. What about the closet? Or under the bed?

Where can I go to be safe?

I hear my name being called. It's a girl's voice.

I clutch my chest. It could be a trick. Maybe I heard wrong. There's only one way to find out.

With my hands wrapped around my waist, I inch toward the door. I look through the peephole. It's my friend from last night. She looks impatient. I want to ignore her but she knocks again, her face determined.

Tentatively, I open the door.

"There you are." She pushes through and enters with a box of muffins. "I brought breakfast."

The normalcy of her words hit me and I feel myself deflating.

He's not here.

The weight of my relief is too heavy. My legs collapse and I sink into a chair. What has become of me? A panic attack over a knock. This isn't who I am.

I feel weak.

Pathetic.

I hate it.

Why did I go to that club? Why did I get rap—

NO.

I shut my eyes. Close my mouth.

Silence is my friend. Words, my enemy.

I will not allow it to have power of me. I will not let it become real.

"Okay, I get you're mad that I ditched you for that hot guy, but can I just tell you about my night? He was so worth it." She starts gushing about him and I feel sick. They had sex. They exchanged phone numbers. They have a date tomorrow night.

She's in a dream while I'm in a nightmare.

What she has is worth it, while I...

I flinch. The gesture goes unnoticed. She's too busy talking. But my body notices. Every ache, every throb is a testament of my night.

When she finishes she looks at me expectantly. I know the drill. I'm supposed to ask questions, gush with her, but I can't. It takes everything in me not to put a hand over her mouth and push her out the door.

She fills the silence with more chatter. This time about one of our classes and the paper that's due. I nod when I'm supposed to. Shrug when I don't agree. But all the while I'm wishing she would leave.

This is my space. My haven. The place I can fall apart. And the place where I can try to put myself back together.

Her gaze wanders to my chin. She sees the cut. I curse myself for not coming up with an excuse. Should I tell her I tripped while walking home? Will she believe it?

I brace myself; wonder how I can make it sound believable, but the question never comes. Her eyes slide away and the knot that's formed since she arrived eases.

She clears her throat. "Well, I guess I'd better go."

I know she wants me to ask her to stay. It's written all over her face, but I pretend not to see it.

I wonder what's written all over mine. Can she see the misery in my eyes? Can she feel the pain radiating from my soul? If she does, she doesn't acknowledge it.

Am I that great of an actor?

Or is she pretending as well?