The Psychic Next Door

Every inch of my body ached. The dull twinge of pain surged through me, starting from the centre of my chest then pushing outwards like a wave. It travelled with my pulse until it reached the tips of my fingers and toes, then it'd repeat. And every time I felt like I was drowning, being pulled under the waves as they washed over me again, and again, and again.

He stared out at me from the screen of my phone, that familiar smile plastered across his stupid face, his name—Rick—emblazoned above. He was trying to call me again, but I wasn't going to answer. There was no way I could, even if I wanted to... I froze whenever I saw his face. It physically hurt to look at him, even if it was just a picture.

I dismissed the call, sending it to voicemail. He would probably leave yet another message that I would delete without listening to. What didn't he get about 'fuck off'? I thought that setting our bed on fire would've sent a very clear message. It had been a week since I'd last seen him, but it seemed like much longer.