The Guy In My Mind

Chapter 2

A series of thumps echoed against the wall that adjoined with her next-door neighbours, a sweet retired couple who were surprisingly sound-sensitive. "Great, I'm going to have Mr and Mrs Miller call the cops on me because I'm having a screaming match with myself."

She glared at Matthew, who was annoyingly unruffled by her histrionics. He approached her with a subdued smile on his handsome face and slid his leg on the armrest of the couch, half-sitting and staring at her.

"You think this is funny?" she asked, savagely. "I'm mentally ill – healthy people don't have conversations with imaginary people. This is literally the last thing I need in my life right now."

In a soft voice, Matthew said, "Maybe it is."

"No, it isn't. I don't need another psychological breakdown. Been there, done that, got the really crappy postcard. The last time this happened with Mr Mistoffelees ..."

She shuddered to a halt, and Matthew spoke quietly. "I know. I remember."

Tears spilled before she had a chance to control them. She'd worked so hard to put those days of therapy and feeling like a mental case behind her, and this was the second time today she'd found herself reliving them. "So, if you remember, then you know I can't go through all of this again. Please, can you just go away?"

She dissolved, sobs heaving through her.

"Blossom, please don't cry. It's not that bad."

"It is, though. I've got no best friend, no real career, nothing exciting on the horizon, the guy I like has a girlfriend, and the best I can manage is a conversation with a freaking hallucination. I'm a mess."

As she curled into herself, more tears flowing, she heard Matthew say softly, "Bloss... Can I hold you?"

A hiccough-laugh hybrid burbled out of her. "You're the reason I'm crying. Also, you're imaginary. You can't hold me, and you can't make it better."

As she wept, she felt a strong arm curl over her shoulders. Too defeated to fight anymore, she twisted into him, her face pressing to his warm chest. With her eyes closed, she could feel the cotton fabric of his shirt against her cheek, the touch of each of his fingers on her arm. His scent rose into her nostrils, her favourite aftershave that smelled of the ocean and adventure, and she breathed it in hungrily.

"How can I feel you?" she murmured.

"How can you feel anything?" His hand stroked her arm, and goose bumps rose from her fingers to her collarbones. He said, "Every sensation in your body is just signals interpreted by the brain. Your brain has made me real, so you can feel me."

"I can smell you." A sinful thought tripped unbidden into her head. I wonder if I could taste you too...

Matthew spoke, a smile in his voice. "I don't know. Do you want to find out?"

Something snapped inside her. Blossom pulled back, seething with rage and embarrassment. "I don't know what I did as a kid to deserve being messed up like this, but I'm done. Stay out of my head, do you hear me?"

"That's where I am already," he said simply. "Look, I'm sorry if I've scared you or made you angry, but I'm literally here because you created me. On some level, you want me. You need me."

"The only thing I need is a new prescription for anti-psychotics," she said, standing and grabbing her wallet and phone. "And lucky for me, there's a hospital within walking distance."

"I'll come." Matthew rose and followed her to the door. "You might need the company. Emergency rooms have long waits – remember that time you broke your toe and it took six hours to get an x-ray?"