He followed me home. As I unlocked the door, I could hear him breathing behind me. I shivered and closed the door. I wanted to shut him out, but he wouldn’t go away. I was beginning to feel like he wasn’t ever going to leave me alone.

I trudged up the stairs to my room. I had left the closet light on, and it’s soft glow illuminated the rest of the room. It was funny how it appeared to be such a safe haven; so innocent and sweet with simple decor. But in reality, there was no place for me to escape.
I was trapped in my own mind. And he was still there too.


I woke up the next morning feeling worse than I had in a long time. My head ached. Probably one too many tumbles on the dance floor. Or drinks. I didn’t used to drink; I thought it was stupid. But I did a lot of stupid things now. I didn’t mean to, I just didn’t care what the consequences were. I merely tried anything and everything to get the voices in my head to shut up. Well, actually, it was just one voice.

I was beginning to feel like nothing mattered. Which was probably why I hadn’t bothered to change out of my party dress last night. When I slipped out of it, I realized that the wrinkles in it would most likely be permanent. I supposed it served me right though; now I had an excuse not to attend every social event. Yet I did have to put in an effort in my appearance this morning. It was a work day, and no matter what my previous evening had been like, I couldn’t let Mademoiselle Chanel down.

“Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle, I don’t believe I’ll be able to model anymore due to the delusions I keep having. I’m fairly certain I’m being haunted by the ghost of my fiancé who died in the Great War. I’ve decided to become a hermit and move to Switzerland.” I rehearsed my excuse for not coming back.
I needed to clear my head. Even for me, I was thinking irrationally. I threw on my tan skirt and a blouse and shoved my hat over my short, uncombed hair. I decided that a shot of coffee at the café before I decided what to do would be immensely beneficial.

Racing to the café three blocks from my flat, I could hear his voice nagging at me, “What are you doing? You love your job. Don’t give up your dreams just because of me…”

What was the point in having or fulfilling a dream if you have no one to share it with?

But he was right. I loved what I did. I’d bring a coffee to Mademoiselle Chanel. Maybe that would convince her that I would be the right one to wear the silver gown at next week’s fashion show.