“You know, the clock is ticking.”
I stare at her from across the table; she lifts her pinky finger off the rim of a teacup as she sips.
“Let’s not start this.”
“I’m just saying!” She shrugs her shoulders, setting the cup down. “How many days has it been since someone asked you why you were single? We should put up a sign.” She lays the foundation with the palm of her hand, waving it in a line in front of my face, “We have had Zero Reminder-Free Days, and the next day you can put up a one.”
“That’s super funny.”
“I love our sarcasm. But you know, it’s probably a turn-off.”
“I feel like I would get a lot more done without you.”
“HA!” She screeches, tossing her head back, “What on earth would you be without me? Everyone needs a conscience.”
“That’s not what you are.”
“Oh really?” She slams an elbow onto the table, resting her chin in her hand, “Your inner self, then? Or perhaps your dark and troubled soul?”
“Demon.” I use the word almost as an insult rather than a defining characteristic. I’m not really sure what she is, either.
Her eyes narrow fast like a storm cloud suddenly covering the sun. She snatches the delicate teacup from the table and whips it at the wall behind me. The shards lay on the floor quivering and I wipe the splatter of lukewarm tea from my face.
“Conscience,” I smirk. My fingers curl around the wine glass in front of me and I take a sip, holding the liquid in my mouth and feeling the red stain my teeth. The thought of pitching the remainder of the wine in her face crosses my mind, which is unfortunate. Our thoughts are tied.
“I will end you,” She growls.
“You’re not so good at finishing the job.”
She gets up from the table and stalks straight through the nearest wall of the pristine blank room we sit in. I feel her crawl to the back of my head like an earwig and begin burrowing into my scar, ripping up the the nerves as she goes.
A migraine sets in, and for the rest of the day I sit in silence, The image of an old, gray haired woman staring out a sunny window continually loops through my mind.

Luciana, 26