Something wrong with me

Judging by the less-than-warm greeting, I assumed that the meeting I had set up for yesterday went poorly. Stupid girl, can never help herself, can she?

“The hell do you think you are, talking to me casually after the shit you pulled yesterday?”

“That being?” I replied, wiping the spit off my face.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, you bitch.” Grace looked at me with nothing but pure hatred in her eyes. “One day you punch me for no reason, then you call me and tell me you wanna make it right, then the next day you fucking hit me again. The hell is wrong with you?”

Well, I think I figured out how Rachel got kicked out of all her group chats.

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Nothing wrong with you? Nothing wrong?! The hell are you playing at?! You’ve been weird every single day since the party. The hell happened to you? A week ago there was nothing out of the ordinary, now you’re assaulting people and getting kicked out of the house for god-knows-what-reason.”

“If I told you what was going on, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Tch. Sort of cop out answer is that?” Grace walked past me to leave the cafe, deliberately bumping my shoulder with force. “There’s something wrong with you, Rachel. But you’re past the point where I can offer you help. You need to get your damn act together before it comes back to bite you in the ass.”

I didn’t turn around to look as she spoke, but the jingling of the bell and the closing of the door told me that she’d left.

With that out of the way, I casually walked up to the counter and ordered the most overpriced breakfast I could stomach, as if the conversation had never happened. Though it didn’t help shake the attention of the other customers who had watched it unfold.

Grace was right. There was something seriously wrong with Rachel. And this was my chance to make it even worse.

When did I begin to relish that idea so much?