The Story

She walked through the double door. Slowly, her hand touched her face and wiped the tear away. She saw him at the end of the hall. He was standing in the shadows, as always. She feared what was to come.
    "Tomorrow will be a new day. Nothing will be the same. You'll see," she told him. He said nothing, but continued to stand alone. She grew closer to him, slowly, as if something was holding her back.
    She suddenly found herself standing so close in front of him she could smell the Versace on his chest and the cigarettes on his breath. She so desperately wanted to kiss him, but told herself not to; now is not the time.
    They walked to the '67 Vette parked in front of the school. Its silver finish shimmered in the sunlight, almost blinding her. She winced, only slightly, but enough for him to notice. His eye glimmered with the same intensity as the car. He winked and opened her door.
    He let her drive, something he lets no one do. His car is the only thing he can call his own. She was overjoyed and frightened at the same time. She put the key into the ignition and turned it. The NASCAR Pace car purred with a distinguished sound.
    As she flew down the road, he smoked his last cigarette as if he would never have another. She shifted with elegance of a queen and the power of a pro. No one could catch her. She was free. She had not a care in the world.
    "I'm all alone and I love it!" she screamed as loud as she could. She had forgotten that he was in the car, forgotten that she was on a road, forgotten that anyone else in the world existed.
   
    So now she sits and thinks about what exactly went wrong. How had everything been so perfect, and now completely gone? Had it all been a dream? A wonderful, glorious, exhilarating nightmare? She sits by the window looking down on the world, as if she could control it. She looked down at all the life carousel ling about, without her. She felt so alone.
    She thought about him constantly, maybe even too much. She so desperately needed to know. How is he doing; is he happy; does he even exist?
    Questioning herself, contemplating every option she had, deciding on what to do. She racked her brain for all the answers. No one else could give them to her. Did she even exist?