Muffled Cry

            I found myself for weeks having to explain the situation.  I pretended not to care about their interest. Of course, it bothered me that nobody had anything else to talk about besides my life. I mean, was it really that interesting? I slowly stopped answering questions, feeding the crowds a couple yeahs and I don’t know. And yet the questions seemed to never end.
            “So why did she reach at you again?”
            “I don’t know. She’s crazy?”
            A group of interested gossipers hung to my every word as they crowded and made a mob in the middle of the hallway. I was uninterested in their obsession, and looked past them. Restraining myself from having a panic attack, I glared back into the eyes of her. I could feel the hatred of her stare sink deep down into the pit of my stomach.
            And yet, somehow I wasn’t afraid. For the first time in my life, her temper wasn’t constraining me from what I wanted to do. It was a satisfying feeling, knowing that for once, I was able to conquer her. The younger, more foolish child had risen to the top and had finally taken a stand for herself.