Alpha Noah

~Abella

 “I can’t explain it. I just feel watched.”

 My good friend lies upon my bed, flipping through a magazine, sipping out of her wine glass. She doesn’t even look at me, too fascinated by the smiling models with perfect straight teeth and sharp cut abs, as pixualted as they might be upon her page. You can’t help but love Samantha.

 “Maybe you have a secret admirer,” she offers, draining the rest of her glass. Alcohol is banned in the Harmony Pack, the fine being caught with it is steep. Consequently, we drink at the privacy of home. Well, Sam drinks. I don’t like what it does to me.

 “I’m being serious Sam. I feel like I walk home from work and someone is following me,” I tell her firmly. It’s been bothering me a lot recently, to the point I’ve been considering going to the authority about it.

 “I think you’re just paranoid.” She isn’t just dismissing me, there’s a reason for her thinking that. The Harmony Pack keeps immaculately to its namesake. Crime here is non existent, aside from the petty crimes like smuggling alcohol that often gets revealed to authorities in ways people question but get no answer to. This place is simply perfect. Part of me thinks Sam only comes over every night to drink her wine in my home, since I live in a small apartment complex. No one really investigates us.I like it thought, since I don’t have many other friends.

“Let’s be realistic here. Maybe someone you work with thinks you’re cute and is following you home to see where you live,” she offers. “That’s if you’re not going crazy.” I roll my eyes at her.

“Considering the fact that the only people I work with at the Post Office is my manager and the mailman, who are both over seventy years old, I doubt that’s the case,” I remind her, leaning back against my deck chair. She shrugs her shoulders, raising her eyebrow at em, suggesting clearly that age doesn’t matter. I shiver.

“Anyways, it’s curfew in twenty minutes and I have to get home,” Sam says in one breath, folding the magazine up before tucking it under her arm. “Will you walk me to the end of the street again?”

It’s been a trend of ours since she started coming to my house to visit. I don’t particularly like it, but it makes her happy.

“I hope one day soon you get over this.”