And so it goes...

I'm not jealous.

That being said, I don't know what to call this emotion burning holes through my body. I don't know what to tell you is making me act this way, crawling on the floor towards him one moment and turning my back on him in the next. I don't know what triggers it, where it came from. There is no name for this new and undiscovered edge behind my eyes, the constant pound of blood in my head screaming stop, stop, stop!

There are no words for this madness, no cure for its biting, clawing ache.

Oh, I can think of one.

You can? What?

How about, um, denial?

That's preposterous! Denial?! Well, I never- Wait, what?

Direct quote here: "I'm not jealous." Hence, DENIAL.

I have no idea what you're talking about.

Oh, please. When She comes along, gets within a hundred yards of him, you have the insane urge to claw out her eyes. And what for? She's always been nice to you. Remember that time she brought you a latte?

I remember. It was caramel. I drink vanilla lattes. And the bitch brought two percent, not skim milk...

Can it, missy. You drew a very graphic mental picture just a minute ago when they went outside to smoke together. You pushed her off the roof of the restaurant.

She fell.

Liar. You like him. You're just too afraid of being hurt to admit it. And that sinking, clawing, biting, ugly desperate feeling you described so overdramatically a few paragraphs back?

What about it?

Yeah. That's jealousy. Bigtime. Bad. Kinda makes me laugh when I think about it.

You're an asshat.

Maybe so. But you're the jealous one falling in love...