The Disease

She was in the throes of the disease and she knew it. She could feel it roiling around in her head, struggling to escape. The knowledge that she wouldn't be able to hold out against the compulsion to spill it out on the next hapless person ate at her, conspiring with the disease to weaken her already diminishing resolve. She didn't want to succumb to it, but she also knew it was the only way relief would come. Sweet relief.

She excused herself to the restroom and shut herself in among the empty stalls and sterile-white walls, locking the door, to take refuge in the solitude. No one here, no one to infect, she thought weakly to herself, knowing the solution was only temporary at best. It wasn't fair to the others and she knew it, taking up the facilities like this. People would wonder why the door was locked, since the restroom was not a one-seater. No matter. It was for their own good. They didn't understand the burden she carried.

"They will soon enough!" the diseased laughed at her and she froze with her back against the door. Is it self-aware? Or was her mind playing tricks on her?

"You could pass it on to one person."

She slid down the door, drawing her knees up against her chest, and laid her head down on her knees. She had promised she wouldn't pass it on to anyone.

"Just one! It's enough to make you feel better, and minimal damage done."

She began rocking back and forth numbly. It had a point. It wasn't like she was going to tell EVERYONE, right?

"This is too much to carry around inside your own head. It'd be better for you to share the burden. Your best friend would gladly help you, and then you could support each other."

That made sense. She knew she was rationalizing, but she was past caring. She didn't even jump at the sharp rap on the door behind her.

"Is everything okay in there?" she heard concern fighting irritation in her best friend's voice from the other side of the door.

"Fine! Just fine, i had to clean up a bit of a mess," she called back, standing up to open the door. She inhaled deeply and fought down the guilt of what she was about to do. The lock slid back with an audible click. No turning back now, she thought, as she composed her face. The disease plastered a smile on it for good measure.

Her friend pushed past her and looked at her strangely. "You don't look too good," she commented critically.

She sighed inwardly and gave in. "I'm fine, really. But you wouldn't BELIEVE what Jessica just told me!"

Her friend looked eagerly at her and leaned in closer. She closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and the disease flew free from her mouth, into her friend's ear, infecting her mind. Relief and guilt inundated her as she drew her friend in and shared the gossip.

"What?! That whore!" her friend exclaimed, giddy with the same burning desire to spread the gossip that she herself was just fighting with. The intensity of her friend's eyes made her blurt out the thing that had tormented her only moments ago:

"Don't tell anyone, okay?" She could see the struggle beginning behind her friend's eyes. She felt a little pity for her friend and knew that her request was futile.

"Oh, no! I promise! I would never! . . ." The protestations went on. It was like her friend had heard her earlier, similar oaths and was parroting them back at her, a cruel reminder of her own broken promises. She remembered uttering them and truly meaning them. The disease, she shamefully admitted to herself, was stronger than her.