It started as a whisper. Barely audible, it curled around the edges of my thoughts the first time I saw them together, his hand brushing her arm, her laugh echoing too sweetly in the air. I told myself it was nothing. A shadow of doubt, nothing more. But shadows have a way of growing when the light begins to fade.

The whispers turned to murmurs, then shouts, until every nerve in my body buzzed with the static of jealousy. It slithered through my veins, an acid eating away at the calm I once wore like armor. My hands trembled as I scrolled through her photos, searching for evidence. Did her smile curve higher when he was near? Did his eyes linger longer on her than they ever had on me?

My skull became its prison, rattling with unanswerable questions. My nights were restless, images of them danced behind my closed eyes, their happiness blinding in its clarity. It didn’t matter if it was real or imagined; to me, it was undeniable, a truth my mind had built from shards of insecurity.

I stopped calling him. I stopped calling anyone. What was the point? Every word I spoke felt tainted, every thought a betrayal of my own sanity. I could feel the jealousy digging deeper, carving grooves into my bones, leaving me hollow.

One day, I saw them in the park. He looked happy, his hand in hers, their laughter mingling with the soft hum of the wind. Something inside me cracked wide open. I wanted to scream, to demand answers, to claw the truth from his throat. But I didn’t.

Instead, I turned away, my footsteps heavy, my breath shallow. Jealousy still thrummed in my veins, but I knew then it wasn’t him or her that had truly poisoned me. It was the way I had let my fears fester, the way I had let comparison become a knife.

The whispers were quieter that night, but the scars remained. Some part of me knew they always would.

~Corina