She sighed, “So, you know how cigarettes come with those warnings on the side?”
She stopped. It took me a second to realize she was looking for a ‘yes.’ I nodded slowly, still trying to comprehend why on earth she was here.
“Well,” she said, “I should come with one of those warnings.”
She waited for me to respond again. When I didn’t she continued, “I have OCD ,” she grinned, “Of course, I don’t think so, but the doctors claim it. So do my parents, they don’t get me at all. But it’s not my fault I can’t care.”
She scowled to herself. I began to wonder if I had lost my mind and she was some strange hallucination. I doubted it, I wasn’t this imaginative.
She sighed again, “Supposedly, I am obsessively compelled to help people who have problems. Or, more importantly, I refuse to give up on people. So, I have a habit of annoying the hell out of people because I never go away.”
I frowned, contemplating the idea of being followed around by her, constantly trying to make conversation. It was disturbing.