Melissa.

You've barely unlocked your door when she bursts through, speaking a thousand words a second. "Oh my gosh, how are you? Are you hurt? Who was that woman? Did she hurt you? Have you eaten? What did she do to you? Is that her lipstick? You're filthy. Go wash up. I'll make you something to eat. Go, go, go."

Suddenly finding yourself in your own bathroom, you blink for a while, wondering what just happened and how you got here. Going back into your kitchen, you see Melissa helping herself to your fridge's contents, her long skirt whipping back and forth as she zips between your fridge, counter and sink, getting everything set for a meal. "Where's Katie? Is she okay?" you ask.

"Katie? Katie's fine," she replies quickly, dicing up tomatoes and sliding them onto a plate. "Her friend's place got hit pretty bad and she's over there, helping with the clean up." You grimace and ask if the two of you should go over and help. "No, no, she's there mostly for moral support anyway. That family's got five boys, all athletes, so we'd be getting in the way. But coming back here, you still haven't answered my question," she says, pointing the knife menacingly at you. "Who was that woman and what did she want with you?"

There's an edge to her voice that makes you suspicious. You tell her that she's a friend and reach out to Melissa with your senses. What you feel is that Melissa is incredibly suspicious of her, and genuinely protective over you. But what kicks you in the face is the jealousy and insecurity, that she's been replaced with someone younger, more energetic and unburdened by motherly commitments.