The neighbor looked at me, smiled and said to the police, "Lillian must be under too much pressure at work. Maybe she has a mental disease."
She smiled meaningfully, and I couldn't help but frown and angrily replied, "What do you mean?"
"Oops, if you aren't a psycho, why do you talk to the air? I have seen it several times," my neighbor said satirically.
The policeman scanned me and her several times and finally said to me, "Ms. Edwards, I suggest you see a psychiatrist. Maybe you will feel better."
I spat out the broken nail in my mouth. "You say I'm sick? Is this how you police officers do your job? I'm going to file a complaint against you!"
I screamed hysterically.
They all thought I was hallucinating about some late-night delivery man delivering weird food to me.
It was not an illusion! I was not sick!
I clung to the door like a spider, my eyes close to the peephole, waiting for the delivery man to approach.
Then, the sound of footsteps slowly hovered outside my door.
A man in a delivery uniform stopped at my apartment. I stared at the plastic bag in his hand and licked my lips.
I slowly grasped the door handle.
The delivery man bent down and looked at the door for a long while.