Free But I Love Him by Amanda Grace

forgotten all about it, and avoided seeing her.
    I could have written her a note, explaining it all. Maybe I could have said something nice, because I would have done it alone, not in the heat of the moment. Maybe it would have helped us.
    But I know now we’ll have to talk, and the words will run away from us and we’ll both say too much.
    Her footsteps creak on the stairway. I freeze. My door is open and she will see me on the way to her room. It’s too late to hide.
    I just keep stuffing things in the duffle bag like I don’t care if she sees me. Like it won’t shock her to realize I’m leaving.
    It’s not like she planned anything for my eighteenth birthday anyway. I’m not that girl anymore. The one who has cake and burgers and opens presents at the dining room table. She knows it, just like I know it. There’s no reason to pretend anymore.
    She passes the door before stopping. I know she’s just three feet down the hall, but she doesn’t make a sound.
    Several long seconds tick by as I keep shoving stuff into the bottom of the bag. Why isn’t she speaking? Why hasn’t she come back?
    And then she does. She stands in the doorway, filling it as she leans against one side of the jamb and crosses her arms. Her hair is lighter than it was last I saw her. But the bags under her eyes are bigger, thicker, puffier. She looks haunted.
    “Don’t,” she says, so quietly I’m not sure I heard it at all.
    It’s the only word she says. I just stare back at her, and then stuff a hooded sweatshirt into the bag. I’m afraid if I say anything, it’ll all come out. All the bitterness of all the years between us without a single I love you. The thought of all those wasted years, waiting for her to act like she used to, waiting for her to hug me and tuck me in at night, stabs into me like a jagged knife, and I try hard not to dwell on it. I try hard to pretend I don’t care, just like she does.
    Except I don’t think she’s pretending anymore. Maybe before Connor came along we could have fixed it. Back then there weren’t a bunch of harsh words between us. There were just three unspoken ones. I bet I could have gotten them out of her. I bet she would have meant them, too.
    But not now. Now everything’s ruined. I might as well just be with him all the time, because I’m pretty sure she hates me now. I’m pretty sure she thinks I hate her, too.
    I don’t, though. I love her so much it hurts. Something deep inside aches to drop the bags and rush to her and wrap my arms around her and wait for her to do the same to me, even though she never would. She’s the ice queen, and she’ll never thaw. And that’s why I have to get out of here.
    I walk up to her and we stand like that, neither of us looking at each other. I just look at the strap on my duffel bag as I twist it around in my hands.
    “He’s not good enough for you,” she says.
    “You don’t know him.”
    “Why do you have to be with him? I know you want to help him. Why can’t you do that as friends?”
    “I don’t want to be just friends with him. I love him,” I say, anger edging into my voice. I knew she would do this. This is why I didn’t want to see her. This is why I avoid her. She takes my one piece of happiness and twists it into something ugly.
    “You think you love him. You’re seventeen.” She uncrosses and recrosses her arms, like she’s trying to look angry and serious and in charge, but I don’t care.
    “Eighteen,” I say. My anger is boiling now. I hate that she does this. Every single time I see her, she does this. I don’t want to be in the same room with her anymore if all we’re going to do is have the same argument over and over again. There are no winners, only losers, and I’m tired of being one of them.
    “You wanted to go to college, Ann.” She pushes away from the door jamb to stand at her full height, staring straight at me and daring me to disagree.
    “College has nothing to do with him!”
    She takes a step