“Emilia—” I took her arm as she moved around me, with her repacked bag.
She shrugged it away. I grabbed her again and she turned and slapped me on the face, then backed away. The tears were coming now and she was shaking.
“No! You need to understand something. This is my body and I haven’t had full control over what’s happened to it for months. I’ve been poked and cut into and irradiated. Now they want to pump toxins through me to root the cancer out. But this I have control over and no one, not you, not anyone can take it away from me.”
I struggled to draw in a breath. That fear was back. Bree, shouting at me to get back on the bus, throwing my backpack at me. My vision blurred for a split second.
“You can’t leave.” But she was already turning, already out the bedroom door. I spun and followed her. But all I could see was my dying sister on the curb, staring at the bus as it pulled away. I’d cranked my head around, my wet, sticky face pressed to the glass. I’d watched her until she disappeared from my sight. Forever.
Sometimes you had to concede—call a draw to end the long struggle.
Her hand was on the doorknob and I wanted to bar her way, shove my weight against the door, forcibly prevent her from leaving. But I couldn’t. She was right. It was her choice.
But now that I knew her secret, it was time she knew mine. “I love you,” I said hoarsely as she turned the knob. She froze.
Then, she took a deep breath, pulling the door open. Barely above a whisper she said, “I know.”
“No, you don’t know. There’s so much you don’t know because—because I could never tell you. Because it hurt too much. If you walk out that door it will be just like what Bree did that night she left and never came back.”
Quietly Emilia closed the door again and removed her hand from the knob, but she didn’t turn to face me, waiting for me to continue, presumably.
“She tucked me in every night. After I changed and she checked to make sure I’d brushed my teeth. She did it every night. Made me open my mouth so she’d know I wasn’t lying, because I hated brushing my teeth.” My voice shook and I was feeling pretty goddamn unmanly at the moment, but I couldn’t stop myself from talking. Emilia tipped her head forward and rested it on the door, listening.
“But that night was different because she didn’t change into her pajamas. She stayed dressed in her clothes and her duffel bag was packed. She told me she was going to stay over at Christina’s for a while. But I knew it was a lie because Christina hadn’t been allowed to see her for months since Bree had stolen her mom’s meds and her mom had found out about it.” I was babbling like an idiot, I knew. The odds were that Emilia had no idea what I was talking about.
“So that night she sat me down before I went to bed and she told me she loved me and she’d always watch out for me. She wasn’t going to see me for a while because Mom wouldn’t stop beating her up and she had to go. I did exactly what I want to do to you right now—I threw myself in her way, barred the door. Because I knew that she wasn’t coming back…how could she just leave like that?” My voice faded away. Emilia’s shoulders shook as if she was crying.
I cleared my throat and waited a moment for when I could trust myself to speak. “She was a good kid. Smart. She wanted to be a journalist someday and travel the world. She never got further than the skuzziest part of Seattle. She was fucked up. But she was a mom to me. My little mom, I used to call her. She told me stories and made sure I had clean clothes in my drawer. When she left, I had to start doing that all for myself. I was eight goddamn years old and the only person who’d ever loved me—who I’d ever loved—was leaving me and I was utterly powerless to help her. I couldn’t do a fucking goddamn thing and she died, and I will always blame myself for not being able to save her.”
I rubbed the back of my neck and caught my breath. “I’m sorry I’ve fucked this up with us so badly. I wish I could explain to you how goddamn terrified I am inside—all the time—of losing you just like I lost her. That fear is the voice inside my head that tells me I have to move in and take control. If I don’t, I’ll lose everything. But it’s so fucked up because that fear is what caused me to push you away—”
I stopped when she spun to face me, leaning back against the door. Her face was wet with tears and her eyes red from exhaustion. I wanted to cry just to see her like this. The emotion stung in my throat, the backs of my eyes like thousands of tiny needles. But I swallowed. I couldn’t lose it. Not here, not in front of her.