I stare at her, feeling stricken. I want to viciously defend myself and explain that I’m only looking out for her, but then I think back over the past few weeks.
I’ve cooked for her, cleaned up after our parents, pestered her about drinking enough, and nagged her to take her pills. It’s all because I love her and I’m terrified she’s getting weaker, but then I look at it from her perspective.
She’s stuck in this house twenty-four-seven, unable to do anything unless someone is with her. I control everything she does. Nausea rises in my throat.
“Don’t look like that, Mia. I appreciate everything you do for me. But I just want to make some choices for myself. I want you to spend time alone, work on your painting more. You’ve barely had time for anything fun lately, and when you started this new job, I thought… I thought you’d start to relax more. But you’re so on edge. Every time I walk into a room, it’s like you have to run to me and prop me up like a puppet.”
I rub the back of my hand over my forehead, fighting back tears.
“I’m sorry, Annie.”
“No.” She barks out the word as she leaps off her chair, then sways alarmingly to the side. I jerk forward, wanting to run to her and support her, just like she said.
She holds up a hand to stop me, grabbing the back of the chair and righting herself.
“I don’t want you to apologize. I want you to do things foryoufor a change. Stop choosing me over your own life. I mean it. I want you to go out for a drink with Hope in the next week. No excuses. And I want you to stay out late and not worry about our asshole parents, or me.”
It's so rare for my sister to outwardly criticize our mom and dad that I can only stare at her, and she raises her eyes to the ceiling and lets out a long sigh.
“And that’s another thing. I’mnineteen. I can say shit, fuck, and asshole if I want without the world ending.”
I manage to laugh. “I know that.”
“I love you,” she says firmly. “More than you can possibly understand, but you have your own life too. And lately all you do is look after everybody else.”
My shoulders slump as she comes over to me and loops her arms around my neck. I still feel sick at the thought that she’s been feeling like this, but when she pulls back her eyes are sad.
“I just want to get us out of here,” I whisper. “Everything would be easier then.”
“I know. And wewillget out of here. Next time, let them clean up their ownfuckingmess, okay?”
I nod as she squeezes my shoulder and goes upstairs.
I’m still processing everything she’s said when my phone dings. I don’t recognize the number as I pull it out. It’s late for someone to be calling, and my mind whirs with fear at all the possibilities.
Did something happen to my mom, my dad, or is it the police?
“Hello?”
“Amelia.”
My stomach flips as I lower myself into a chair. That voice…
“Mr. Crawford?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry to call so late.”
“That’s alright.”
“You’re still awake?”
“Yes.”
“I was wondering if you might be interested in a little excursion.”
I glance at the stairs. “Uh, what kind of excursion?”
“It’s a very specific request. But you’ll be compensated. Twenty grand for the night. And I’ll make sure you’re comfortable with everything we do.”
