I say, “Stop,” but she doesn’t stop.
I say, “Leave me alone,” but instead she steps closer, until her nose is touching mine, and maybe I’d think she wants to kiss me if she wasn’t screaming at me instead.
I say, “Stop yelling at me,” but her voice gets louder and shriller and something in me snaps. It’s been two years of silence, two years of leaving voicemails at midnight, apologizing for something I had no idea I’d done wrong. I wished on every star, every dandelion, every 11:11 just to know why, because she’s been my safe zone since we were five and I still don’t understand why it all disappeared. And now she’s telling me that I was charity and her good will ran out.

She says, “It’s her fault.”
She says, “She’s crazy.”
She says, “She tried to **** me.”
Not true.

I lost control. But maybe I don’t want it back.