Dare You to Hate Me

When I was lying on a cold tile floor with cuts through my arms because I needed help and didn’t know how I could ask for it after believing they’d never want me.

She thought I was better off.

Maybe she even believed it.

I want nothing more than to show my brother what better off looks like. The pink lifted scars on my skin will be a reminder of how my

life turned out because she thought I could do better than her.

But Porter doesn’t deserve that.

To see my weakness.

My anger.

It’s not at him.

“Ivy?” he asks quietly, brows furrowing at my long silent streak.

I shake my head again, trying to gather my words and struggling to string together thoughts. Eventually, I blow out a breath. “I’m here and alive, aren’t I?”

It’s a false confirmation that she was right because my little brother doesn’t need to hold my choices against me or blame her for not trying harder.

After all, I told her I could do better.

And I am here.

And I am alive.

Even though I probably shouldn’t be.

Even though I don’t always want to be.

“So, you and Aiden…?” his voice trails off, and I realize now why my answer matters to him so much.

He needs to know I’m okay.

Happy.

“We’re figuring it out,” I tell him softly, offering the best smile I can without showing the heavy emotion behind it. “It’s difficult when he’s probably going away soon. We haven’t talked much about it.”

I finally feel like I have my best friend back, and I don’t want to say goodbye again. But I know it’s not that simple. He’s had the same dream his whole life, and he’s so close to finally achieving it. Who am I to hold him back?

“Do you love him?” my brother asks.

No hesitation. “Yeah, I think I do.”

I jerk when a hand comes down on mine, and when I look up Porter is sitting in front of me with sheepish eyes, offering me what little comfort he can since we’re practically strangers now. “I think Mom will be happy to know that. She’s mentioned you a couple times, saying she hopes you’re doing well. Talks about you when she’s baking. Her cookies aren’t as good as the ones you made. When I told her that she started laughing until she cried, and when I tried to apologize she told me not to.”

I’m not sure why he’s telling me this, and I’m afraid to read into the meaning of his little story, so I choose to brush it off.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you like you always did in me, Ivy. I wish I could go back and say something to Mom and Dad. Maybe if we talked to them about things it could have been different.”

“You have no reason to apologize and every right to be upset,” I tell him. Because I didn’t say goodbye.

In a way, he’s right.

I didn’t want to deal with him anymore.