I tiptoe into the kitchen and open the cabinet.

Of course, the chocolates are on the top shelf. Marcus gobbles down sweet stuff like the Cookie Monster. If he had his way, he’d be on a constant sugar high. But that’s as likely as Marcus moving into a garbage bin and living there like the Cookie Monster, because Hannah watches what he eats like a hawk.

Now the problem is . . . I can’t reach those KitKats and Reeses that are calling my name. After just a few days of living with Aiden, I’d already gotten used to having someone tall to help me reach things that are stored too high.

I dig down inside me, try to gather up the darkness within into a ball, and let it out with a big exhalation.

I wanted a break from thinking about him. And yet here I am, thinking about him.  

I look more closely at Hannah’s boxes, plastic packages, and jars.

Nutella—that will do.

There’s no bread, but that’s okay. I’ll just eat the whole thing straight from the jar.

Nutella in hand, I open a drawer and grab a butter knife. Hmm… screw it. I put the butter knife down and take out a big soup spoon instead.

My eyes sting. I can’t tell if it’s from lack of sleep or from having cried so much. I managed to keep it together at the airport and in the plane, just because I didn’t want to give my dad the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart and cry like a little girl—although it wasn’t like he couldn’t see my colossal eye bags or the redness in my eyes.

Now that they’ve dropped me off at Hannah’s and left me alone, it feels like my tear ducts aren’t functioning. They worked way overtime last night, and now they’re on strike.

Everything hurts. I’ve been slouching my shoulders, trying to keep myself small. My skin feels so tender. I feel like any contact with anything could cut into my flesh.

But where it really hurts is deep inside me. It’s like someone’s reached into my chest cavity and squeezed everything, compressing my lungs and my heart. It’s hard to even breathe.

I recognize the symptoms. This may not be a medical diagnosis, but I believe I’m suffering from a case of broken heart. Unfortunately, I don’t know what to prescribe myself. There’s no cure that I know of, but—I don’t know whether this is a good thing or a bad thing—it’s not deadly.

Honestly, I feel like I might as well be dead. The world is black and white, and nothing matters.

I glance at the two big, dark-green wheeled suitcases blocking the front door. I guess those are going to annoy Hannah when she gets home, but I can’t bring myself to care.

I don’t even know which room I’m sleeping in tonight, so I’ll have to wait to unpack anyway. I didn’t even want to pack, but my mom did it for me, dumping stacks of clothes into my bags.

I open the Nutella jar, scoop up a big blob of the sugary spread, and stick the spoon in my mouth.

Am I doing the right thing?

I’m not talking about the Nutella—that's obviously a bad decision.

I don’t care what Dad does to me. But he’s threatening Aiden now—his job, his future, his mom. I can’t make him give all those things up for me. That would be selfish.

He’s worked so hard to finish med school and get an internship. If he loses this position, it could potentially ruin his whole career.

Medical internships are crazy-competitive. Graduating med students basically have to apply to this nation-wide residency program that matches them to available internship positions. This is a rigorous process that can involve traveling to multiple cities all over the country to attend interviews.

If a student doesn’t get matched, he has to wait for the next year to re-apply. But it’s often harder the second time around because medical facilities tend to prioritize new graduates.

In other words, if Aiden loses this internship, the impact on his career could be disastrous.

And if, on top of that, Dad makes Aiden’s mom pay him back the money he gave her . . .

The sound of keys jingling just outside the door brings me back to reality. That’s probably Hannah, I realize with relief. I need someone to talk to. Someone who’s on my side.

Hannah’s always been the good girl. It seems so easy for her to follow our parents’ crazy rules. She even met her husband through Dad.

Despite how strict our parents can be, Hannah’s always been this happy-go-lucky girl. I don’t know how she does it. I can’t imagine how I can be happy under Dad’s iron thumb, but Hannah’s doing it. Dad’s always trusted Hannah more, though, so maybe it’s easier for her.

Whatever it is, she obviously knows something I don’t. Maybe she can think of a way for me to knock some sense into Dad.

I hear the door hit my bags. “Hello?” Hannah yells out. “Is anybody in there? Mom? Dad?”

“It’s me,” I say, as loudly as I can muster.

“Oh, Bee!” Hannah exclaims excitedly. “You wouldn’t believe what happened at the school today. God, sometimes I wish I wasn’t a stay-at-home mom, just so I’d have an excuse to get out of these stupid parent involvement activities,” she says as the door clicks shut.

“I swear the worst thing about being a parent is other parents.” Her heels click-clack on the wooden floor as she walks down the hallway. She stops in her tracks when she sees me slouched on the sofa with a spoon stuck inside my mouth and a jar of Nutella in my hand.

“What’s wrong?” Hannah asks as her eyes fill with concern.

Oh, boy. Where do I even start . . . ?

“I didn’t know you were coming back with Mom and Dad . . .” Hannah approaches the sofa slowly, as if I was some wounded wild animal. “Wait a minute. Didn’t Mom and Dad just arrive in San Francisco yesterday?”

“Mm-hmm.” The spoon handle goes up and down as I nod.

Hannah lets out a big sigh as she takes a seat beside me on the sofa. The cushion dips under her jeans-clad butt. She rubs my arm soothingly. “Did something happen?”

I nod again.

“It’s still a few hours until I have to pick Marcus up. I’ll make you something, and then you can tell me all about it, okay?” She quickly adds, “If you want to, of course.”

I nod again.

While Hannah goes to the kitchen, I shovel another spoonful of Nutella into my mouth. My sister’s a bit of a health nut, so she’s probably going to bring out some sugar-free, gluten-free, fat-free, salt-free abomination. (I still have nightmares about her cauliflower “rice.” Just because the cauliflower is chopped up really small to resemble rice doesn't make it a rice dish.)

When Hannah comes back, she’s holding two clear glasses of something frothy and creamy. It's brown-ish, so at least it's not a kale smoothie like she served me last time.

“Try it,” she says, smiling as I gingerly take one glass off her hand.

Cold condensation covers the outer surface of the glass. I take a sip. “This is… an ice cream float?”

“It's good, right?” Hannah asks, wearing a smug expression on her face. “It's frozen vanilla yogurt and beer.”

I take another sip of the sweet, creamy, cold beverage. This is exactly what I need. I didn't expect this, but it's a nice surprise. Maybe Hannah's eased up a little on the healthy eating. Or maybe she's correctly guessed that I have an emergency on my hands.

“What happened?” Hannah asks as she sits down. “Was it Dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, man. Glad I had some of Earl's beer and Marcus’ yogurt left. From the way you look, I can already tell this is bad.”

“What's wrong with the way I look?”

“You always wear black when you just don't care anymore. Normally, you’d be in one of your pretty dresses or skirts—the ones with pockets. I don't know how you manage to even find women's clothes with actual pockets.”

I check myself. I am wearing an old pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt.

“Also,” she adds, “your hair's a mess, and your eyes are all red.”

“Geez, thanks for the confidence boost.” I take another sip of Hannah’s delicious concoction and get up. “I have to use your bathroom.”

I just remembered I haven't peed since the plane landed. I do my business in Hannah’s spacious, impeccable bathroom with the pretty emerald-green tiles and black-and-white photography on the walls. I wash my hands with the fragrant liquid soap and turn off the tap.

. . .

Weird. It won't stop dripping.

I twist the tap again.

No matter how hard I twist it, the water won't stop. Stubborn fucking drops of water.

Anger rises within me. What is wrong with this thing? Other than this, Hannah's bathroom is perfect.

I inspect the tap more closely, but it looks fine. It's freaking gleaming.

What was it that Aiden did to fix my kitchen sink? I’m pretty sure he just tugged on some things and twisted a few other things.

What is wrong with me? Why can't I fix this?

As  I catch my own reflection in the bathroom mirror, I realize I’m crying. Fat drops of tears race down my cheeks.

I can't fix it. Not like Aiden can.

I can only try to not inflict more damage. That's what I’m doing right now. Damage control. I'm doing the right thing.

I’ll stay here for now and finish my internship, then I’ll find a job somewhere far, far away, not just to get away from my family this time, but also to get away from Aiden. Because I swear to God, if I bump into him one day, even if it's just for a minute, even if it's another ten years from now, I’ll shatter into pieces. I’ll throw myself at him and try to steal him away from his wife and kids if he has them by the time we meet again.

My heart clenches. The pain—I can't believe this is just emotional. There's a dull ache inside me that makes it hard to breathe.

I grab some tissue and blow my nose as more tears stream down my face. Now my nose isn't blocked anymore, but I can't stop the tears. Gasps interrupt my sobs, and soon, I’m holding on to the cold edge of the stone vanity with both hands while my eyes drip as constantly as the stupid tap.

“Bee, are you okay?” Hannah asks from behind the door.

I sniffle. “Yeah.” My voice comes out shaky.

“Can I come in?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

She probably doesn't buy that I’m okay.

I unlock the door.

Hannah pushes the door all the way open, takes one look at me, and takes me into her embrace.

My sister feels soft, but strong. Her love and concern wash over me like a healing salve, and I cry in her arms, my shoulders shaking against her sturdy ones. I don't stop until it gets too hot and uncomfortable.

Holding some tissue up to my nose, I put down the toilet cover and plant my butt on top of it. “I told Dad I was seeing Aiden again, and he made me leave him.” I pause. “He's still in the process of making me, technically, because I haven't actually left him. I don't know. I can't just ghost him, can I?

“But if Dad finds out I got in touch with Aiden, even if it was just to say goodbye, he's going to destroy Aiden’s life. And I can't do that because how is he going to land another internship next year, with a record of having been fired? I can't take his whole life away from him.

“Why does Dad do this to me, Hannah?” I ask as I look up at Hannah, who’s leaning against the door frame.

She smiles wryly. “That's just the kind of dad he is,” she says. “Remember when I was fifteen and I had my first boyfriend? Dad made you come with us on every single date to make sure we weren't having sex.” She rolls her eyes.

I huff a small laugh, even as snot continues to escape my nostrils. “Yeah. He made me leave a birthday party to go to Applebee’s with you and your boyfriend.”

“It's good to finally see a smile on your face.” Hannah steps inside the bathroom and sits on the edge of the bathtub, right across from me. “Now, I have no idea what you were talking about. Want to fill me in?”

I take a deep breath. This is a long story, but I have time and Hannah’s nice enough to make time for me in the midst of her busy day.

Up until last night, I’d been spending every waking hour either working or being with Aiden. I hadn't had time to tell Hannah anything. So I start from the beginning and end with me being dropped off at her front door by our parents and getting her spare key from under a flower pot.

“Dad can't do that,” she says, probably for the fourth time since I began my story.

I shrug. I don't have to explain Dad’s craziness; that's the benefit of talking to Hannah. She gets it.

“You know what's crazy?” I ask. “I get the feeling that Dad’s only doing this because he's still angry I sat in a diner on my own for a few hours past curfew, ten years ago.”

“Hmm… I was told you’d ran away from home,” Hannah says.

“I didn't end up doing it,” I say, “although I would've, if Aiden had shown up. But then Dad showed up instead, and I had to go back home with him.”

Hannah goes silent.

“Please don't say anything about how I wasn't supposed to run away from home,” I say, “because that doesn't excuse Dad’s behavior. He uses bribery and blackmail to get his way.”

“I’m not going to defend Dad. What he's done is indefensible.” Hannah pauses. “But—listen to me before you say anything—now that I’m a parent, I can kind of see things from his perspective at the time. He was afraid of losing you, and he didn't know how to deal with that.”

“Bribery and blackmail, Hannah,” I remind her.

“Okay,” she says, “but hear me out. Listen and tell me if you notice a pattern.

“Dad gave you a schedule that planned your days, down to the hour. You started working part-time behind Dad’s back. Dad found out and made you quit. You continued to see your boyfriend, whom Dad didn't like, and you spent more and more time with him. You even wrote in your diary about wanting to elope with him.

“Dad freaked out, so when he saw an opportunity, no matter how wrong it was, he took it. He sent your boyfriend to another state and took away your phone and email address. You reacted by running away from home, but at that point, Dad had already check-mated you.

“See what happened?”

I shake my head. That just sounds like a summary to me.

“I’ve noticed this push and pull between you and Dad,” Hannah says. “He’d create overly strict rules, which would make you rebel against them, which would only convince Dad his rules need to be even stricter. It's a vicious cycle.”

I pause. I guess she has a point. “So what do I do? Is there a way to convince Dad to let this go?”

“I don't know. I’ll have to give this some thought,” Hannah says. Her phone rings, and she raises herself to take it out of the back pocket of her jeans. “

Sorry, it's Earl. Could be important,” Hannah says as her eyes focus on the screen.

“Oh, um, you should probably hear this, actually,” Hannah says as she raises her gaze to meet mine. “Aiden’s asking Earl if he's heard anything about you. Apparently, he got to the hospital for work this morning, and someone told him you’d quit.

“What do you want Earl to tell him?”