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40

“Sometimes, I struggle to like you; you know that.” Greta comes up behind me, and as furious as I am and caught up in my rage, her words hurt me, and tears fill my eyes instantly. She’s never one to mean it when she says things like this, but my lip trembles, and I bite it to stop it from showing. My feeble idiot feelings when it comes to my only real friend in this place.

“I don’t care. I never asked you to like me.” Greta has this magic ability to make me an emotional and vulnerable mess with the click of her fingers. I spit it out like a child sulking and keep my head turned away, so she doesn’t see how easily she brings this on nowadays.

“Whoever taught you that it was okay to be this way was wrong. Whoever told you that you weren’t allowed to make mistakes, or cry, because your hurt, or sad, or angry, or scared, or know you messed up…. they did wrong.”

“Don’t okay. I don’t

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