I STILL LOVE YOU, BUT...

CHAPTER 25

AMANDA

Myra is visiting me for the weekend. Technically speaking, there is one more thing left on my bucket list. I have got a tattoo and pulled a fake sick day at work. I've danced on a bar and attempted to make a prank call one night, made heavy breathing noises down the line, and when the lady at the other end said kindly, "Love, you should be calling 911," I slammed down the phone. I've eaten a jalapeno. I've put myself in a sugar coma eating dessert for three meals straight. I've got revenge on my asshole ex without even trying. The misery that had clung to Colin, like a dull, dank shroud, the way he had looked at me, like he'd die a dozen deaths each time he'd laid eyes on me, the realization in his eyes that I was well and truly over him, the tense set of his jaw, the sadness and the anguish and the regret behind his pain-filled eyes, the raw torment in their bleak, hollow depths, are all living testimony to the enormity of what he has done. It is his cross to bear, and it will be his burden to shoulder for the rest of his life.

I have one more task to fulfil: break the law. One ultimate act of rebellion for a lifelong good girl, and then, I'm done.

.................

Myra glugs down the flask of wine, and grins, shark-like.

"You ready to break the law?"

"Let's go!" I yell. I pump a fist.

Five minutes later, I'm whining, "Holy shit, holy shit."

"Shut up,” Myra hisses. "Don't be a baby."

I cast shifty glances at the people striding along the sidewalk, shoulders hunched against the cold, but no one turns their heads. We are swallowed up in the shadows, huddled together by the side of the abandoned town library. It is a shell of a building. Locals write into the town paper to complain it is an eyesore. Its windows are smashed in like broken teeth; boards cover the second floor balcony doors like eye patches. The old town library looks like it has been in a bar fight and lost. But with its red brick and wrought-iron balconies, its flight of stone steps leading up to the front entrance, it is still beautiful. Battered but full of soul.

"Come on, you piece of shit,” Mira mutters around a mouthful of lock picks. I hadn't been surprised when she pulled them out of her backpack.

"Where did you learn to use those?” I ask her now as she jiggles the library side door. "YouTube. Duh." The lock clicks and the door swings open, screaming on its rusted hinges. We cringe, gripping each other's sleeves and staring down the length of the alley. Nothing. No one even glances over. They move down the street in their own little world, surrounded by gusty winds and spiraling snow.

"Come on." I gave Myra a push. "Let's break and enter."

"Nope." She steps to the side, arms crossed. "This is your bucket list. Do the work, Amanda. I broke in; you enter."

I eye the darkness through the open doorway, my palms clammy inside my mittens. I've always hated breaking rules. Even when I am completely alone, when no one is watching to judge me, I still do everything by the book. I return my library books before their due date; I pay for the exact journey I've taken on the train; I weigh every vegetable at the self-serve stations in the grocery store. This is it. The last thing on my bucket list. My bucket list for bad girls.

"I'm a bad girl," I whisper, and step through the shadowed doorway. Turns out the abandoned library is creepy as hell. We inch through the hallways and up the flights of stairs, jumping at every groan of pipes or the skitter of running feet. Rats. Oh, my God. As we pass an empty bookshelf, a pigeon explodes towards the towering ceiling in a cloud of gray feathers. Myra shrieks, practically jumping on my back, and I dissolve into giggles.