His Friend

Cнapтer 17

Alison's POV

After school, I took the long route home. I always knew Freddy took a different road. I had to drag myself home. I opened the door when I arrived, and I slid down the door. I decided to skip practice today. I'm sure they would notice, but I didn't care. Maybe...just maybe if I....No. I should stop doing that at once.
I look at the clock. 5:00. I have enough time.

I forced myself to get up, and I walked up the stairs. I grabbed a duffel bag, and started taking things out of my drawers. Clothes, beloved items, pictures, everything I owned. I stuffed them in the bag, and zipped it up. I sighed, and looked around for a piece of paper. I grabbed a pencil, and started writing my note.

Dear Freddy,

I honestly don't know where to begin. Thanks for taking care of me, I wish you the best of luck in life. We might see each other in class, and we might see each other in the halls, at lunch, of maybe at practice. Actually, scratch that. I'm not going to practice anymore. I won't tell you where I moved, but I'm sure you have a hunch. Thanks and... I loved you.       
                                     Your former friend, Alison Jenson

I folded up the piece of paper, and placed it on his nightstand. I grabbed my duffel bag, and just as I'm heading out, I catch a picture of me and Freddy on the carpet drawing pictures when we were little. I smiled softly. I opened the door, and took one last look around. Bye Fred.
I closed the door behind me, and started walking down the sidewalk. I'm going to regret this.

As I'm heading up the driveway, I can feel a pounding in my chest. This is wrong, I shouldn't do this. Anything can happen now. Even murder. I knock on the door lightly.

Hopefully he isn't drunk this time.

The door opens to reveal a hispanic looking woman with brown hair pulled into a tight bun, and light brown eyes. She wore an apron over a clean white shirt, and she wore skinny jeans. "Who...who're you?" I asked. The woman stares at me with wide eyes. Her expression turns back to normal. "I'm sorry, you must have the wrong house," she says. She starts closing the door, but I place my foot down. She looks up. "No, I live here. Well, I lived here, but that's not the point. The point is, why are you here?" I asked again.

The woman sighs, and her eyes start to look glassy. "Listen, I don't know what you are talking about. Again, you must have the wrong house," she says. "Again, I live here. Stop lying!" I say. A moment of silence stretches between us, and it seems like she'll just slam the door in my face again.
"I'm sorry, Alison," she said. My eyes widened. "How do you know my name?" I ask. She sighs, and a tear rolls down her cheek. She bursts into a loud fit of sobs.

"Oh, Alison! How could you forget your own mother!?"