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  • Writer's pictureEdie Montreux


I just blocked my sister.


I don’t know why she thinks we should have a public relationship. Fuck that.

I haven’t changed my phone number in the fifteen years I’ve had a cell phone.

I’ve had the same two email addresses since college.

Did I get a text or email from her? No. I got a connection request.

I do not want a public connection with someone who does not fucking care enough to send me a text. If she has nothing to say privately to me, just me, then I have nothing to say to her.

She wants a public connection with me so she can show her boyfriend, “Look! I made a connection with my little sister. You know, the one I tried to drown in the bathtub when she was two years old. Look how gullible she is, adding me as a connection. She’s so stupid. Must be from the lack of oxygen.”

Oh. Right. Fiancé. Whatever.

The point is, the public forum she chose is the same public forum my ex used to contact me, days after my sister’s Facebook post: an image of where I work, asking me if I work there. The insta-block and delete post.

Yes, I fucking work there. It’s a big glass building with one security guard between me and the bastard who tried to strangle me when I was eighteen. I’m not giving him the chance for a repeat.

My sister and my ex have a lot in common. No wonder I don’t trust either of them.

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