When I reminded her again that she had less than a month left, she just waved me off.
“You’re not actually going through with this,” she scoffed. “You always say things like this, but you never mean them.”
I almost laughed.
That’s exactly what she told her friends in that video, that I was too much of a pushover, that I’d never have the guts to kick her out.
It was funny how she still believed that even now.
A week passed. She realized I wasn’t backing down.
That’s when the guilt trip started.
She got weepy and pitiful, sighing dramatically when I was in the room, making little sniffles just loud enough for me to hear.
If I asked what was wrong, she’d blink up at me with those big watery eyes.
“I just can’t believe you’re actually doing this to me after everything I’ve been through. I thought you were my family, Emily.”
It would have been a great performance if I hadn’t already seen what she really thought about me.
I didn’t bite.
Then came the fake promises.
“I’ll pay you rent, I swear. Just… just let me stay.”
She even went so far as to pull out her phone, pretending to make a budget plan right in front of me, as if that was supposed to convince me.
I didn’t even humor her.
“You had years to pay rent,” I reminded her. “And instead, you laughed about how stupid I was for letting you live here for free. So no, Lisa. I don’t believe you.”
She scowled but didn’t argue.
She knew I was right.
By the final week, her mood had soured completely. She sulked around the house, slamming doors, stomping her feet like a child throwing a tantrum. The place was a mess because she’d completely stopped cleaning up after herself, and I refused to do it for her.
It was almost fascinating watching her unravel, like a spoiled kid finally being told no for the first time in her life.
The night before move-out day, she had one last meltdown.
She stormed into the living room where I was sitting, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“You know what?” she spat. “You’re a horrible person. I’ve done nothing but love you like a sister, and this is how you repay me? Throwing me out on the street like trash?”
I closed my book, resting it on my lap.