Leaving your older sister’s room swiftly, you retched as a foul aftertaste combined with thirst dried up your mouth. Shaking your head, you move through the hallway, past the white, flat doors separating the bathroom, your bedroom, and your mother’s bedroom. Your mother had to have been awake or she would not have left her bedroom open.
You dry coughed as you walked down into the kitchen. As the marble counters topped with wooden cabinets and tile floors came into view, so did your mother. With her back turned, she poured something out of the blender.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” your mother said. “How’d you sleep?”
Peering around the nearby area, you could not see your sister.
“Fine,” you murmured. “Where’s sis?”
“Your sister’s gone to the gym,” your mother said. “She won’t be back for a while. I was just making a smoothie before I go do my yoga in the spare room, would you like some?”
“Sure.” You shrug. “Why not?”
You trusted your mother, so when she handed you a painted sports bottle rather than a clear glass you could see inside like the one she was using, you did not think twice. You lifted it up to your mouth, squeezed some inside, and swallowed it down.
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