They Didn't Eat Me for Supper by Roxanne Remy

Author:Roxanne Remy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Diabetes, Sisters, Eating Disorder, Psychological, Divorce
Publisher: B.F.F. Publishing
Published: 2022-07-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

Olivia

Suction cup squishing fills my ears.

“The no-slip socks are no joke,” my sister says. “If we want to get out of this tomb tonight, I’ll need some footwear.”

The bed dips. Do not put your disgusting feet up here.

“My Uggs are in the back of Tay-tor Tot.”

I’m jostled in the bed again as Lennon lifts her foot in demonstration of her lack of planning.

“Oh, you want me to get them for you?” her roommate asks.

“Pretty please.” Lennon’s voice raises.

“You’ve got shoes right beside you. It ain’t Project Runway.”

Taylor has a way of keeping my sister grounded. It’s good for Len. She needs something to feel normal about our lives today.

“My boots leave a scuff everywhere I go. I can hear my mother, even now, scolding me about making more work for the environmental services team tonight.”

Taylor releases a loud sigh. “Want me to get anything else?”

What kind of illegal substance have these two traveled across multiple state lines? More importantly, why am I not surprised? If you think you’re going to smoke up the bathroom in this room while my lungs are fragile—

“Nah, better not,” Lennon says.

My tense shoulders release hearing my sister’s moment of reason.

“Suit yourself,” Taylor says. “Imma get me some while I’m down there. I need to sleep tonight.”

“I hear ya. Be safe, don’t let a coyote get you or something. I know you’re not used to being in the country.” Lennon snickers.

Taylor huffs in response. Our friend was the first one to show us how to jump hay bales and pick the sweetest muscadines. My mouth waters remembering the bronze- and eggplant-colored orbs dangling overhead. If it weren’t for Taylor, my sister and I would have been bitten by a rattlesnake before either of us made it to our first prom.

The door slides across the metal rails and my bed dips again despite my previous warning. “Remember when we’d get these sticky socks for Christmas?”

My tongue presses against the stale paste-coated tube shoved beside my molars. Spit spills down my throat as I hear the crackling of plastic between her fingers.

“Mom stole them from the hospital, of course. They do the trick though. Definitely no Risky Business scene happening with these babies on.”

Risky-what? The hard plastic tube shifts across the back of my throat, my chest thrusts forward tightening my airway with each jolt. My eyes clamp, tears stream from the corners. My reflexes are stunned. I can’t wipe my eyes, cover my mouth, or do anything natural to comfort myself.

“Olivia?” Alarms blare. “It’s okay, Liv. You’re okay. I’m okay—”

Spasms take over my windpipe and oxygen trickles to my airway through the smallest opening. The engine in the bed grinds, pressing the mattress into my shoulder blades. Tension eases as my head leans forward. The tube shifts again, but this time I’m able to swallow around the bulb. Air fills my lungs once again, and my shoulders relax, slinging my head to the side. I’m too weak to straighten it. Coarse paper dabs the corner of my eyes.

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