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She smells like peppermint tea and fury as her beady eyes latch onto me with another sneer.
"I should have ended you myself," she says before she walks around her desk, and adds, "I'll put an end to this nonsense right now. Let's cure you, Ms. Bardot."
"What?"
She doesn't answer, and I see her grab something from her desk.
"Drink it," she snarls at me, placing a can of soda on her desk. "Drink it, or I'll make sure Dr. Boucher places a feeding tube down your throat. They will pump you so full of sedatives, you won't remember your own name. Then they'll tie you down to a table and let the force-feeding do all the work. You should be grateful, Avery, at least you won't have to chew."
Oh God, I think I'm going to be sick. I don't want to be sick.
She looks like she might actually tell him too, and maybe it's the repeated heavy knocks to the head, but I renege on everything. I'm not unbreakable, and I don't want to break into the fucking hole.
She looks up and over me at the door, her expression going slack and pensive.
"What did you say your mother used to call you?" she murmurs. I can't tell if she's really trying to remember or just being a bitch.
"Oh yeah," her eyes light up like she won the lottery. "Piggy, right?"
She leans in close and oinks at me.
I can't stop the shudder, and Headmistress looks at me with such disgust I think she'd actually stab me right now if she could get away with it.
Her cash cow bit back, and she got offended. Well, too fucking bad.
She laughs before she walks behind her desk, opens a drawer, and pulls out a can of soda. She places it on the desk and lets me look at it for a moment.
It's pure liquid calories. It's not the diet version, but the full-fledged, high fructose corn syrup kind.
A drink so sweet it'll rot your teeth.
My mother would gag and pretend to throw up if she saw it.
Carbonated garbage, she would say, as Headmistress walks around the desk, taking the can with her, and grabs me by the chin. I try to wrench free, but she cinches tighter, and it hurts. It feels like she's trying to break my lower jaw off.
"Open up, piggy," she tells me with an oink.
I keep my lips shut even tighter.
She oinks again, over and over, wrinkling her nose before she abruptly stops, pops the top with one finger, and brings the can to my lips. I try to spit it out, but she won't let me. She starts to pour, oinking and snorting as I choke on the sugary soda she's forcing down my throat.
It reminds me of my mom.
The oinks.
The snorts.
The way she grabs me so hard it's like she wishes my bones would crack.
I swallow one gulp and then another, going faster and faster, but I'm not fast enough. I start to gag, feeling it run down my chin and throat.
I can't breathe.
"Stop!" I try to shout, but it comes out as a gurgle that makes me cough even louder.
"What's the matter, piggy?" she asks, taking the soda away for a moment. "You want some more?"
"No," I wheeze, but if she hears it, she doesn't care. She brings the can to my lips again and forces me to drink again.
