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I'm trying to not think about the calories or the sugar content, but she's still oinking, bringing me back to my mom.
I hate her for it.
One can, one hundred fifty calories.
Each swallow, twenty calories.
What am I up to? Seventy at least, maybe even more.
Stop thinking about it, Avery!
I start to cough, but she doesn't pull away this time. If anything, she holds me even tighter, nearly breaking my neck to force my head back and my mouth open. The back of my neck rubs against the wooden chair, and I cough, or try to at least, but nothing comes out.
My lungs are burning.
My throat is burning.
My entire top half burns with the fizz.
I try to think of Gabriel and his stare, his smile, hisanything, but she won't stop pouring. I can't breathe, and I can't think. I manage to wrench my head free of her, spit the drink to the floor, and take another breath, but then her hand is there again, gripping my chin, and forcing me to look at her.
She snorts, contorting her features into something disgusting.
"Is this what you were afraid of, you brat? A little drink!" She pours again, and I can't free my head this time. Her fingers cinch around my chin, pressing tight, and I'm choking, coughing, and trying to breathe. I think I might be sick. I don't want to be sick.
It clogs the back of my throat, and I can't swallow it fast enough. I can't find a moment to breathe. She's going to kill me!
I rear back in the chair, trying to get away from her, but it just screeches against the floor. I gulp in a breath, but she keeps on pouring.
"Swallow it, fatso!" she sneers before she grabs the back of my hair and yanks, forcing my head back. She starts to pour again, and the can has to be almost empty by now.
I still can't breathe though! I can't even swallow it before she's waterboarding me with another, pouring liquid into my throat and down my nose.
I can't breathe.
I try to breathe, but there's nothing there except sugary liquid.
She's going to kill me. My throat makes an awful choking sound, and black specks mar my vision. I push against the floor with two feet and tip my chair backward, but it's not enough.
I still can't breathe!
The world is staggering, erasing to nothing in choppy bits and pieces. I push again with everything I have, and her fingers finally rip free of me.
The chair falls backward and lands hard against the floor with acrackthat sounds like a gunshot and jumbles my brain. I scramble to stand, bits of wood surrounding me and the world rolling as I stagger. I swing blindly, still coughing and choking as I try to keep her away from me. She says something to me, but I don't hear it over my mother's torment.
Did you like that, piggy?
I bet you did, lard ass.
Oink, oink! No one loves a fatso!
I can't get enough air, no matter how much I gulp. I make an awful retching sound, but nothing comes up.
The room smells like spilled soda and the sting of fading peppermint.
I'm going to be sick.
I was wrong. I don't know if I can take this.
