She slapped a hand over my mouth, nails digging into my cheek. “Shut up. I went for my dreams. You think you’re special because you were the perfect replacement? Look where that got you.”
She pulled out a battered lunchbox, flipping it open so the stale smell hit my nose immediately. “Eat,” she said, voice too bright. “I made it myself. Don’t be ungrateful.”
She shoved a spoon toward my lips, and I realized it was shrimp. My throat closed up on instinct — I was allergic. I turned my head away, but Nadia’s grip on my jaw was iron.
“Eat it, Lauren! Don’t be dramatic now. Eat it!” she hissed, jabbing the spoon against my lips until the shrimp touched my tongue. My stomach turned, bile rising up so fast I nearly choked.
In that moment, something in my mind flickered — a memory from when we were kids. Nadia and I giggling under blankets, sharing secrets. Back when we were sisters in the truest sense — until I won that school contest, until they put my face on the cover of the community paper. She’d been so furious. She’d told everyone I cheated. One by one, my friends turned their backs. The teachers glared. The principal called me a liar.
And Nadia just stood there, pretty and innocent, saying, “I’m sorry. I tried to stop her. She loves attention too much.”
The taste of the shrimp snapped me back. I gagged, vomiting onto the floor. Nadia jerked back, shrieking in disgust. “You bitch! You did that on purpose—”
The door flew open. Xander stepped in, annoyance already etched into his features. “What the hell is going on now?”
Nadia turned to him, her eyes wide, voice trembling. “I was trying to help her, Xander! I made her food and she threw it up! She hates me—”
Xander’s face twisted with disgust as he looked at me, weak and trembling on the floor. “You ungrateful bitch. She’s trying to feed you and you can’t even be thankful?”
They mocked me then. Both of them. Their voices mixed together — little jabs, half-laughs, like I wasn’t even there. But I didn’t hear it for long. The edges of my vision went fuzzy, my head spun, and the world finally went dark.
When I woke up again, I was in a hospital bed. The walls were clean. The sheets smelled like bleach. A nurse hovered over me, frowning as she checked the bruises blooming across my arms.
“You’re lucky,” she said quietly. “You went into shock from the allergy and the injuries. You need rest.”