The Blood-Stained Sour Candy

When I was seven years old, my younger brother went into anaphylactic shock after sneaking a handful of peanuts.

Outside the emergency room, my mother slammed my head against the wall over and over, her face twisted with rage.

"If you had been watching him like you were supposed to be, this never would have happened! You should be the one with a ruptured stomach, not him!"

After that, whenever my brother so much as caught a cold, my mother forced me to eat spoiled leftovers as punishment.

I once prepared an elaborate feast. She flipped the entire table and made me crawl on the floor to lick it clean.

When I said I wanted to study culinary arts, she poured hot oil over my hands.

My father wanted to send me to vocational school to learn a trade, but my mother clutched my brother to her chest and wailed.

"She destroyed her brother's health! She owes him a lifetime of service!"

When I was fifteen, my brother's gluttony cost my father an important business deal. I took the blame without even being asked, and the furious client forced me to drink more than half a gallon of hard liquor.

By the time I was sent home with a bleeding stomach, my father had already scolded my brother. My mother took out her anger on me instead, slapping me so hard my ears rang and my vision went dark at the edges.

"You useless thing! You should’ve choked to death at that table! I get sick just looking at you!"

I coughed up black blood. From my pocket, I pulled out a piece of sour candy that had gone soft and sticky.

It was the only treat my mother had ever given me with a smile, back before my brother's allergic reaction.

I put the candy in my mouth and swallowed it down with the taste of stomach acid. The candy was so sour it made my throat burn.

Whatever came next, I just hoped I would not have to be my family’s garbage disposal again.

I lay curled up on the cold floor.

I had taken the fall for my little brother and downed more than half a gallon of hard liquor as punishment. Now, every organ in my body felt like it was burning from the inside out.

I wanted to drag myself to a hospital, but I could not even lift a finger. Just as my vision started going dark, the door burst open with a violent kick.

My mother, Fernanda Sanchez, stood in the doorway, her face twisted in disgust.

Her eyes landed on the pool of black blood I had vomited onto the floor. "Layla Lloyd! Did you do this on purpose?

"I just mopped, and you've already made the floor filthy again! What, you couldn't make it to the bathroom?

"All day long, you play dead. You're nothing but a burden!"

I used every ounce of strength I had left to reach toward her, a desperate wheeze rattling from my throat.

"Mom... Please... Help me..."

The sound came out so faint I could barely hear myself. Somewhere deep down, I still had hope.

After all, I was her daughter. Her own flesh and blood.

The next moment, her foot slammed into the back of my outstretched hand. The pain nearly knocked me unconscious. Tears streamed down my face.

"Stop faking! Do you think you can just lie there and get out of doing your chores? Not a chance!

"Let me make this clear. As long as I'm breathing, you'll spend every single day making up for what you did to your brother!"

I wanted to shake my head and tell her I truly could not move, but my throat would not form the words.

Then, a small figure rushed into the room. My brother, Liam Lloyd, clutched a Transformer in his hands. When he saw the blood on the floor, he froze.

"Layla..."

His first instinct was to come help me up. For just a second, my heart lifted. At least the brother I had protected with my life still cared about me.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mom yanked him back hard. "Get away from her! She's poison, and I won't have her dragging you down too!"

Liam flinched at her shouting, his shoulders hunching. When Mom turned to grab a rag, he quickly poured me a cup of hot water and brought it carefully to my lips.

I had just started to open my mouth when Mom whirled back around and slapped the cup from his hands. It flew across the room, and scalding water splashed across my face.

"Who said you could give her water? She doesn't deserve it!"

Mom pointed at Liam and screamed, "She's a menace! Back then, she nearly got you killed because she wasn't watching you! People like her deserve to die of thirst!"

She dragged him out of the room, still muttering curses under her breath, "Lock that door! She doesn't eat until her work is done!"

The door slammed shut again. The physical agony combined with the emotional torture finally shattered what was left of me.

I used the very last shred of strength in my body to inch forward across the floor. My nails scraped along the cracks between the boards until they bled.

Finally, I reached Dad's nightstand. Inside sat a bottle of his antibiotics and half a bottle of high-proof liquor he had not finished.

I grabbed the pill bottle and dumped everything into my mouth. The pills scraped down my throat until my eyes rolled back in my head.

I snatched up the liquor and tilted my head back, forcing it down. The burning in my stomach exploded instantly. The pain made me curl into a tight ball on the floor.

Through the haze, I heard Dad's voice on the phone outside. "How is Layla doing?"

Mom picked up. "Your daughter is perfectly fine! She's in her room throwing a fit!"

Mom, I was not throwing a fit.

I was dying.