“Venice, what are you doing?” My dad asks me the next morning.
“I have to get rid of it,” I explain to him as I’m pouring the full gallon of milk into our sink and I watch the white liquid flow down the drain.
“You have to get rid of the milk?” He wonders curiously, standing beside me as my shaking hands pour the milk into the sink. The jug is almost completely full so it’s going to take a while for it all to drain.
“Everything,” I mumble. “It all has to go.”
“Venice, you’re scaring me,” My dad informs me as he puts a hand on my shoulder. “What are you talking about?”
“It could hurt you, Dad,” I tell him. “It could hurt you if you drink it.”
I’m not looking up at him, I’m just watching my trembling hands as they pour the milk down the drain, but I know that he’s very confused as to why I’m getting rid of the milk. I’m doing him a favor but I understand that he doesn’t get that.
“Am I lactose intolerant and just don’t know about it or something?” He tries to joke but I’m in no joking mood. “Seriously, Venice, what’s going on?”
“I just told you!” I wail. Tears are wedging themselves out of my eye sockets and they’re falling down my face and I don’t stop them.
“Sweetie, stop,” My dad says softly, taking the half-empty jug of milk from my hands so that it stops spilling into the sink.
“No, Dad, you don’t understand!” I insist hysterically, taking the milk back and dumping the rest into the sink where it belongs. I throw the empty jug into the trash can before I go back over to the fridge and search for any other liquids. There’s an almost-empty container of orange juice and two cans of pop, so I take all of that stuff out and I twist open the cap to the orange juice. “It’ll hurt you.”
“Venice, it’s just orange juice,” He assures me, putting a hand on my shoulder again as I pour the orange juice down the drain. “It’s not going to hurt anybody, I promise.”
“It will!” I shriek, trying to get him to see things my way, but it just wasn’t happening. I am absolutely hysterical right now and it’s probably because I only got half an hour of sleep last night and now I’m all shaken up for almost no reason at all but all of these beverages in my fridge are seriously freaking me out.
My dad watches helplessly and confused as I finish off the orange juice and then open up both cans of pop and pour them down the drain as well with an echoing fizzy sound. By the time the last drop of pop is in the sink, I’m sobbing and shaking and I’m just all around a terrible mess. My hands are shaking so badly that I just drop the now-empty cans into the sink and then fall to the ground.
“What’s going on?” I hear Emmett mumbling tiredly as he walks into the room. “Venice, holy shit.”
My dad is crouching beside me, trying to get me back up onto my feet, but I don’t want to stand up so I just sit down on the kitchen floor and I cry my eyes out as if I’ve never cried before.
“I have no idea and watch your language,” My dad replies to Emmett. “Venice, what is it?”
“I haven’t had much sleep,” I sniffle loudly and unfortunately, I still can’t stop sobbing like crazy.
“Well, you were out until three,” Emmett reminds me. “That’s why.”
“No, it was the milk!” I insist. “It was going to hurt us.”
“The what?” He asks me, obviously confused about my accusation. “Did you just say that the milk is going to hurt us?”
“Well it’s not anymore, I didn’t let you guys drink it,” I explain. “Stop looking at me like I’m fucking crazy!”
YOU ARE READING
Falling Into Sunday
Teen FictionVenice Bowman is the governor's daughter. She is the epitome of a good girl- good grades, never breaks curfew, good boyfriend, good friends, good reputation, good family. Good everything. One night, all of this changes. How else would we have a stor...
