I crouched over the sink, scrubbing the crawfish Dad had brought home, and watched as the three of them skipped dinner altogether, snacking on the tonics like they were candy. Every now and then, Mom would pop a piece into her mouth, savoring it like it was the finest treat. I kept my head down and gave a cold smile. Let them eat. The more they eat, the better.
By the time I finished with the crawfish and walked back to the dining room, they had already finished and gone out to the grocery store. The table was a disaster, with only a few wilted lettuce leaves floating in the soup bowl. I served myself some oatmeal and ate it with what little broth was left.
When they got back, I had already washed the dishes and retreated to my room. However, calling it a "room" felt like a joke. It was really just a cluttered storage space with piles of junk everywhere, and the door was a flimsy sliding one. No wonder, in my past life, my brother had no trouble sneaking in to kill me.