Then I heard Dad's heavy footsteps echoing and then fading on the stairs. He just left me there, discarded like the food I was forced to eat.
I thought, at least it was done. But then Ginny pressed her foot onto my face, hard enough that I could feel my skin bruising under her shoe.
"You brought this on yourself," she said, word by word. Typical of her—pretending to be innocent. In fact, if she killed me, I bet everyone would believe it was suicide.
The next thing I knew, the allergic reaction kicked in. I started to feel a burning sensation in my throat, and I felt like I was being set on fire. My skin was breaking out in hives. I was choking, trying to gasp for air.
I reached out to Charlie, begging him to help me, and he almost didn't. He looked like he was going to kick me away again until he saw how bad it was.
I barely heard Mom say, "I need to wash the puppy. Can you guys take her to the hospital?"
She didn't even come downstairs to see me. Dad didn't care, either. He just grumbled, "Clean her up first. We don't want people thinking we abuse her."
As if they didn't.