My stomach churned. That three hundred thousand—I'd saved it while taking meds and working overtime. I'd even secretly stopped using the treatment money Colin gave me.
I set down my bowl. My hands trembled as I fumbled a pill bottle out of my pocket.
"Oh, taking your vitamins again?"
Mom snatched the bottle and shook it under the light.
"So dramatic. This young and already popping pills—the richer you get, the more you cling to life!"
With a casual flick, the bottle arced through the air and landed in the trash.
"If you're eating, eat. Don't pull out these unlucky things and embarrass yourself!"
I froze, staring at the trash can.
That was sertraline.
I closed my eyes.
Twenty-nine days left.
Hang in there, Georgia. Soon it won't hurt anymore.
Early the next morning, noise from the living room woke me. The hangover and withdrawal made my head pound, my chest tight.
When I pushed the door open, Carrie was sprawled on the couch in my silk pajamas, ordering Dylan to peel oranges for her.
Colin had those custom-made. Now there was a grease stain smeared across them.
"Awake?"
Mom came out of the kitchen with hot milk and handed it straight to Carrie.