ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏs (Book 1)

xv. where is my mind

What came first; the medicine or the sickness? Sutton found herself wondering as she watched Jessica pour the concoction of medicine for Jaime like she did every night. (It used to be every once a week, but slowly, Jaime had progressively got worse and needed more.) Sutton sat silently on the mahogany floor in the filthy battered white dress she ruined in the woods after being forced into it by her unbearing mother. Secretly, she peeked behind the breakfast bar counter as Jessica swayed and hummed to herself. Sutton pressed her lips together and watched patiently.

There are two types of kids in the world. There are those that, when they know they're sick, take their medicine as told to get better. And then there are those that refuse—kicking and screaming—because they loathe the mere "tastes." Sutton was always amongst the latter. Even at an early age. She'd fight her mother the entire way. So much so, that at one point, Jessica gave up trying to care for her own child in a petty fit of annoyance. Instead, she invested all her time on Jaime—her unsecretive favorite child.

Jessica always loved Jaime more. She loved her because she'd let her dress her up and treat her like a little doll ever since the day she was born. After Jessica had Jaime, it was like she'd finally felt like she was gifted the child she'd always wanted.

Sutton could remember peeking into her parents' bedroom the night they returned with the baby from the hospital. Jessica refused to leave Jaime in the prepared nursery they had made for her. Instead, she stubbornly held onto the small babe and sat under the fluffy comforters on her bed. The way she stared down at Jaime, the way she smiled like she was so happy. Anytime Jessica held her she'd lean down, close her eyes, and take a deep inhale of Jaime's little head.

Sutton and Jaime couldn't have been more opposites from each other. Jaime, as the youngest, was sweet and naive, always looking to please their parents—especially Jessica; And Sutton was stubborn and hardheaded—a lot like her father. She always loved to play in the mud and get her pretty dresses dirty, just to see the look in her mother's face when she walked in covered in grass stains and mud marks. Because of this, she only ever had friends with the boys at school.

Jessica used to joke to others in town that Sutton should've been born a boy. Soon, the entire town and kids at school began calling her the "little rascal in ribbons."

Jessica poured the remainder of the syrup from a brown glass bottle. As she hummed pleasantly to herself, she tapped the bottle twice to get every last drop. The next song on the staticky record player began from the living room. Jessica opened the trash can and tossed the empty bottle away. She pushed the cork into the blue glass vile and took the tray up into Jaime's room.

Sutton waited behind the counter. When she counted to seven (the perfect amount of time it took to confirm Jessica was already up the stairs) and the cost was clear, she tiptoed into the kitchen. She quietly opened the trash and picked at the bottle lying atop the garbage. Her eyes scanned the label, and her brows furrowed.

"Ip-eh-kak?" The word felt foreign on her tongue and left a bitter aftertaste. Ipecac Syrup? What in the world was that?

Nearly two weeks passed of Sutton secretively making Jaime stop taking her medicine. At first, Jaime was puzzled. She never said no to her big sister—because of how uneasy she was of her, all thanks to the whispers of their mother. But even if she wasn't, it was nearly impossible to say no to Sutton.