My sister Amy is hogging the bathroom again. She doesn't do it every night, thank goodness, but....
I don't know how she always manages to figure out which bathroom I'm going to use, and when I'm going to go in there, but she does, and gets in before I do. I *hate* when she does this.
"Amy?" I ask, timidly. I don't want her to get mad at me. She got *really* mad once. Now I just wait. "C-can I please get in there?"
I thought she'd stop this when we moved to a house with two bathrooms....
"Erica, honey, who are you talk--oh." My mother comes down the hall. "Again?".
"Yes," I whisper. "Can you make her leave?"
My mother's face is grim and sad, as it usually is nowadays. "Amy? You need to get out of the bathroom, please. Please, honey? I'm s---"
The bathroom door opens. My sister glides out, dripping wet, blue, and bloated.
Her tongue lolls out of her mouth, and there's some vomit on her chin, just like there was the day she overdosed and drowned in the bathtub three years ago.
My mother turns away, and I hear a sob--she still blames herself.
I try not to cringe away as Amy strokes my cheek--I feel only icy air, but if I cringe, Amy will get mad, and follow me everywhere till I let her touch me without cringing.
She glides down the hall, fading as she goes
I don't know why she does this. I'm scared to ask, in case she gets really mad again.
I'm afraid then she might do more than just hog the bathroom.