The first time Monique drank her first liquor was when she was twenty-two years old. It was burning in her lungs, the room spinning around her. It was slow at first, but it became faster and faster, until she felt the world turn black. The next day, she couldn’t remember a thing, but Monica was sat at the edge of her bed, a teasing smile etched on her lips. Her eyes gleamed in happiness as if she was proud Monique was drinking. The hangover she suffered was worse than her sister’s expression, she had to ditch all of her classes that day.
And now she couldn’t experience that with Monica anymore. She ran away, Oliver told her, and Monique felt like she was never coming back—for good. An emptiness lingered on her chest. She was in her flat thinking, contemplating if she should find her siste
