Drink From My Cup

I entered the house quietly. It was early, and everyone was still asleep. I liked to run early in the morning. It made me feel starved and thin and beautiful to sweat before eating. Also, running in the morning allowed me to not feel bad about eating breakfast. I liked to eat, but I liked being hot better.

My weakness was sugar. I loved gummy bears, but I could never eat them. The sugar was too much to overcome, and if I had a single bite I’d find myself finishing the bag. I missed gummy bears so much, I allowed myself one glass of orange juice as my daily sugar fix.

Most people think that orange juice is good for them. It’s not. Basically, orange juice is sugar water. It’s a quick injection that will spike your blood sugar and leave you feeling depressed and fat. Orange juice with pulp is slightly better, as the pulp contains some fiber and vitamins, but it’s still just sugar water.

I poured the orange juice into a clear plastic cup. I had to pee ever since I walked through the door, and it became unbearable. I tossed the empty orange juice carton into the trash, left my cup on the counter, and went to the bathroom.

When I returned to the kitchen, my cup was not on the counter. I checked the bathroom. It wasn’t there. When I returned to the kitchen, I heard shuffling up the stairs.

It was my brother, Adam. 

He whistled and pounded up the stairs. I heard his door slam shut.

Adam was a fat waste of space. He probably hadn’t even slept at all last night. Playing his stupid online games and snacking, snacking. Always snacking. He was gross. And worst of all, he always took my food.

I charged up the stairs and tried to open his door. It was locked.

He had installed a deadbolt in defiance of mom and dad, and they never made him take it off. That’s how it always was. He would defy their rules; they would yell at him, and he would continue doing whatever it was he got in trouble for. 

They couldn’t ground him. He loved being in his room. They would threaten to take away his games, but they did that once, and it didn’t turn out well. Actually, I think mom and dad were scared of him. So, he did whatever he wanted.

I didn’t care, though. I wasn’t scared of him. He was a fat slob. He didn’t even play any sports.

I knocked on the door with my fist.

“Did you drink my orange juice?” I said through the door.

“Shut up,” he said. He had to clear his throat halfway through. He probably hadn’t spoken in three days.

“This is the last time.”

He mumbled from behind the door.

“It’s all gone now,” I said. “That was the last of it.”

I paused. I heard the clicks of his game controller. He wasn’t paying attention.

“Did you hear me? That was the last of the orange juice.”

“What? Do you want it back?”

“Gross. Keep it. But don’t do it again.”

“Okay. Whatever.”

“I’m serious. Don’t do it again, or you’ll be sorry.”

I walked back downstairs.

I skipped breakfast and didn’t eat the rest of the day.

I was too busy thinking about how I was going to get back at him.

Actually, it was easy to get revenge.

A few days later--after my run--I poured half a cup of orange juice. It was pulp free. I grabbed the pickle jar out of the fridge and poured it in the cup. I squirted hot sauce into it. I dolloped a spot of mayonnaise into the cup.

Mayonnaise is so gross. It’s not that bad for you. Many people think it’s a dairy product, but it’s not. It’s mostly fat, and fats are good for you. I don’t eat it because it’s disgusting. I hate the sound it makes when someone stirs it. The consistency is off.

I stirred the cup, and it didn’t look like orange juice anymore. It was brownish and brackish. There was no way he wouldn’t notice it wasn’t orange juice.

Or would he?

He was such an idiot. He barely knew he was alive.

I wanted to see what would happen.

I put it down on the counter and took a shower.

When I came back into the kitchen, the cup was upside down in the sink. The brownish mixture was puddled in the drain.

Did he drink it? Did I get him?

I walked up the stairs to his room, and it was locked. I knocked.

“It’s open.”

This surprised me. His door was always locked, and he never let me in his room.

Was this a trap?

I turned the knob and opened the door.

Curtains covered the window, but they weren’t closed evenly--one side was pulled farther along than the other--so a shaft of light pierced through the general darkness of his room. His bed had no bedsheet, but piles of clothes and an old comforter were piled at the end. Crumpled napkins sat in cups that were piled on dishes at the foot of his bed. The computer on his desk hummed and pulsed reds and greens. I smelled urine.

He sat on a tall backed gamer chair--a ridiculous purchase--illuminated by the shaft of light. His shirt was too tight, and his belly hung out and over his mesh shorts. He held a game controller.

He smirked at me.

What a fatty.

“Did you drink my orange juice?” I said.

“Nope.”

He clicked away on the buttons of his game controller.

“You sure?” I said, knowing that he drank it.

“Are you going to work out today?”

He smiled.

What’s going on?

“I already went on a run. Look. Did you drink my orange juice or not?”

“If you haven’t worked out, I would suggest climbing a tree. Climbing is a good workout.”

He laughed and swirled around in his chair out of the shaft of light and almost disappeared. He was a faint, fat outline.

“What? Climb a tree? You’re an idiot.”

He pointed to his window.

I threw open the curtains. Outside the window, in the tree, was my exercise bike. It was stuck at an odd angle. I didn’t know how he got it up there. He could be strong when he had to be.

At that point, I knew he drank my disgusting concoction. Also, I knew that I wasn’t done getting my revenge.

I knew he would examine the orange juice more carefully, so I had to be slick.

The next morning, after my run, I poured a quarter cup of orange juice into my cup. I walked over to the laundry room and grabbed the bleach.

I poured the bleach into the cup. I stopped halfway and smelled. It didn’t smell too strongly of bleach, so I poured a couple more drops into the cup. It definitely smelled like bleach, so I put some sugar into it. I stirred the orange juice. It was a lighter orange than normal and smelled like a swimming pool, but I didn’t think he would notice.

I put one more shot of orange juice into it, set it down on the counter, and took a shower.

I walked back into the kitchen after my shower. My hair was wet. The cup still sat on the counter.

I heard the front door open.

My brother walked in except he was totally different.

He got a haircut. What was once long and greasy and unkempt was now shaven and shaped and combed over. It looked nice; I had to admit. He looked more mature--more like an adult.

He was also dressed in a suit. I had gotten so used to seeing him only in t-shirts and shorts that he looked like he was an actor in a play. He was out of place. He wasn’t familiar.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw me.

Was that guilt on his face? Did he look sheepish?

“What’s going on with you?” I said.

“Sarah,” he said. He swallowed before continuing. “I’m glad you’re here. I totally feel bad about putting your bike in the tree the other day. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I said. I looked at the cup of bleach orange juice on the counter.

“No, Sarah, it’s not. It’s not okay how I treat you,” he said. He moved next to me and leaned on the counter. He smelled like cheap mint. His face was shaved and pale. It had the color of a pig. He missed a small spot shaving--a dark spot on his pudgy jowl. The cup sat behind him.

He continued, “I feel really bad. You’re such an inspiration. You’re so motivated and you work so hard, and I don’t.” He paused and scratched his paunch. “I’ve been going through some stuff recently, and I just wanted to apologize for being such a jerk to you. I really am sorry.”

I stared at the cup on the counter.

“Seriously,” he said, “you’re such an inspiration. I’ve always looked up to you. I mean, you’re so popular at school. You’ve got a ton of friends. You play sports. You were even on Homecoming court. Do you remember when mom and dad were out of town last year and you had that big party?”

He shifted on the counter facing me. The cup stood between us. I tried not to look at it.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Remember how I just sat up in my room playing my game all night?”

“Yeah.”

Was he playing with me?

“Remember how you said I was such a loser? Well, you were right. I was being a loser. I’m afraid to socialize. I’m afraid because I don’t have any self confidence. I don’t like myself.”

He paused and collected himself.

Was this real emotion? He had to be playing with me. But why was he dressed up? Why did he get a haircut?

“Anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m going to be different from now on. You’ve inspired me to change. I want to be more like you.”

He looked down sheepishly and noticed the orange juice. Without even thinking about it, he grabbed the cup.

“I love you,” he said.

He gulped down the juice from the cup.