Elliott knew I was allergic to alcohol.
Whenever I attended a gathering, he would go out of his way to ensure juice was prepared for me. Four years of this, without exception. Yet now, he was the one asking me to drink.
Elliott lounged back on the sofa, his gaze detached as he spoke, “If you want the money, drink it all. That’s my only condition.”
For the first time, I found him unrecognizable. But I had no choice—I needed the money.
“Alright,” I said, forcing the word out.
Bottle after bottle, I downed the drinks. I lost track of how many I consumed or even what they were. At some point, I was drinking and vomiting simultaneously, my face drenched in a mix of tears and alcohol.
Everyone watched with a kind of twisted excitement, like spectators at a circus.
At last, the final bottle was empty. Dizzy and trembling, I looked at Elliott, who sat there calmly, utterly unaffected.
“Now can you lend me the money?” I asked.
He glanced at me with disdain. “What makes you different from those women who throw themselves at me? You’re just as cheap.”
With that, he motioned for the security guards to throw me out.
I collapsed on the pavement outside the bar, unable to move. My vision blurred, the night sky above seemed vast and indifferent.
Elliott, has four years meant so little that you can’t even trust me?
That night, I nearly suffocated from an allergic reaction to the alcohol. Fortunately, someone kind-hearted rushed me to the hospital in time.
The next morning, I woke up on a hospital bed to find Conner Wright sitting nearby. He was my mother’s attending physician.
When he saw I was awake, his expression darkened. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for someone with an alcohol allergy to drink? Are you trying to gamble with your life? What happens if you’re gone? Who’ll take care of your mother?”
His scolding left me speechless, and I lowered my head in shame.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Wright. I’ll be more careful next time,” I murmured.
He stood up, lightly patting my head. “You’ll get through this,” he said gently.
I nodded, and he finally left, reassured.
Just as I was trying to figure out my next steps, my phone buzzed with a message. It was from Tiffany.
