On the Altar

Chapter 3

POV- Mystique, age 20

"You do know that a peanut butter and jelly sandwich has jelly in it?" I ask her with an amused grin.

"It says so in the name, so, yeah, I'm aware." she replies nonchalantly.

She flips on her stomach and pulls out her phone. "Now, go and make me a sandwich, please?"

I go into the kitchen and start making her sandwich. Why my weird and seemingly unnecessary skepticism you ask?

Let me take you into the past....

When I was 12 and Christy was 8, her mum once had to go to her sister's place because the poor lady had fractured her arm. She would be gone for a week. Christy and her brother, Chris, who is my age, were left under the supervision of their Mr. Mason, AKA their dad, my parents and grandparents. One fine day in the week,  when Kate had gone for a play date at her friend's house down the street, mum was called urgently in to work, even though she had taken the day off because my dad was sick. She told me to stay at Christy's and check in with dad every once in a while.

My grandparents had gone to Florida the previous day because one of their oldest friends had passed away.  Mr. Mason was, and still is, the coach of the football team at the local high school. They had a big game that weekend, and he had to go and supervise the practice. So, he made Jen, who was then 17, our babysitter, and left.

Jen had just attended a study session (party)  and was tired. She immediately passed out on the couch as soon as Mr. Mason left. I was left to babysit Christy because her stupid brother sat there on the recliner, ignoring the world, watching TV. 

Laughing on the face of responsibility, as always.

So, I took Christy and went over to check on dad. She told me, when we reached at my place, that she was hungry. I wasn't allowed to use the electric appliances, excluding the refrigerator, without adult supervision, due to Helicopter Mum. So, I told Christy to eat what she could find in the fridge or the cabinets, after making sure it was not spoilt. She was old enough to do that, I myself had taught her how to.

I went into my parents room, and dad was wide awake. He was parched, he said, so I went to the kitchen to make for him a glass of lemonade. And, there I found Christy, sitting on the dining table, eating a jar of jelly. "Don't eat it all at once or you will get sick." I told her in my authoritative voice.  She closed the jar and placed it where it belonged.

I took the lemonade to my father and told him I was at Christy's house. "Be back for dinner!" he replied, and the both of us left so that Jen won't become frantic after she woke up.

Jen finally woke up at 7, Mr. Mason arrived at 7:30, my mum came back at 8. 

My grandparents were greeted the next morning with the clear sound of Christy throwing up her guts.

Consequences of not following my instructions- she ate half a jar of expired jelly.

The doctor was surprised she hadn't had it coming out of both ends, that's how bad the situation was. Christy was hugging the toilet bowl all day.

 And ever since then, even the mention of the word, 'jelly' made her stomach flip in the medically bad way.

And now, after all these years, she's finally growing up and eating something she hates? Voluntarily? 

That should've been the first sign.

Because, hello? We don't grow up. We hold childish grudges which help us from never repeating our old mistakes. That's the base of my, Jen and Christy's friendship.

I ignored it, and repented it.

Not very badly, no.

But I did repent it.

The signs were all there.