GABRIELLA
The pills are in my apron pocket, and every time I move, I feel that small weight against my hip. It’s not physically heavy, but the potency of what I’m about to do makes it so.
Nicole folded them into a tissue and pressed it into my palm outside the studio after class today, calm as anything, like she was handing me a stick of gum.
‘Put it in his drink, not his food,’ she’d warned.
I nodded and shoved it in my jacket pocket and didn't look at it again until tonight when I slipped it into my apron pocket.
I turn back to the cutting board. The recipe on my phone says "finely diced," and what I've produced after ten minutes looks more like a battleground. My eyes are watering, and I tell myself it's only because of the onion, even though I know my hands are shaking for anoth
