24
Anna entered a dark bedroom, steps dragging toward the mattress propped up on cinder blocks, her every move echoing from the bare walls and tile floor. Slats of light filtered through the blinds covering the small window, casting yellow stripes on the toucan-covered comforter and solitary pillow flattened into a pancake. Never had anything looked so inviting. Pill bottles rattled from the paper bag onto the bed, and she swiped the doxycycline.
Take on an empty stomach. Probably didn’t apply when it’d been over twenty-four hours since she’d eaten. She should eat first and take the pills in a couple of hours. She spared a glance over her shoulder, the hallway to the kitchen stretching like a black void. Down my gullet you go. The rifampin followed.
Now to fix her bone crunching issu
