The iron fist wrapped around Olivia’s fragile limb relived a good portion of her doubt. Jumping to conclusions was not her game, but she had been handled like a ragdoll before, and throughout her childhood. The senior sister was the stronger of the two. She was the faster of the two, the better of the two. Contemplating that fact, Olivia determined her sister to be sour milk—not spoiled milk but sour milk, specifically. It was an acquired taste. Olivia had sometimes served it with various brands of cereal to foreign guests at the restaurant where she used to work. She once ate a moderately sized bowl of it herself. No words could describe how disgusting it was. One of the guests, an elderly Scandinavian gentleman, explained that it was very much a cultural food. There was little to no chance of enjoying it if you did not grow up with it. Brooklyn was Olivia’s sour milk. As an outsider, Olivia hated her; as her sister, Olivia loved her.

“Hey! Take it easy,” the brunette grunted. Luckily, she had been able to secure her backpack before being man-handled away from the droning masses. However, her steps were nonetheless reluctant; no longer heavy or floundering but light and resistant. “Classified? Don’t give me that shit. Just take me to my sister or I’ll just go back to the cattle pen,” said Olivia with strong tones of sarcasm and contempt.

Transitioning into the tent away from the rain was much appreciated. There was no presence of warmth to be found, but the lack of icy drops falling from the sky was good enough. Olivia attempted to make sense of the mess that was her hair, slobbering all over her face, while the authority lady made herself busy by removing the respirator. The brunette’s eyes were fixed on herself, thus she did not notice who the woman was at first.

“Look, lady, I don’t know what this is about, nor do I care, but you better take me to my sister before she finds out about this, because she is going to kick your…-” 

Olivia was interrupted by a, to her, well known nickname. The instant she gazed upon the woman, it felt as if Bruce Lee himself had resurrected and punched Olivia in the chest; as if the Witchdoctor from Indiana Jones ripped her heart out; as if hitting a tree with her car at maximum speed; all the while falling from an airplane without a parachute. Olivia’s eyes welled up and she threw herself at her sister, embracing Brooke with all the strength that could be mustered. The brunette gasped, puffs of air emanating from her presence, unable to speak properly. However, the scent of sour milk crept ever so closer.

“They did come, but I was helping Amber when the chaos broke out. You remember Amber, right?—my coworker. Anyway, we got held up at her place, and then we were separated at the train station,” Olivia whimpered, trying to dry her eyes. She exhaled deeply. “I don’t know what happened… I tried to call mom and dad, but all services were down.”

Olivia’s brief moment of relief was drowned with despair once again when her sister retorted. The brunette withdrew her hand from Brooke’s embrace. Olivia’s gaze turned contemptuous once again; that disgusting taste of sour milk rapidly filling her mouth.

“What? You’re going to leave me here?” She exclaimed and violently stood up from her seating. “It never stops, does it?! Even when the world has gone to shit, you leave me behind while you go off to play with the big kids! How fucking dare you?! You’re not leaving me behind this time, Brooke, because if you do, you’ll never see me again. [i]That’s[/i] a promise.”