A Taste of Poison

Summary

My eight-year-old stepbrother was a brat. One day, he thought it would be funny to pour weed killer into a bottle of Coke.

My stepdad came home from work thirsty and chugged half the bottle in one go.

My mom wanted to taste the last bit at the bottom. I couldn't help it—I slapped the bottle out of her hand and told her there was weed killer in it.

Hearing this, my stepdad kicked me hard, twice. Then he grabbed me by the neck and poured the remaining Coke down my throat, every last drop.