I recognise the smell of her sickness. It fills the hallways I still see in my nightmares, the dark red carpet for longer than you can imagine. Pastel walls almost breathing with identical paintings.
She waits behind a door for me, she sits there with a plan, knowing exactly what to say, to bury the claws deeper into my spine.
And she was my sister, she was meant to protect me, just like in that photograph. That's what she told me, those are the lies she hid behind.
Long coating of pure white on all thats still alive inside these walls, this sickness doesn't stick to them like it did to me.
But then again I was just a child when it began.
I guess it goes right back to that thick brown carpet, that small television, that empty drinks cabinet, that fear of being alone.
Her crying and me holding her up, really believing that I helped.
Visiting again and again until I became just a shadow.