Chapter 4

The moment the front door slammed shut, Dad unbuckled his heavy leather belt.

"Get on your knees!"

I dropped onto the cold tile floor without hesitation.

He raised the belt high and brought it down hard across my back.

*Crack!* Once, twice, three times...

A searing, white-hot agony tore through my flesh, but I didn't make a sound. I didn't even flinch.

Dad lashed out harder and harder, furious that pain wasn't dragging a single plea for mercy from my lips.

"You miserable disgrace! You've ruined my reputation!"

"I sent you to school to study, not to act like a savage psycho!"

"Apologize right now! Admit you were wrong, or I'll beat you to death!"

Mom and Mia stood in the hallway, watching.

A flicker of hesitation crossed Mom's eyes.

Mia's eyes, however, sparkled with raw, unadulterated excitement.

I don't know how long it lasted. Eventually, exhausted, Dad threw the belt aside, panting heavily as he pointed at me.

"Speak! Do you admit you were wrong?!"

I raised my head. Sweat and blood stung my eyes, blurring my vision.

I looked straight at him, my voice flat and completely calm:

"I was wrong, Dad."

"I shouldn't have used the scalpel. It made a mess on the floor and gave the janitor extra work."

"I should have just used my bare hands to catch them, so I wouldn't upset Mia."

I tried so hard to explain my logic, like a little child desperate for a gold star.

"Next time, I'll do better, Dad. I'll make you proud."

Dad staggered back half a step, staring down at me in absolute horror and bewilderment.

That night, I developed a dangerously high fever.

The deep cuts on my back became inflamed and infected. My skin burned like a hot iron, and my consciousness began to drift away.

Terrified that I might actually die on their floor, my parents frantically rushed me to the emergency room.

After examining my back, the ER doctor glared at them with open disgust.

"She's beaten half to death and septic! How on earth do you call yourselves parents?!"

Dad hung his head, stepping outside to chain-smoke one cigarette after another.

Mom stood beside my gurney, her face completely drained of color.

They sat beside my hospital bed all night, unable to sleep.

When I opened my eyes the next morning, Mom was gently wiping my forehead with a damp cloth. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot.

The moment she saw me stir, she grabbed my limp hand, her voice cracking:

"Chloe! You're awake! How do you feel, baby?"

I looked at her and said softly:

"I'm sorry, Mom. I caused trouble for you again."

"Next time, I'll clean the cuts myself. I won't make you pay for a hospital visit."

My words pierced her like an ice pick to the chest.

Her entire body shuddered, and she collapsed against the edge of the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

"No... no, baby... it's not like that... Mom was wrong... it's all my fault..."

She wept so hard she could barely breathe, as if trying to wash away years of neglect with tears.

I watched her quietly. Inside, my heart remained flat, cold, and dead.

Right then, the door clicked open. Mia walked in holding a warm thermos.

Seeing the emotional scene, the smile on her face froze for a fraction of a second.

She quickly walked over, placed the container on the bedside table, and spoke in the sweetest, most concerned voice:

"Chloe, you're finally awake! I made chicken broth just for you. Drink it while it's warm."

She reached out, leaning in as if to help me sit up.

Instinctively, I shrank backward.

And right in front of Mom and Dad, I used every ounce of strength left in my lungs to let out a piercing, hysterical shriek.

"Don't touch me! I'm sorry, Mia! I was wrong! I shouldn't have scared your friends! I shouldn't have made a mess in the lab!"

"Please... please just pick a different punishment! Anything else, please!"