Chapter 3

The next morning, Dad was called away early by an urgent call from his office.

Before leaving, he slipped the ointment under my pillow and begged me to use it.

I stared at the tube for a long time.

In the end, I pulled it out and hid it in a metal tin under my bed.

That tin held every cream and ointment the doctors had ever prescribed.

And a tiny diary.

I opened the diary and scribbled a line with a pencil:

*Mom doesn't like the smell of the cream. To make her happy, I won't use it anymore.*

I thought that if I could just stay "clean," Mom would love me. She would hug me.

But I was wrong.

Without the medicine, my eczema flared up with a terrifying vengeance.

Huge patches of my skin turned raw and blistered. The yellow fluid seeped into my clothes, gluing the fabric to my wounds. Every movement tore at my skin, sending white-hot pain through my body.

I was terrified of Mom finding out.

I started wearing long sleeves and pants, wrapping myself up tight.

During meals, I sat as far away from her as possible.

When I walked, I hugged the walls, terrified of accidentally brushing against her.

But my behavior eventually made her suspicious.

That Tuesday afternoon, our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, came to clean.

Mrs. Gable was the only person who wasn't afraid of my skin.

When she used to cook for us, she would secretly make me soothing herbal teas to help with my skin.

But Mom eventually fired her from full-time work, claiming she "wasn't thorough enough." She only allowed her to come once a week for deep cleaning.

Mrs. Gable saw me bundled up in thick long sleeves, my face pale. She asked softly, "Lily, sweetie, are you feeling okay? Why are you wearing so many layers?"

I shook my head, too scared to speak.

Mom, who was vacuuming the rug, turned off the machine.

"How could she be sick? She's just acting out again."

She walked over, her sharp, critical eyes scanning me.

"Lily, roll up your sleeves."

"Mom, I'm... I'm cold."

"The heater is on. How are you cold?" Mom sneered. "I'm going to count to three. One, two..."

I began to tremble, tears brimming in my eyes.

Mrs. Gable couldn't bear to watch. She tried to intervene. "Clara, maybe she's just feeling a bit under the weather. Let me take her to her room to change."

"Mind your own business!"

Mom grabbed my arm and yanked my sleeve up violently.

The fabric dragged across my skin, exposing the horrific sight underneath.

My entire forearm was a bloody mess.

Swollen, raw, oozing yellow fluid, and crusted with thick, sickly scabs.

It looked like rotting meat.

"Ah!"

Mom let out a bloodcurdling shriek and threw my arm away.

She stumbled back, her face white.

Mrs. Gable gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh my god! Lily! What happened to your arm?!"

She reached out to check my wounds.

But Mom blocked her, looking absolutely hysterical.

"Don't touch her! She's covered in bacteria! It's contagious!"

She pointed at me, her face twisted in pure disgust.

"Lily! You disgusting monster! Why didn't you say anything?! Were you trying to turn my entire house into a petri dish?!"

I shrank into a ball, sobbing and shaking my head. "Mom, no... I didn't..."

"Don't lie to me!"

Mom stormed into the bathroom, grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol, unscrewed the cap, and poured it directly onto my raw arm.

"AAAHHH!"

A piercing scream tore from my throat.

The alcohol soaked into the open flesh. It felt like a thousand white-hot needles stabbing into my bones.

I thrashed on the floor, weeping and hyperventilating.

"Mom! It hurts! Please, it hurts so bad!"

"It's supposed to hurt! I'm sterilizing you! I won't let you spread your filth in my house!"

Terrified, Mrs. Gable lunged forward and wrestled the bottle out of Mom's hands.

"Clara! Are you insane?! Stop it! You're going to kill her!"

"Get off me!" Mom shoved Mrs. Gable away.

"This is my house! I am disciplining my daughter! You have no right to interfere!"

Mrs. Gable stumbled, nearly falling over.

She looked at my frantic, maniacal mother, and then at me, writhing in agony on the floor. Her eyes filled with tears.

"Clara, you can't keep doing this! Lily needs to go to the hospital! You are going to kill her!"

"Kill her?" Mom laughed, a cold, chilling sound.

"Look at her! She's a curse living like this! I am saving her! I am making her clean!"

She threw the alcohol bottle aside, ran back to the cleaning closet, and pulled out a heavy, stiff-bristled scrub brush.

"I am going to scrub this filth off your body once and for all!"

When I saw that brush, my heart stopped.

That was the brush she used to scrub the toilet tile grout. The bristles were as stiff as steel wire.

She wanted to use that on my open wounds.

"No! Mom! Please! No!"

I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, desperately trying to get away.

Mrs. Gable threw herself at Mom's legs, crying out, "Clara, please! I beg you! Stop! She's your own daughter!"

"So what?!" Mom shrieked, completely detached from reality.

"My life cannot have any stains! She is the biggest stain of all!"

She kicked Mrs. Gable away and advanced toward me, raising the brush.

I squeezed my eyes shut, completely hopeless.

Right then, the front door slammed open.

It was Dad.

He took in the scene, freezing in shock.

The next second, he roared like a wounded animal. He charged forward, ripped the brush out of Mom's hand, and threw it across the room.

"Clara! What the actual fuck are you doing?!"

His roar shook the walls.

Mom was stunned by his rage, standing frozen.

Ignoring her, Dad dropped to his knees, gently scooping me into his arms.

The moment he saw my bloody, raw arms, tears streamed down his face.

"Lily... my sweet Lily..."

He held me tight, sprinting out of the house like a madman.

"Mrs. Gable, call 911!"

That was the last thing I heard before everything went black.