Chapter 1

Ever since I was born, it had always been the sequence of events; getting punished daily for the petty mistakes I made. 

Margaret said I’m non-complaint and to make sure I stayed out of trouble she had to discipline me. 

Juliet and I were never alike. She preferred to stay in the shadows of Margaret—since she claimed that I had no privilege to refer to her as a mom—while I do things my own way. So far, that had gotten me into more troubles than I can count. 

I paused my movement on the broom, the tiled floor looking anew. I could hear footsteps approaching. I steadied myself getting ready for Margaret’s wraths and if I were unlucky, a few strokes of cane.

Before I could make a run for the door, Margaret stomped in with two whips in hand and Juliet trailing behind her clenching the hem of her dress with a barbarous glare. 

Margaret looked around, heaved a sigh and uttered with potency. “How many times have I told you not to defy my orders? I sheltered you, took care of you when you were young. Wiped away your tears when nobody else would. And what do I get in return—” 

She looked at me with an expectant stare, and I knew I had to answer. She had reiterated the same phrase again and again whenever something wasn’t done her way.  

She was unforbearing by my lack of response. I couldn’t admit to a felony I never committed. Still, my tender body was a reminder of the previous beatings and the upcoming ones. 

“Dis—” I started only to be interrupted by Juliet. She linked Margaret’s arms in hers, and like the pampered child she was—said in a soft voice. “Cheryl always makes you angry mother. I don’t see why you don’t punish her the way she deserved.” 

I had always wished for a little sister who I could play and have the time of the world with. Sadly, Juliet couldn’t be that. 

Margaret didn’t scold her for intruding, instead she hugged her and prod her shoulders with such affections that I envied. “Go upstairs Sweetie, I will deal with this. Don’t worry your pretty head about it, she will get the punishment she deserve. Trust me.” 

Juliet nodded her head, and tromped upstairs. Before she was gone, she sent a wink and a smirk my way.

“Rat,” she growled at me. My gut churned in fear, I clutched at the broom for dear life. 

Margaret yanked my arms so harshly I was sure a bruise had began to form. The broom fell with a thud. 

“I have told you to cook lunch, haven’t I?”

Normally, I would answer with a ‘yes’ but today I couldn’t because I didn’t remember a time when Margaret had instructed me to cook her precious daughter and her lunch. 

“I don’t think you did.” I voiced out. It was a wrong move because Margaret reached out to the whip she had behind her, and trounced it on my lower back. 

I couldn’t help but moaned in pain. Years of getting beaten by her couldn’t have made me immune to it. 

“Juliet, honey.” She called out softly. Juliet appeared a instantly lik she had been lurking waiting to be summoned.

She stood with her hands clasped before her. And a smile adorned her make up caked face.

“Yes mother.” 

“Cheryl here has disobeyed me. She claimed I haven’t given her orders to prepare lunch.” Margaret wiggled the whip in space, and clutched her heart in despair. 

I knew I was in trouble when Juliet said rapidly. “I have informed you about it, haven’t I Cheryl?” 

I knew she was lying, but I couldn’t bring myself to deny the false accusations. Juliet could get Margaret to do worst things to me beyond whipping and starving. 

The look in her eyes were enough to get me to start talking; I uttered with a heavy heart. “Yes, you did. I think I have forgotten.” 

Juliet was satisfied with my answer. The truth was, I wasn’t given the order to make lunch of any sort. Margaret might’ve informed Juliet to pass the message across, but Juliet was hell bend on making life difficult for me. 

“Go to your room,” Margaret ordered. Juliet walked away gracefully no doubt victorious.

I could sense the aura of contempt whenever I was in the wrong or tormented. Juliet enjoyed it as much as Margaret did.

I felt the pain before I could hear the sound of the whip. My body felt like it was on fire, unbearable pain shoot through me. I fought the urge to start crying, I have known Margaret ever since I was little, one thing she hated was tears. The more I cried the more I got beaten, and so I kept it all in. 

“You naughty child.” 

I couldn’t miss the hatred in her eyes, the same look she gave me as a child. Juliet was the golden child as far as I could remember. When we were young, I watched as she was treated to all kinds of lavish toys and treats she desired. At first—in my childish sense—I thought she was simply enjoying the package that came along with being the youngest child. But as we grew older, I began to see beyond those perspectives. The truth was, she was more lovable to my parents than I was.

Thinking helped me escape reality, it lessened the despair as well. I closed my eyes tightly, tears were threatening to escape and I let them. Each drop representing how weak and vulnerable I felt sprawled on the floor. 

And yet as I sat enduring every lash and averting Margaret’s gazes I couldn’t get myself to hate Juliet or her. 

Somehow I wished I could live a normal life; where Margaret was a loving mom and Juliet was my endearing little sister.

But wishes don’t come true, do they?