Dead and Gone: No, Not Really

I was not talented in dancing, so I had to do extra practice to get Mom's approval.

"You're not as good as your sister," was something she would say every time I fell.

In order to practice dancing, I lost my playtime and my freedom.

I wasn't even allowed to close the door to my bedroom.

All this was fine as long as Mom was happy.

…

I returned to my daily life of school and dance.

Every time I fell, I would get back up again.

Yvonne pointed at me and laughed. "I knew she was good at acting. Look, she's perfectly fine now."

Only I knew what happened in the dead of the night.

I would cry alone in my bed. I wanted to cut my wrist, but I told myself not to be so stupid and childish.

So, I did not use a knife. I used a compass.

I cut myself lightly multiple times.

It didn't hurt. Sometimes, the wound would bleed, and I would feel relaxed.

I knew that this wasn't right, but I couldn't control myself.

If only I could die. Death would set me free.

My twisted thoughts filled my head, tussling for attention.

I felt like a fish out of water, left on the beach to suffocate and die.

Eventually, I found another way to deal with the pain: Xavier Chapman.

He was Yvonne's boyfriend.

Yvonne was right. I was a cruel person.

I hated her, and I hated our parents.

Xavier was a schoolmate of mine. We almost got together back then, but Yvonne set her sights on him.

She went to Mom and Dad and made them order me to let her have him.

They became a couple not long after that.

Mom had held me at knifepoint so that I would give Xavier up, but in the end, my decision didn't really matter.

Xavier was the one who agreed to be Yvonne's boyfriend.

I was never anyone's only choice.

"Yvette, you should step down. Yvonne's life is sad enough as it is," he had said as he wrapped his arms around Yvonne. "I only see you as my sister."

So, during our school's anniversary celebration, I got drunk and threw myself at him, calling his name sweetly.

He slept with his "sister".

Xavier and I kept our relationship between ourselves.

We were only lovers in bed.

When he attended our family dinner, I only gave him a polite nod on the surface.

Under the table, though, I brushed my foot against his leg.

I could feel his arousal, but my dear sister was oblivious. She leaned against him, feeding him a piece of her steak.

What if she found out?

I had a cruel thought: I really wanted her to see us.

Suddenly, Mom put down her fork with a loud clunk. "Yvette Skye, why did you only get second place?"

She was looking at the results of my most recent dance competition.

"Mom, I was sick on that day," I said softly.

"That's enough. Stop finding excuses for yourself. You can't even do such a minor thing. How useless," Mom dismissed. "If Yvonne hadn't gotten injured, you wouldn't even stand a chance here."

My mind went blank.

She was doing it again.

Unable to help myself, I threw down my cutlery too. "If Yvonne's so good, then why did you give birth to me?"

And if they had already given birth to me, why did they keep comparing me to Yvonne?

Dad slapped me, the crack resounding loudly in the air. My cheek swelled up almost immediately.

"You insolent girl!" he snapped.

That was right. Dad loved Yvonne, so he wouldn't allow me to say anything bad about her.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I ran out of the house and wandered down the street aimlessly.

Cars sped past me, caught up in the bustle of the city.

I suddenly had a thought. Would Mom and Dad feel sad if I died?

Eyes unfocused, I walked toward the center of the road.