The Annoying Stepmom

My dad had broken the lock on my door long ago. All that was left was a hole where it used to be.

The thin door was covered with small cracks and stains that could not be cleaned. Each one was a sign of the violence he had caused.

He kicked the door open easily.

Without saying a word, he grabbed my arm, yanked me out of bed, and dragged me to the floor in one motion.

I was not prepared and felt dizzy from being pulled so suddenly.

My arm was twisted painfully, like it was about to pop out of its socket, and I could not stop myself from wincing.

Before I could even think, he slapped me hard across the face.

He was so much stronger than me that I could not fight back even if I wanted to.

I did not even have the chance to think about resisting before that thought was completely crushed.

He had a cigarette in his mouth, and smoke swirled around him. The glowing tip flickered, and he angrily shouted, “Just a few days without a beating, and you’re already acting out! Your stepmom bought you that phone to help with your studies, yet you spent the whole day playing on it!”

I tried to get up, but he slapped me again before I could.

“Did you finish your homework?! Did you get good grades on your exams?! Looks like all that studying was wasted on you! Your stepmom even cooked and called you to eat, but you didn’t come out! Do we need to feed you like a baby?!”

My face was on fire, and my ears were ringing. My ears, eyes, and scalp all throbbed with pain.

I did not dare look up. I stared blankly at his slippers and whispered nervously, “I didn’t…”

But I did not dare to explain myself.

My whole body was shaking.

“Didn’t what?! I’ve raised you all these years! Don’t I know exactly what kind of person you are?!”

His voice rumbled like thunder and shook the room.

He grabbed the dictionary from my desk and smashed it against my head.

I let out a scream, but I quickly swallowed it. Holding my head, I stayed quiet. I was too scared to make another sound.

Then came the third, fourth, and fifth slaps.

Each time I was knocked down, I would try to get up, only to be hit again.

Finally, blood started dripping from my nose, and he stopped.

My face no longer hurt. It just felt numb. Tears, snot, saliva, and blood mixed on my face, leaving a salty, bitter taste.

But he was not satisfied with just that. I knew he wanted me to say things like “I’m sorry” and “I won’t do it again,” just like before.

He would prefer if I cried and begged on my knees while saying those things.

This was how my dad and I had been since my mom left when I was in third grade.

But there was someone else in the house—Scarlett, the woman I hated more than anything.

I refused to cry or beg in front of her. I did not want her to see my pathetic side.

If she had not told on me to my dad…

If she had not given me that phone…

If she had not clung to my dad…

If none of this had happened, I would not be getting hit.

I hated her.

I hated her so much I wished she would just disappear.

That dark thought first appeared the moment my dad slapped me.