Chapter 7. Open the Door!

Rae:

I don’t know how long I’ve sat like this.

Crouched in a corner.

Lost. Numb. On the verge of tears.

I grew up an angry child.

Not born that way—*made*.

Mother always had something to say. Still does.

Comparison. Insults. Questions laced with disappointment.

I’ve lost count of the nights I crept to her bedside, knife clenched in trembling hands, barely able to fight the urge to cut her tongue out.

Dad? No better.

He never saw me. Only Sasha.

Always silent. Never took a stand for me.

God knows how he always dodged the bait I laid out for him. And I always had the perfect imagination: he’s trapped, given up, and I appear. A spoon in hand. I scoop out his eyes. Tape them to my bedroom wall.

That way—he sees me. Forever.

Sasha. The golden child. Always trying so hard to be perfect. To laugh when it was required. Flirt when needed.

She knew what to wear, when, and how. Mother’s blessing. Father’s