Chapter 2

Since my monthly allowance had been cut to £100, after buying my school supplies, even if I only ate bread and pickles, I still couldn’t make ends meet.

With A-Levels coming up, I had very little time. I only had Sunday afternoons off, so I spent that time handing out flyers.

The boss, Mr. Cooper, knew about my situation and gave me a slight raise.

I worked one day a week, and I earned £100, paid on the spot.

One day, after a long day of distributing flyers, I came home, and the first thing my mum did was glare at me. “I’m missing £100 from my purse. Did you take it?”

I was confused, and before I could say anything, she stormed over and pulled my bag from me.

She rummaged through it and only found some loose change, but she wasn’t satisfied. She started searching my pockets.

Finally, she found £100 in my jeans.

Her eyes burned into me like a demon from hell.

“Who told you to steal from me?” she hissed through clenched teeth.

I was terrified. Every time she looked at me like that, I knew there would be punishment.

My legs started trembling, and my voice shook as I stammered, “I didn’t… I didn’t…”

“That’s the money I earned from my part-time job. I didn’t steal it.”

But she didn’t believe me. She slapped me and yelled, “You’ve been lying to me your whole life! Didn’t I raise you better than this?”

“Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think you can fool me with these lies? Today, I’ll teach you a lesson and show you who’s in charge!”

She pulled the charging cable from the plug, grabbed my hair, and dragged me to the floor.

Then, she whipped my leg with the cable.

It hurt so much.

But my heart was numb.

From primary school until now, her “military discipline” had gone from confusing me, breaking my heart, and making me rebel, to leaving me completely numb.

She had perfected her methods of “education.” The charging cable was her favourite because it hurt but didn’t leave lasting marks, unlike sticks or coat hangers.

She also knew how to pinch me in the most painful spots without leaving a bruise, tie elastic bands around my arm so tightly that my hand would go numb, and wrap a towel around a stick so it would hurt but leave no visible wounds.

It’s laughable, isn’t it? All of these were things my own mother tested on her daughter.

Her only daughter…

Right then, the pain in my stomach flared up again, twisting and turning like something was tearing it apart.

I started to wish that I could just die during one of these “lessons.”

At least then, the pain would stop.