Chapter 2

The pendant was a bit too big, and it got caught in my throat, making me so uncomfortable.

I swallowed hard and drank many glasses of cold water.

After a lot of effort, it finally *gurgled* down.

My stomach felt heavy, a little cold, and it hurt a bit.

Mom used to tell me stories about swallowing gold to commit suicide, afraid I’d eat random things.

I was a little scared, but also a little relieved.

If I died, would the pain go away? Would my heart stop hurting so much?

When Mom pushed the door open, she didn’t notice the empty glass in my hand.

“Willow, stop just staring into space all day. Go make Holly’s bed.”

I followed her out, every step making my stomach ache.

Holly’s bed was piled high with dolls. I reached out to tidy them, but my fingertips trembled uncontrollably.

Mom pushed me away forcefully,

“Clumsy! You can’t even do *this* right!”

I bumped into the wardrobe, and a metallic taste welled up in my throat.

Dad heard the commotion, sighed, and tried to reason,

“Willow looks unwell. Let her rest for a bit.”

Mom immediately glared at him,

“She’s just faking it to get sympathy. Holly is the one who needs looking after.”

I noticed Holly’s hairpin on the floor, the one Mom bought her just yesterday.

I reached down to pick it up, but suddenly felt nauseous.

Mom saw me vomit all over the floor and grabbed my hair.

“Are you doing this on purpose? Trying to make a disgusting mess for us?”

“You’re just jealous that I’m good to your sister, you demon.”

I looked up, trying to force a smile, but as my lips curved up, tears streamed down instead.

“Mom, my stomach hurts so much…”

She let go, her eyes as cold as ice.

“If you’re in pain, go back to your room. Don’t cause trouble here.”

Dad opened his mouth, but ended up just holding Holly to lighten the mood.

“Brenda, let’s take Holly for a walk.”

Before leaving, Mom told Dad,

“Have Mr. Miller next door keep an eye on Willow.”

A warm feeling flowed through me. Maybe Mom still cared about me.

But the next second, Mom looked at me impatiently,

“Don’t let her cause any more trouble. Haven’t we suffered enough because of her?”

She wasn't worried about me getting hurt alone at home; she was afraid I’d cause trouble.

But I didn’t like that man. He made me hurt so much.

Dad exchanged a few words with Mr. Miller, and he walked over, smiling.

“Willow, come over to my place and watch cartoons.”

Mom said coldly from the side,

“You be good and don’t cause us any trouble!”

“Listen to Mr. Miller, and don’t be so gloomy all the time. It’s just bad vibes to be around you!”

I didn’t dare resist anymore. Mom and Dad would get upset.

Mr. Miller didn’t turn on the TV. Instead, he carried me to the basement.

I smelled a nauseating, thick odor.

There were no cartoons or candy, only an old mat and a whip.

He put a hand on my hair.

“I’ll teach you another game, okay?”

“Your mom left you with me, so you have to listen to me.”

I didn’t move. If I moved, Mom would get angry.

If Mom got angry, she wouldn’t want me anymore.

The gold pendant in my stomach suddenly felt so heavy, the pain made me flinch.

He noticed I was trembling and spat,

“You little bitch, you weren't already *used up* this afternoon, were you?”

My legs felt weak, and he half-supported, half-dragged me back home.

Mr. Miller put me on my bed, roughly pulling the blanket over me, covering my head completely.

His voice was particularly harsh,

“When your parents come back, tell them you were just sleepy and fell asleep on your own, got it?”

“Don’t you dare tell them what I did to you. Even if you did, no one would believe you!”

Actually, he didn’t need to tell me. I wouldn’t tell Mom and Dad.

Before, when the boy next door bullied me, Mom said I was being immature, and too young to be learning bad things.

I bit my lip hard under the blanket, trying not to cry out loud.

The blanket was thick, and I felt a bit breathless, but my body kept getting colder.

I heard Mom and Dad bringing Holly back from outside.

Holly was giggling,

“Mom, I want a story!”

Mom’s voice was so gentle, a tone I hadn't heard in a long, long time.

“Of course, Mom will tell a story to her little princess.”

Their laughter sounded so beautiful, like Holly’s favorite musical box.

But Mom never let me touch that musical box.

I heard Mr. Miller in the living room, speaking in a hushed voice,

“Willow was tired from playing. She looked so sleepy, so I sent her back to her room to sleep.”

Mom seemed to say,

“Good, she’s asleep. Saves me from getting annoyed looking at her.”

Dad seemed to say something, and then Mom’s voice rose,

“She’s just bad luck. If it had been her who died, our Holly wouldn’t be like this…”

I couldn’t hear the rest.

I was covered by the blanket, in pitch darkness.

My stomach hurt so much, even more than when Mom hit me.

There was also a metallic taste in my throat.

Mom and Dad, I feel so unwell. Gold tastes terrible.

If I fall asleep, will you come and look at me just once?