The Victim

Chapter One: The house

Hello world

Allow me to introduce myself briefly. I know little about myself, only that my father was likely a sailor. My real mother was likely a whor… well, I can’t say it. The w-word, you know. At least that’s what my fake-brother told me about her. I’m not so sure though. But when I asked at the table during dinner what it meant, I was severely punished and sent to my room. “Don’t you bring that hate into this table!” yelled mother.

I guess I should be thankful to them for taking me in. But a few days ago I found out why they did it and realized how blind I’ve been. You see, I was abandoned as an infant outside their mansion, about sixteen years ago. The maids found me crying in a crib at their gate during a storm. What kind of sick person does that to their child? At least those degenerates would probably be better than mother…

Anyway, there I was, a defenseless little girl with big eyes and no future. And despite not being white, the lord convinced his wife to adopt me. She thought I was trash, but he promised to treat me like his natural children. Except, of course, I was never like them and never will be. I always came in second after them. Don’t get me wrong, I get it, but it’s frustrating. Despite being in this enormous palace, they never gave me anything of my own. Always second-hand clothes, second-hand toys… I am their second-hand daughter, still here only because of father’s mercy.

Mother always defends her awful children. Although father tries to protect me, he’s away most of the time. Even when he’s home he’s too coward to stand up to her. They have four kids of their own: the eldest who will inherit father’s business (thus ‘the heir,’) two male twins and a girl. I can hardly believe those two were able to create her. She’s only eight or so, but she’s smart, cheerful and above all, kind. The boys, however … are the opposite, at least the heir. They go out of their way to have mother punish me for their… let’s call it “mischief.”

So what have I discovered? That I’m their token child, you know, to look good. Without me they would just be an oppressive, rich, white gang. With me, they are an inclusive, well-off, diverse family unit. It’s disgusting to be used this way, but I have decided I will play along. In turn they will pay for my education somewhere far from them. That’s our unspoken agreement, as I understand it.

I’ve read books since I was eight, when mother bought me one for my birthday thinking I’d hate it. The other children at my school and my fake-brothers spend all their time playing games and watching TV. Not me. I realized long ago my life will be no cake-walk, so I knew I had to read. I had to make something of myself. Also recently I found out our school is one big charade. Everyone talks about how great it is, a private school for the elite where everyone comes out with incredible grades.

That’s kind of funny, don’t you think? That everyone is so great? If everyone has excellent grades using the school’s tests, it doesn’t really mean anything. If they did have those grades with external tests… well, that would mean something. But no, here everyone cheats and teachers look the other way not to make the school look bad.

The other kids are just… well, kids to be fair, interested in chasing balls like dogs, or gossipping about each other. Well, I say f-word them! I don’t have a childhood to waste, I won’t be given everything for free. So I started reading and discovered that books are full of shi… sorry s-word. Except for one or two, which are worth it. Wait, no, even then! So much fluff to say things. So much dancing around with words. I won’t be like that, I promise, I will be…

“What are you doing?” Not this again. “Hey, I’m talking to you, what are you, autistic?” The heir is speaking to me. He’s the most pretentious little brat any trophy wife has ever spawned. Luckily I can enjoy his company any time I want. “Oh my god, your so funny,” starts one of his brothers. Yes, I wrote it “your” because that’s how they say it. “Please can you leave, I’m trying to…” I ask, but no, he throws the book I was pretending to read on the floor.

“Wow reading is for losers!” says the heir, and his brother-lackeys laugh and cheer. I just sit in my room in silence. “What, you wanna say something?” he threatens. I realize I have been staring at him wishing he would die, and try to compose myself and smile. “Weirdo!” he screams and the others chuckle. They leave. I let go a sigh of relief.

I see them run across the hall into the yard outside, where they chase a ball. It seems they have not chased it enough during school. I close my room’s door and sit on my bed. There’s finally silence and I can think. Why are they like this to me? What are they, afraid? Well… they should be.