Theater: NovelMaster | Language: English
Synopsis
At my eight-year-old sister Mia's birthday party, she leaned close to my ear and sneered:
"One precious princess is enough for this house. A worthless loser like you isn't even fit to wipe my shoes."
I nodded right away, agreed with every word, and immediately went down to the garage to lie in an old wooden coffin to "reflect on my sins."
Dad was frantic with rage, scrambling to pry the heavy lid open and drag me out.
Mom slapped me hard across the face, screaming that I was deliberately trying to ruin Mia's special day.
I apologized timidly. That night, I knelt outside Mia's bedroom door and banged my forehead against the floor ninety-nine times.
"I was stupid. I made you angry, Mia. I'm repenting properly now."
My entire family looked at me like I was a raving lunatic.
Later, during a trip to the amusement park, Mia deliberately locked me inside the haunted house attraction.
I simply sat quietly in the dark corner, clutching a terrifying, battered prop doll and grinning blankly.
In the end, Mia panicked and had to drag a staff member over to unlock the emergency exit.
"Are you insane?! If you scare yourself to death, Mom and Dad are going to blame me!"
"Don't you even know how to scream for help?!"
She would never know. I used to scream. I used to fight back countless times. But every single time I did, they only locked me away in an even darker place.
This is my eighth life after rebirth. I finally learned how to be a "good girl."
I don't want to fight back anymore.
Inside the haunted house, it was pitch black. A staff member in a gruesome mask suddenly jumped out from the shadows, letting out a bloodcurdling screech.
Mia shrieked in terror and bolted, leaving me sitting quietly in the corner, cradling a chipped, peeling doll.
The doll was missing an eye, its empty socket staring blankly at the ceiling.
I tilted my head, mimicking its expression, and stretched my lips into a hollow, vacant smile.
The actor froze. His hand holding the prop chainsaw hovered in midair, completely at a loss as to whether he should chase me or call for medical help.
After what felt like forever, the heavy exit door was finally pushed open.
Mia stood in the doorway, still pale and trembling.
When she saw me sitting there holding that creepy doll, her face twisted in rage.
"Chloe! You psycho!"
She stormed over, snatched the doll from my arms, and slammed it furiously onto the concrete floor.
"Why didn't you scream? Why didn't you beg for help? Are you trying to die in here just so Mom and Dad will blame me?!"
I slowly pushed myself up from the floor and patted the dust off my jeans.
Stepping in front of Mia, I looked at her with utter calm.
"You told me to stay in here, Mia."
"You said I needed to be alone to reflect on my mistakes. So I stayed here and reflected."
Mia choked on her words, shaking with fury.
Her little clique of friends quickly gathered around, pointing and whispering at me.
"Mia, is your older sister actually messed up in the head?"
"Seriously. A normal person would've cried their eyes out locked in a dark room, but she was smiling!"
"That's so creepy. Just standing near her gives me the chills."
I ignored them. I just kept my eyes fixed on Mia, my gaze crystal clear and completely innocent.
"I'm done reflecting, Mia."
"What do I need to do now to make you happy?"
The chatter around us died instantly.
Everyone looked at me as if I were a monster, instinctively taking a step back.
Mia's face flushed bright red, then went sickly pale.
What she hated most was this absolute, terrifying submission.
It made her look like an unreasonable, vicious bully.
Just then, our parents rushed over.
Mom's forehead was tightly creased, and Dad's face was dark with annoyance.
"Chloe! What kind of scene are you making now?!"
Dad marched over and grabbed my wrist without hesitation, gripping it so hard I could hear my bones groan.
"Ruining Mia's birthday wasn't enough for you? Now you have to ruin her day out with friends too?!"
Mom pulled Mia into a protective hug, cooing softly:
"Don't be scared, sweetie. Mom's right here. Your sister doesn't have any manners, but your father will deal with her later!"
Mia immediately buried her face in Mom's chest, sobbing like a victim.
"Mom, I just wanted her to fit in and play with my friends... How was I supposed to know she'd suddenly go crazy and refuse to leave the haunted house..."
Watching the three of them hold each other like a picture-perfect family, a deep, hollow exhaustion washed over me.
I've been so obedient.
Why are you still not satisfied?
In my previous seven lives, I cried. I screamed. I fought back.
I told Mom and Dad when Mia pushed me into a freezing lake, but they locked me in the basement instead, saying, "Sisters joke around, you need to learn how to take a joke."
I reported Mia to the school counselor for rallying bullies against me, but Mom slapped me across the face in public, calling me "petty, bitter, and jealous of your own flesh and blood."
Every single time I resisted, all I earned was harsher punishment and deeper despair.
So in this eighth life, I learned my lesson.
I shaved off all my thorns. I turned myself into a soulless, fully compliant puppet.
So why do you still look at me with nothing but disgust?The moment we got home, Mom shoved me into my bedroom and ordered me to face the wall.
She glared at me, her voice trembling with frustration:
"Chloe, tell me the truth. When are you going to stop this?"
"Are you really not going to be happy until you completely tear this family apart?!"
I shook my head and answered earnestly, "No, Mom."
"Then why do you keep doing these bizarre things? Why are you always targeting Mia?!"
I held up my palm. A bright red welt from Mom's fingernails was burning like fire.
"I'm not targeting her," I whispered.
"I'm just doing what Mia tells me to do."
"When Mia is happy, you and Dad are happy, and the house is peaceful."
"Mom... did I do something wrong?"
Mom's expression froze. Her face shifted through a dozen conflicting emotions.
Finally, she stepped forward and pulled me into an embrace, her voice tight and coaxing:
"You're my daughter, Chloe. You don't need to suck up to anyone!"
Her hug was cold and unfamiliar.
It reminded me of my sixth life.
Mia had deliberately smashed Dad's prized antique porcelain vase and tearfully blamed me.
Mom had looked at me then like I was her worst enemy.
She grabbed a heavy wooden hanger and whipped me mercilessly, screaming that I was "a born curse upon this family."
Back then, I cried and begged, pleading my innocence, but every word only brought down a harder strike.
Until I was curled up on the floor, bleeding and unable to make a sound.
Now, all I want is to make everyone happy.
Yet Mom says I don't need to please anyone.
The next morning, Dad announced a decision at breakfast.
"I've contacted a family therapist. Starting tomorrow, someone is going to give Chloe proper behavioral therapy."
A flicker of smug delight danced in Mia's eyes, though she quickly put on a worried face.
"Dad... is Chloe really sick? Is it serious?"
Dad sighed, rubbing his temples in exhaustion.
"We just want her to get better."
When the therapist arrived, I showed an obedience she had clearly never seen before.
She was a gentle, middle-aged woman named Dr. Evans. She sat me down on a plush sofa and handed me a warm cup of tea.
"Chloe, honey... why do you feel like you have to obey everyone without question?"
I cradled the warm cup and murmured:
"Because bad girls get locked in the dark room."
Dr. Evans's pen paused.
She adjusted her tone, trying a softer approach. "Have you ever thought that blind obedience might hurt you? People who truly love you would never want you to live like this."
I tilted my head, my eyes wide with genuine confusion.
"Love me?"
"You mean like Dad? Who says he loves me, but starves me for three days just because I accidentally spilled juice on Mia's white dress?"
"Or like Mom? Who calls me her precious baby, but pours scalding hot soup over my hands just because I didn't hand Mia a napkin fast enough?"
"Or... like Mia?"
"Who calls me her sweet sister to my face, but shoves my head under bathwater, giggling while I choke and thrash?"
I looked at her, my expression disturbingly innocent.
"Dr. Evans, they don't love me. They're just teaching me the rules."
"They think I'm bad, so they punish me."
"I'm good now. Whatever they say, I do."
"If Mia tells me to drop dead, I'll go die right away."
"That will finally make them happy, won't it?"
Dr. Evans's hands began to tremble visibly.
The conversation had shattered whatever standard assumptions she walked in with.
She wrote down every single word I said, then stepped outside to talk to my parents.
"Mr. and Mrs. Davis, your daughter doesn't have an innate psychotic disorder."
"She has suffered severe cognitive distortion. She has learned to equate self-harm and total submission as her only means of survival and seeking affection."
Dad listened, lit a cigarette with shaking hands, and frowned deeply.
"Transfer her to Mia's high school," he muttered after a long silence. "Being around kids her own age might bring her back to reality."
Mom agreed immediately.
Only Mia, from an angle our parents couldn't see, shot me a venomous, triumphant smirk.
She probably thought a brand-new game was about to begin.The school transfer went through in no time.
Unsurprisingly, I became an instant celebrity on campus.
*The Davis family's elder daughter is crazy, with severe self-destructive tendencies.*
That was the narrative Mia and her friends established for me within twenty-four hours.
Girls clustered around Mia at lunch, loudly offering their sympathy.
"Mia, you're so unlucky to be stuck with a sister like that."
"I heard she locked herself in a haunted house at the theme park and smiled at a ghost doll! She almost gave the worker a heart attack!"
"Stay far away from her, Mia. What if she snaps and hurts you?"
Mia wore a look of saintly, helpless sorrow.
"Don't say that, guys. She just... she needs time to adjust."
The more she played the protective little angel, the more I looked like an unhinged psycho.
My half of the shared lab desk had rude slurs carved into the wood. Trash was shoved into my backpack. In the cafeteria, "accidental" bumps frequently sent my lunch tray crashing to the floor.
I took it all in total silence.
I cleaned out the trash. I wiped down the desk. I sat through afternoon classes on an empty stomach.
No anger. No tears. As calm and still as stagnant water.
My complete lack of reaction eventually bored the bullies.
Until Tuesday afternoon, during a biology lab.
The assignment was frog dissection.
A girl in Mia's group deliberately bumped against the display, knocking the glass container of live specimens off the counter.
Over a dozen large bullfrogs escaped, hopping frantically across the linoleum floor and triggering shrieks of disgust from the girls.
Mia immediately pointed a trembling finger at me, looking terrified.
"Miss Vance! It was Chloe! She glared at me so scary that I dropped it!"
Every pair of eyes locked onto me.
The biology teacher, Miss Vance, was a young woman fresh out of college. She frowned, clearly influenced by the vicious rumors about me.
Pushing up her glasses, she took the easiest path to restore order.
"Alright, settle down. Chloe, clean this up. Catch every single frog and put them back in the tank."
It was a blatant punishment.
Teenage girls hated touching slimy creatures. The teacher just wanted to humiliate me and get on with the lesson.
The entire class leaned back, grinning, waiting for me to cry or make a fool of myself.
I nodded obediently. "Okay, Miss Vance."
I walked up to the teacher's prep station, picked up a sharp, stainless-steel scalpel, and knelt down.
I didn't try to cup my hands around the slippery frogs.
Instead, with practiced, chilling precision, I brought the scalpel down through the skull of the nearest frog, pinning it firmly to the wooden floorboards.
A spray of dark blood and brain matter splattered across the floor.
The frog's legs twitched twice, then went completely limp.
I looked up, offering Miss Vance and my frozen classmates a bright, sweet, obedient smile.
"Is this better, Miss Vance? Now it won't hop away."
"I can pin them all down to the floor first, then collect them one by one. Would you like that?"
The classroom plunged into a terrifying, dead silence.
Everyone stared at me as if looking at a demon straight out of hell.
Miss Vance pointed a shaking finger at me, her voice cracking:
"You... you..."
In the end, I didn't get to pin the rest of the frogs down.
Class was dismissed immediately, and my parents were summoned to the principal's office.
When Dad arrived, his face was so dark it looked like thunder.
After listening to the teachers' exaggerated, horrified accounts of the incident, he didn't say a single word. He just dragged me out of the building by my arm.The moment the front door slammed shut, Dad unbuckled his heavy leather belt.
"Get on your knees!"
I dropped onto the cold tile floor without hesitation.
He raised the belt high and brought it down hard across my back.
*Crack!* Once, twice, three times...
A searing, white-hot agony tore through my flesh, but I didn't make a sound. I didn't even flinch.
Dad lashed out harder and harder, furious that pain wasn't dragging a single plea for mercy from my lips.
"You miserable disgrace! You've ruined my reputation!"
"I sent you to school to study, not to act like a savage psycho!"
"Apologize right now! Admit you were wrong, or I'll beat you to death!"
Mom and Mia stood in the hallway, watching.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Mom's eyes.
Mia's eyes, however, sparkled with raw, unadulterated excitement.
I don't know how long it lasted. Eventually, exhausted, Dad threw the belt aside, panting heavily as he pointed at me.
"Speak! Do you admit you were wrong?!"
I raised my head. Sweat and blood stung my eyes, blurring my vision.
I looked straight at him, my voice flat and completely calm:
"I was wrong, Dad."
"I shouldn't have used the scalpel. It made a mess on the floor and gave the janitor extra work."
"I should have just used my bare hands to catch them, so I wouldn't upset Mia."
I tried so hard to explain my logic, like a little child desperate for a gold star.
"Next time, I'll do better, Dad. I'll make you proud."
Dad staggered back half a step, staring down at me in absolute horror and bewilderment.
That night, I developed a dangerously high fever.
The deep cuts on my back became inflamed and infected. My skin burned like a hot iron, and my consciousness began to drift away.
Terrified that I might actually die on their floor, my parents frantically rushed me to the emergency room.
After examining my back, the ER doctor glared at them with open disgust.
"She's beaten half to death and septic! How on earth do you call yourselves parents?!"
Dad hung his head, stepping outside to chain-smoke one cigarette after another.
Mom stood beside my gurney, her face completely drained of color.
They sat beside my hospital bed all night, unable to sleep.
When I opened my eyes the next morning, Mom was gently wiping my forehead with a damp cloth. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot.
The moment she saw me stir, she grabbed my limp hand, her voice cracking:
"Chloe! You're awake! How do you feel, baby?"
I looked at her and said softly:
"I'm sorry, Mom. I caused trouble for you again."
"Next time, I'll clean the cuts myself. I won't make you pay for a hospital visit."
My words pierced her like an ice pick to the chest.
Her entire body shuddered, and she collapsed against the edge of the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.
"No... no, baby... it's not like that... Mom was wrong... it's all my fault..."
She wept so hard she could barely breathe, as if trying to wash away years of neglect with tears.
I watched her quietly. Inside, my heart remained flat, cold, and dead.
Right then, the door clicked open. Mia walked in holding a warm thermos.
Seeing the emotional scene, the smile on her face froze for a fraction of a second.
She quickly walked over, placed the container on the bedside table, and spoke in the sweetest, most concerned voice:
"Chloe, you're finally awake! I made chicken broth just for you. Drink it while it's warm."
She reached out, leaning in as if to help me sit up.
Instinctively, I shrank backward.
And right in front of Mom and Dad, I used every ounce of strength left in my lungs to let out a piercing, hysterical shriek.
"Don't touch me! I'm sorry, Mia! I was wrong! I shouldn't have scared your friends! I shouldn't have made a mess in the lab!"
"Please... please just pick a different punishment! Anything else, please!"
Chapters (4)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Watch & Promotions
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