Chapter 5
One night, when I came back from my night shift, the kitchen counter had the usual leftovers, but also, remarkably, a watermelon.
A watermelon…
I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d tasted watermelon, and I couldn’t help stealing glances at it, but I knew it definitely wasn’t bought for me. So I just kept my head down, picking at the leftovers on my plate.
Somehow Darlene had entered the kitchen without me noticing. Without warning, she slapped me hard across the face, sending my plate crashing to the floor. As always, she immediately launched into accusations without giving me a chance to explain:
“You worthless brat! How did I end up with such a lazy, greedy, clueless piece of trash for a daughter!”
“I felt sorry for you and specially saved those leftovers, but that’s not good enough for you, is it? You had to eye the watermelon I bought for my husband and son, I ought to smack that mouth right off your face!”
She raised her meaty palm and began slapping my face repeatedly.
After just a few blows, my vision started to darken, but worse, my stomach began to cramp violently. A wave of nausea overwhelmed me, and ignoring my mother’s stream of insults, I broke free and rushed to the bathroom where I started vomiting.
Hearing my repeated retching, Darlene began raging outside the door.
“You shameless little slut! Have you been sleeping around with men?”
“You’re nothing but bad luck! Young and already so promiscuous–ugly and filthy too! Who’s ever going to want you? If you can’t get married, how am I supposed to get money from your future husband?”
Still screaming, she burst into the bathroom, grabbed me by the hair, and began violently hitting my face and the back of my head.
I couldn’t tell which part hurt worse. A cold sweat broke out on my body as dizziness and ringing in my ears overwhelmed me. In my dazed state, she forcefully dragged me back to my room and threw me onto the floor. She searched my body until she found my phone and took it, then spat venomously as she left:
“You’re staying right here for the foreseeable future. You can come out when that bastard child in your belly starves to death!”
Sure enough, nobody came to check on me the next day, or the day after that. Looking at the new steel door that I had no hope of breaking through, I realized she was absolutely serious this time.
Suddenly another wave of intense stomach pain hit me. I curled up on the bed as my consciousness began to fade.
Am I going to die?
But I don’t want to die.
Why should I be the one to die?
A powerful surge of hatred gave me the strength to crawl to my feet, though my calves trembled uncontrollably. If I didn’t get help soon, I would die right here in this room.
With what little strength I had left, I rummaged through my belongings until I found a plain white t–shirt. Using scissors, I pricked my finger and wrote “SOS” on the shirt in blood.
The apartment complex was densely populated–if anyone saw it, I could be saved.
I dragged myself to the window with the bloodstained shirt, desperately waving it to attract attention, until waves of darkness overwhelmed me and I collapsed unconscious on the floor.
I don’t know how long I was out before I heard the sound of an electric saw cutting through the door.
My vision was completely black–I couldn’t make out who had come, only that someone was speaking close to my ear:
“Don’t fear. We’re taking you to the hospital!”
