After I Stopped Being A Troublemaker, My Family Regretted It

In my parents’ eyes, I was a troublemaker. I recorded a video of the school beauty bullying me.

Before I gave the evidence, she cut her arm and cried, saying it was me. They thought I was making trouble again.

My mother held me down and my father tied me with belts and sent me to a closed-door rehab school.

I had evidence, but it couldn’t beat her tears and a single wound. In 1,825 days, I went from a troublemaker to a monster.

When I was released, they picked me up. No hug, just a cold warning: “Your sister is weak. Don’t scare her.”

I realized Beatrice had become my adopted sister. She wore my sixteenth birthday dress and lived in my old room.

She pinched my arm and smiled. “Elena, why did you come out now? I missed you.”

Yes, I had waited long too; to take back what you owe me, with interest.

——

I looked at Beatrice’s hand on my arm and the faint scar she gave herself five years ago.

For five years, I woke from nightmares, thinking of that scar and how she used it to ruin my life.

Beatrice whispered in my ear, “Was life in the correctional school fun? I heard the food was rotten and full of rat droppings.”

I wasn’t angry. I tilted my head and smiled, an eerie smile I’d practiced thousands of times in the mirror over five years.

Beatrice flinched at my smile, her hand loosening, fear flickering in her eyes. “You… What are you laughing at?”

My mother rushed over, held Beatrice and frowned at me. “Elena! You just got back. What’s with that look! Beatrice isn’t well. Don’t scare her!”

I understood why they adopted her, a “victim” with good grades and a poor family. To outsiders, it was mercy. To themselves, it was self-admiration. She was their proof to the world that they were good and I was wrong.

Beatrice hid behind my mother, her voice trembling. “Mom, don’t blame Elena... She’s just in a bad mood. It’s my fault. I’m fine.”

The more she spoke, the angrier my mother looked. My father frowned, his tone cold. “Five years later, you’re still the same. We feed and clothe you, not for you to cause trouble! Look how sensible Beatrice is!”

To him, I was always the troublemaker. They lived happily and I was just an intruder. It was foolish to still have hopes for this family. I walked toward Beatrice and she stepped back.

“Don’t be afraid. I just wanted to see if your wound healed.” I said, grabbing her wrist and touching the scar she made.

Fear flashed in Beatrice’s eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll show you what real pain feels like!”

I twisted my arm.