I Became My Family’s DisasterChapter 3

One day, it was just Sammy and me at home. I needed to use the bathroom, but the door to the utility room was stuck. It was locked from the outside.

Panicked, I pounded on the door. “Sammy! Let me out!”

No one answered. All I heard was the sound of crashing from the kitchen, followed by my brother’s sharp cry of pain.

The door was finally yanked open by my mother. Her hand came with it, a slap so powerful it sent my head spinning.

“You curse! I knew you’d cause trouble!” Her eyes were bloodshot, like a cornered animal. She collapsed to the floor, beating her thighs and wailing. “Why is my life so miserable? I raised a monster for a daughter! She’s ruined our lives!”

Just then, my father came home. He saw Sammy on the floor, his leg bent at an unnatural angle. He saw my mother’s hysterical rage, and it was like a sickness that infected him, too.

He grabbed me by the collar, dragged me up, and threw me onto my bed.

“Annie Reed! You disaster! Why don’t you just die!”

My voice was raw from crying as I tried to explain.

“Mom, Dad, it wasn’t my fault! Sammy locked me in! He fell because he was trying to steal the candy from the top shelf…”

They locked me in the room. No food, no water.

I could hear the world outside. My mother cooking in the kitchen, the sound of my father’s footsteps when he came home from work, Sammy crying out that his leg hurt.

No one mentioned me.

I curled up on the cold mattress, my cheek throbbing and swollen. A fever took hold, my body shivering with cold even as it burned from within. My consciousness began to fade.

I guess this is it, I thought. I’m really going to die this time.

It’s better this way. Death would be a release.

In my delirium, my eighteen years flashed before my eyes like a movie reel. I remembered my parents’ eyes, always filled with a strange mix of pity, helplessness, and sorrow. They looked at me like I was a fragile porcelain doll, one that could shatter at any moment.

They never talked about my future. Our whole life was a countdown.

When I was five, my brother stole a piece of meat from my plate. My mother caught him and beat him severely.

“Why does she get to eat it and I can’t?” he sobbed.

My mother didn’t answer. She just kept hitting him. Afterward, she hid in the kitchen and cried for a long time.

Later, Sammy whispered to me, “Annie, are you going to die?”

“Mom said you’re going to die. I don’t want you to die, Annie. You can have all my meat from now on.”

The memory of their faces, twisted with a love born from impending loss, merged with the cold, hate-filled faces of the present. My head throbbed.

Did they love me?

Yes, they did. But their love had an expiration date. It was built on a countdown. It was a love meant for goodbyes.

Eighteen years. The countdown ended, and so did the love.

If I had died on schedule, their love would have been preserved in memory, forever gentle. Mom would be lovingly stroking my hair, telling me I was the prettiest princess in my new dress. Dad would be lifting me high, promising to show me the world. Sammy would be secretly saving his yogurt for me.

Those memories felt so close, yet impossibly far.

I managed to force my eyes open. I was still in the dark utility room. No light, nothing.

I twitched my fingers, trying to feel for the letter under my pillow. A letter to my parents and brother. I’d written it a long time ago. A bitter smile touched my lips. I just hadn’t died when I was supposed to.

There was also a small pink piggy bank. It didn't have much, but it was enough to buy Sammy a small toy.

I fell asleep again. I hoped when they found me, they’d see these things and maybe they wouldn’t be so angry anymore.

This time, my sleep was deep and dreamless.

I could hear my own heartbeat. One beat, then another, then another.

Then, slowly, slowly… it stopped.

The utility room fell completely silent.

No one knew. No one came.

The little girl who was always waiting to die didn’t have to wait anymore.