Mom’s Punching Bag

Born with an intellectual disability and an inability to feel pain, the protagonist has spent sixteen years serving as her younger sister's physical proxy for punishment. Whenever her sister misbehaves, their mother brutally beats the eldest child to instill discipline. After a minor academic failure, a violent blow leaves the protagonist bleeding out on the floor while her mother ignores the injury to comfort her sister. As her consciousness fades, she realizes that for this family to function, she must survive to endure the next cycle of agony.

Chapters

Chapter 2

A few seconds passed without any response.

Mom waited a little longer, then continued, “Tomorrow is your birthday and your little sister’s. I’ve gone a bit too far today, but you know I didn’t mean it. I’ll leave the cake by the door, so come out and eat. Don’t be angry anymore.”

The room remained silent with no response whatsoever.

Seeing this, Mom sighed and bent down to place the cake box by the doorway. She then turned and went back into the kitchen.

Bella stood in the hallway, staring at the door for a long time.

I hovered beside her, wanting to tell her I was right here.

Alas, she couldn’t see me, nor could she hear me.

That night was a torture to me as I stared all night at my favorite strawberry cake by the door.

Early the next morning, the main door opened and in came my father.

He was carrying two gift boxes, smiling as he walked in, “Ray, Bella, Dad’s here to celebrate your birthday!”

Mom came out of the kitchen, and upon seeing him, her expression fell.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s my daughter and son’s birthday. How could I not come?”

Dad placed the gifts on the coffee table and looked around. “Where’s Ray?”

Pointing at my room, Mom said, “In there. Sulking.”

Dad frowned. “What happened now?”

Mom didn’t answer and turned back into the kitchen.

Dad’s gaze shifted and he spotted Bella’s report card on the coffee table next to him.

“Did you hit Ray again?”

Mom poked her head out of the kitchen bearing a mocking expression. “Do you think you have a right to ask me that?”

Dad’s voice was low, laced with anger as he repeated, “I’m asking if you hit him again.”

“So what if I did? I’m disciplining my own child. What does that have to do with you?”

Mom wasn’t about to back down either.

Dad slammed the cake box onto the coffee table. “Bella’s the one who made a mistake, so why is it always Ray who gets the beating?”

Mom stormed out of the kitchen with her hands on her hips and snapped at him, “Who are you to interfere? When we divorced, didn’t you say he was a burden and didn’t want him? And now you’re playing the loving father?”

“That was—”

“What was it? Do you think I don’t know what you’re up to?”

Mom sneered. “You’re afraid I’ll raise Bella well and she’ll take away your precious son’s inheritance, aren’t you?”

Dad’s face flushed red. “That’s nonsense!”

The two of them were at each other’s throats.

Bella cowered into the corner, clutching the gift box tightly, saying nothing with her head lowered.

I floated nearby and watched them argue.

I felt powerless as I wanted to intervene.

Arguments like this had never ended, from the day I was born through their divorce and all the way till now.

As I drifted aimlessly, my gaze suddenly fell upon the gap beneath my bedroom door.

A small dark red patch was slowly spreading out from under it.

Bella saw it too.

She froze. Her face was paler by the second, staring at the deep crimson puddle.

“Enough!”

Dad slammed his hand on the coffee table so hard it shook the cups, which nearly toppled over.

“I’m taking Ray with me today! You are not fit to be a mother!”

With that, he reached for my bedroom doorknob.

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