The Girl Who Wasn’t Good

Chapter One

She wasn't a good girl. No, she was far from it. You could call her troubled, but she was worse than any troubled girl you'd ever met because she never tried to fix herself.

Call her disrespectful just like every foster parent would, but she never cared. A simple dangerous glare was enough to keep your mouth shut.

Her anger knew no bounds as she threw her favorite mug on the tiled floor and it shattered into large pieces.

"Three more. Just three more troubles and I would leave this God forsaken house for this witch called a foster parent."

She fought back the tears that gathered in her eyes and swallowed the anger that made her fists clench.

Margaret had just disgraced her in front of the visitors who came. And making it worse, one of those foolish visitors dared to insult her.

Disgrace. That was something she couldn't endure. No matter how hard she clenched her fists and gritted her teeth, she always ended up doing something stupid.

She had just angrily walked out of the room.

"Take a deep breath. Grab a mirror." She calmed herself down even though the aftershocks of her anger still waved through her.

She sat on the bed and picked up her mirror, staring at her own reflection before placing it back on the drawer.

Adjusting the pillow, her head barely touched when she heard the voice.

"Ahem. I'm escorting the visitors. Make sure you cook the food we'll eat tonight. Also don't forget to burn the beans so I don't kill you when I'm back. The dishes the visitors used should also be washed and also the yard. And if you don't sweep it, it's me and you today."

"But Margaret, I swept the yard in the afternoon. It's still clean," the girl protested.

"I said you must sweep it. It is very dirty," the unmoved woman answered.

"Margaret, please I'm having a headache. Can I skip the sweeping? Besides the yard is still clean."

"Oh, so you mean I'm lying? Before I took you from that place, I had been keeping this house clean, so you don't tell me what to do," the woman said with wide threatening eyes.

Eyes that the young girl secretly wanted to slap.

Anger rushed into the girl's blood and her breath became faster. The woman had just added salt to her wound by reminding her of where she came from, something she was not even to blame for.

The woman was assigning impossible jobs without even letting her rest.

Margaret stylishly walked out of the room with that full pride and high aura she always carried.

Then she stopped, turning back to the angered girl.

"Also the power should come back by four-thirty. Make sure you iron the dress I'll use for church on Sunday. You hear me?" The woman finally left.

The girl's eyes dimmed in anger and hatred for this woman that was her foster parent.

She had just explained that she was having a headache, but the woman kept piling work for her to do.

If it was another girl, tears could have formed in her eyes. But this particular girl felt only anger. Not pity.

Margaret was a party drinker who enjoyed drinking and gambling, or sometimes inviting her friends over for a feast like today.

Margaret would surely be back by 8:30pm because the girl was sure her foster parent was stopping at any bar she could find.

---

Minutes later.

She wiped the sweat off her head while ironing the clothes she was asked to iron.

If not because she knew how the power situation was, she would have left the clothes and cooked.

Finally done with the clothes, she put the beans on fire and began sweeping the inside of the house.

The living room still had the stench of cheap liquor which was enjoyed earlier by the so called visitors.

She swept, mopped and arranged the house before finalizing the cooking.

Her fists began to clench at the sight of the large clean yard in front of her.

The yard was spotless but Margaret would never agree.

She walked towards the trash bin to throw away the dirt she swept from inside, including the broken pieces of the mug.

She turned around to make her leave when she felt a piercing pain in the sole of her foot.

She sat on the ground wincing in pain before pulling the ceramic out of her foot.

A piece of the broken mug had driven into her flesh, causing her to bleed profusely.

Dragging herself to her room, she picked the tweezers from the drawer and pulled out the sharp object.

She wrapped her wound with an old cloth to stop the bleeding as she was already feeling dizzy.

Having slumped on the bed, her eyes closed and she began to steady herself again, not knowing the trouble that was coming after her.

---

The door opened widely, hitting the wall and jerking the girl out of her short-lived sleep.

"Ah!! See the person I told to sweep the yard lying comfortably on the bed!! Hey!! I will kill you today. I did not kill my mother so there's no—" Margaret paused as she noticed the large droplets of blood on the bed and on the floor.

"Hey!!! This girl has killed me! Which boy did you bring here?? So you were waiting for me to go out so that some boy could come to you!!! Jesus Christ!" Margaret screamed, placing her hands on her head.

The wounded girl got down from the bed, her leg hitting the wall and increasing the pain.

She tripped at every step and this only made "sense" to Margaret. The girl had just been defiled.

"Margaret, I stepped on—" The words never came as they were silenced by the rough palm of Margaret.

Another slap followed and she had to lean on the wall for support.

Margaret covered the poor girl with blows and slaps, fueling the anger that was in the girl's chest.

"I should have never picked you from that place. Who knows, maybe you're just trash like where I found you," the woman said between her violence.

The girl grew stiff at the woman's words.

Trash?

The girl didn't know her real mother, but she couldn't stand to hear her being called trash.

With an unknown strength, she pushed Margaret away with great force and the woman landed on her butt.

"Then you should have left me there. Someone better than you could have found me," she fired back to Margaret's surprise.

Her mouth went agape at the girl's sudden behavior. This girl was sure to die today.

The girl had promised herself to leave if three more troubles happened. And they had.

First, she called her trash.

Second, she started beating her without waiting to hear her explanation.

Third, she insulted where she came from and even wished she had left her to die.

Angrily, the girl walked out of the room, making her way towards the gate. Margaret could only feed her eyes with this strange sight.

It was done. She would rather sleep under someone's table than stay with this woman called a foster parent.

"I will never come back to that house," she muttered, fighting back the tears that had gathered in her small eyes.

Full of numbness, she walked absentmindedly on the streets of the town.

She didn't know where she was going. She didn't care.

But something in the air felt different tonight. Heavier. Like she was being watched.

She turned around, there was No one there.

But for a split second, she could have sworn she saw a pair of red eyes glowing in the darkness before they vanished…