Mom’s Punching Bag

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in mid-air.

Another version of myself lay on the floor, cold and stiff, as a pool of dark red blood spread beneath the back of my head.

I knew I was dead.

Yet even now, I still felt no pain.

As I drifted toward the front door, I saw Mom leading my younger sister out by the hand.

My sister kept looking back over her shoulder with tears streaming down her face.

Mom gave an impatient tug.

“Stop looking. He’s fine. What harm can a slap do? Come on, I’ll take you out for something good to eat.”

Soon, the door closed behind them.

I drifted out after them.

Mom took my sister to a dessert shop, the one I’d always wanted to visit.

The place was crowded.

Mom found a table in the corner and pushed the menu toward my sister.

“Order whatever you want.”

My sister kept her head down, unmoving, with a vacant gaze.

Mom sighed and, in a voice much softer than it was at home, she said, “Bella, I know you’re hurting inside. But you have to understand me. Your father ran off with that vixen. Every cent we had went with him. Do you think it’s been easy for me, a woman, to do all these alone?”

Bella remained silent.

Mom continued, “You’re my only hope now. If you don’t make something of yourself, who else is going to make me proud? With your brother the way he is, can anyone really rely on him?

“As long as you succeed in life, sooner or later, you’ll get a share of your father’s inheritance. In this lifetime, I couldn’t hold onto your dad’s heart. If I can’t even secure some of that money, then I would’ve been a complete failure.”

She paused before adding in a lower voice, “Don’t blame me for being harsh. You’re fraternal twins and bound by blood. I’m only doing this so you’ll remember your lesson. Only then will you know the value of hard work.”

Bella gripped the menu so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

I floated beside them, listening and feeling a pang of unease.

All these years, ever since our parents divorced, Mom had been a father and a mother to us, raising my sister and me on her own.

Born with an intellectual disability and congenital analgesia, the inability to feel pain, I had been a constant burden on the family all these years.

So when Mom hit me, I had never blamed her. On the contrary, I was glad, because then it meant that a fool like me could be of some use.

I couldn’t make my mother proud, but Bella could. Perhaps for my sake, she would study hard and make Mom happy.

Just then, a waitress brought over two drinks.

Mom accepted them, then suddenly seemed to have remembered something and turned to look at the counter.

“The strawberry cake, could you pack up a slice for me?”

As she spoke, she looked down and rummaged through her purse, making sure she had enough change inside before letting out a sigh of relief.

She muttered to herself, “I was a bit too harsh this time. I’ll have a good chat with him when we get home. It should all be fine.”

Bella suddenly raised her head with red-rimmed eyes. She tried to say something, then closed her mouth again.

I watched as Mom carefully placed the boxed cake into a bag.

Strawberry cake.

My absolute favorite.

Mom still remembered.

It was a shame I wouldn’t be able to eat it anymore.

I swallowed instinctively, feeling a little regret.

When we got home, my bedroom door was still firmly shut.

Mom walked up to the door, cleared her throat, and her voice was unusually gentle.

“Ray? Does your face still hurt? I’ve got you some strawberry cake. It’s your favorite.”