The Punching Bag in This Loving Family

When Mom saw me walking toward the study, she angrily grabbed my wrist, only to then shake me off upon touching the thick layer of scar tissue there.

"Do you not understand me? That room will be set aside as James' gaming room from now on!" she yelled before slamming the door shut.

She acted as if just allowing me to see the room would somehow dirty it.

I suddenly laughed neurotically and asked, "Then, where do I stay?"

After a stunned pause, Mom gestured furiously toward different furniture pieces in the living room while looking at me as if I were an idiot.

"Do we not have a couch here? Is that not a rug? Take your pick! Cut the pity party!"

She sounded like she was talking to a stray dog.

"Do I not deserve a room of my own?" I asked softly.

Dad abruptly flew into a rage, as if he'd been tolerating my behavior for a long time.

"You have everything you need in this family, so why are you trying to fight your older siblings over something as trivial as this? James doesn't have his biological father, and Susan is missing her biological mother!

"Stop kicking up a fuss! Everyone's living happily together while you're always walking around with a long face!"

I could feel the heat of his gaze from where he stood far above me on his moral high ground.

There were fighting words on the tip of my tongue, but I slowly swallowed them back.

I'd been hearing the same words ever since I was born 17 years ago.

Whenever I dared to protest, I would be called an ungrateful, selfish, greedy, and a heartless wretch.

So, I grew afraid.

When Susan came home from work, she tripped over my belongings upon coming through the door.

She frowned at the sight of me.

"What is it this time?" she asked.

Mom snorted and replied sarcastically, "She's making a fuss about wanting her own room and giving everyone a headache."

Susan hummed in understanding and smiled exactly like Mom.

"What need does a kid like you have for a personal space?"

She called me a kid in such an airy tone.

She'd completely forgotten that when she first joined the family, she'd been just six years old.

Yet, despite her age, she'd received her own room, computer, and allowance.

All of us were required to knock three times before entering her room. Otherwise, she'd make a huge scene about it.

Now, she was not only turning a blind eye to my suffering but openly mocking it.

Mom stuffed a laundry basket into my arms, looking impatient and fed up. "This conversation is over. Go and do the laundry."

I protested feebly, "My college entrance exam is coming up—"

"Don't use the exam as an excuse! James and Susan have both taken it before, but they never made excuses!"

They didn't have to, because they didn't need to wash dishes, sweep the floor, or handle endless loads of laundry.

Mom was always worried that Dad would be oversensitive about her ordering Susan around. Conversely, Dad was always afraid that Mom would read too much into things if he gave James tasks to do.

In that regard, I was the most convenient person around. They didn't need to think about consequences when physically and verbally abusing me or treating me with mistrust, because there was nobody to stand up for me.

Angered by my silence, Mom shoved me into the bathroom, then slapped me so hard my head snapped to the side.

She looked aggressive and savage under the glare of the overhead lights.

She snapped, "Hurry up with the laundry, and keep that mouth shut! James needs clothes to wear for tomorrow.

"Do you think I have it easy every day? Everyone in the family looks to me for everything! You're the luckiest one among us, yet you insist on defying me at every turn!"

"How am I lucky?" I asked in return.