The Warning That Destroyed My Life

My mother, Alice Lawson, yanked at my hair, her furious face swimming in and out of focus before my eyes.

"You little brat! How dare you wear a dress again? I'll beat the hell out of you!" she shrieked.

Whenever she lost control, she either called me a bitch or a little brat. I was her daughter, yet she hated me as if I were her mortal enemy.

Strands of hair drifted to the floor with every vicious pull, some of them torn out from the roots.

"Why would you wear a dress on purpose when you know it sets Mom off?"

My older brother, Preston Jenner, spoke, his tone laced with displeasure.

Before I could respond, a burst of pain exploded at the back of my head. Something cold and sticky trickled beneath my collar.

My body swayed briefly before my legs gave out beneath me. Then, a metal decoration clattered to the floor beside me.

My father, Claren Jenner, had a horrified expression. He dropped the coat in his hand and rushed toward Mom, his voice cracking as he shouted, "Alice! Are you okay?"

He didn't see the blood running from my head, nor did he see me lying limp on the floor.

All he saw were Mom's red, tear-filled eyes.

She pointed at me, and just like that, the fury vanished from her face. Her expression crumpled into one of pitiful remorse. "I didn't mean to hurt her… I was just so angry that I lost control."

As she spoke, she covered her face and sobbed into her hands.

Dad immediately pulled her into his arms. Without even bothering to look at me, he delivered several kicks at me.

"It's okay. This isn't your fault," he coaxed her, his reassurances punctuated with a kick every time. "Trina must've done something to provoke you. Come on, don't cry."

Maybe I had already been hurt so badly that my body had gone numb, because I couldn't feel much of anything anymore.

My vision simply kept fading in and out.

I clawed at the wall, digging my nails into the cracks as I tried to pull myself upright. Alas, one of my nails split, and I collapsed again.

"Dad… Preston…"

I fought through the pain and forced their names from my throat.

Just as I expected, neither of them heard me. Preston even stepped right over the back of my hand on his way to Mom. He joined Dad in fussing over her, their voices grating against my ears.

Before I turned six, they used to comfort me exactly the same way.

Back then, I was the first person Dad picked up whenever he came home from work. He told me stories, and if my blanket slipped off in the middle of the night, he'd get up and tuck me back in.

Preston was just as protective of me. He always kept jelly beans hidden in his pocket, and somehow, I was always the first one he gave them to.

They treated me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

Because I couldn't handle spicy food, both of them stopped eating it at home and switched to milder dishes for my sake.

Because I loved dresses, they bought me pretty ones in every color.

But Mom's expression grew darker with each passing day. The tenderness in her eyes gradually disappeared whenever she looked at me, replaced by an iciness.

She secretly burned my dresses, my new shoes, and even my Barbie dolls. Then, she chopped my hair into an uneven mess.

I cried to Dad and Preston about what she had done, but the doctor told our family that Mom was sick. She had depression, and anything that upset her could make her condition worse.

Dad stroked my hair and sighed, his voice softening. "Be good, Trina. Your mom's sick. We have to cut her some slack."

I bit my lip and quietly nodded.

From that day forward, Mom became the person everyone in the family protected above all else.

My vision blurred. Tiny white spots flickered before my eyes as my chest tightened until I could barely breathe.

"Dad… Please… Look at me…"