Chapter 2

Dad finally heard my desperate plea. But instead of coming over, he only gave me an impatient glance.

"Your mom's having another episode. Stop lying there acting like you're dying and get up," he snapped.

The moment Mom saw him paying attention to me, she started crying even harder. "It's all my fault! I'll apologize! I'll grovel if I have to!"

She immediately dropped to the floor and began sobbing harder.

The sight sent Dad into a panic. He spun around and shouted, "Get her out of here! Don't let her upset your mom anymore!"

A bitter taste spread across my tongue.

It seemed that even my existence was a mistake.

Preston grabbed me and dragged me toward the stairs, unable to hide the anger in his voice as he chided me, "Would it kill you not to wear a dress? Why do you have to keep pushing her buttons? If anything happens to Mom because of you, I swear you're going to regret it!"

He was so disgusted with me that he couldn't even stand to look at me. That was why he didn't notice the long trail of blood behind me or that my white dress was already soaked red.

I parted my lips, wanting to tell him that if I didn't wear a dress one last time, I wouldn't get another chance because I was really going to die.

But my throat seemed to close up, and I couldn't get a word out.

The last time I went to the hospital to pick up my physical exam results, the doctor stopped me before I could leave. He told me I had advanced leukemia and needed to be admitted immediately.

I came home holding the diagnosis.

The moment Dad saw me, he frowned and pointed at me. "Where have you been running off to again? Can't you stay home and spend some time with your mom?"

I hesitated, then pulled the medical report from my pocket.

Before I could hand it to him, he snatched it away, crumpled it up, and threw it straight into the trash. "Stop bringing things like report cards out in front of your mom. You know they could set her off."

There it was again. Everything set her off—wearing a dress, wearing a hair clip, laughing, talking to Dad and Preston… Even growing my hair long or making friends would set her off.

If I died, would that finally make things easier for her?

My lips trembled. But when I looked at the impatience flickering across Dad's face, I swallowed the confession at the tip of my tongue.

Preston was strong, and before we even reached the upstairs hallway, he shoved me aside. My head struck the wall with a dull thud, and the bleeding worsened.

He didn't seem concerned in the slightest. "You're not dead, are you? Stay up here until Mom calms down. Then you can come downstairs."

A moment later, Dad's voice carried up from below as he made a phone call. "Heather, Alice got upset again. You need to come over and take a look at her."

After a brief exchange, he hung up.

Then, he yelled upstairs, "Trina! Bring your mom a coat!"

I lay sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath. I couldn't answer him anymore.

Soon, hurried footsteps pounded up the stairs. Dad had come to get the coat himself.

When he passed me, he paused, then nudged me aside with his foot. "What good are you? You're so lazy you can't even bring your mom a coat. All you ever do is upset her."

Dad stood in the light, glaring down at me. He was only a step away, yet somehow he felt impossibly far.

Using the last of my strength, I dragged myself toward him and reached for the hem of his pants, drops of blood falling from my face as I moved.

Before I could touch him, he jerked away from me. "Get off me! You'd better think long and hard about how you're going to apologize to your mom later!"

Like a rag doll, I fell back into the shadowy corner.

The word "apologize" kept echoing in my head.

When I was 15, my class put on a school performance. My teacher said I looked pretty and put a little makeup on me for the stage. The show ran late, so I didn't have enough time to wash it off before going home.

The moment I stepped through the door, Mom dumped a basin of ice-cold water over me.

It was the dead of winter, and snow was falling outside.

Something inside me turned just as cold.

Furious, she ordered the housekeeper to hold me down. Then, she grabbed a broom and scrubbed it harshly across my face while cursing at me.

"You filthy slut! I'll teach you to dress yourself up and go around seducing people!"

The more I tried to explain, the angrier she became. Eventually, she stopped scrubbing and started hitting me with the broom instead.

By the time she was done, my face was covered in injuries.

I curled into myself on the floor and begged through my tears, "Mom! Please stop! I won't do it again!"

When Preston appeared, Mom pouted and cried as if she were the victim. "If Trina hadn't worn makeup, I wouldn't have had another episode… This is all my fault!"

And just like countless times before, I was blamed for setting her off.

In Preston's eyes, every insult and every beating I took was something I had brought on myself.

That night, Dad left an ointment beside my bed.

Even then, all he said was, "Once you're done crying, come downstairs and apologize to your mom. She hurt her hands hitting you."

That was when I finally understood that, while the Jenner residence was Mom's haven, for me, it was a prison.