Chapter 1
To make me behave, my parents sent me to a “behavioral correction academy.”
It was more like a prison.
I was beaten, shocked, locked up, and even…abused.
They got their wish; I became obedient, crying and begging on my knees, promising to be good.
But then they started to regret it, their voices trembling, “Ashley, what have we done to you?”
My birthday was the day they brought me home.
I wore the princess dress they’d laid out.
Their eyes lit up.
I never wore dresses.
I’d been in judo and kickboxing since elementary school, and later I got into boxing.
Pants were just more practical.
My parents would always yell, “All that fighting! You’re not acting like a young lady at all! Why can’t you be more like your cousin Chloe, a proper girl?”
I used to ignore them.
Now, I obeyed.
Mom beamed.
“That academy really works wonders! I can’t believe our Ashley is finally so well-behaved.”
Dad, relieved, immediately arranged for a thank-you banner to be sent to the academy.
At the birthday party, Chloe, in a tasteful dress, greeted the guests.
When she saw me, her eyes darkened for a moment, but she quickly recovered, approaching me with a smile.
“Ashley, you look beautiful today, even prettier than me.”
She offered to snip a loose thread from my shoulder. But as she got close, she suddenly stumbled backward, the scissors grazing her palm, drawing a few beads of blood.
Biting her lip, she looked hurt.
“Ashley, I was just trying to help.”
What a performance.
The guests glared at me.
“Ashley’s still so rude, so rough.”
“Such a jealous girl, can’t stand her cousin getting attention.”
“How can a child be so inherently bad?”
My parents’ faces turned thunderous.
Mom fussed over Chloe, fetching the first-aid kit.
Dad slapped me across the face, his voice raging.
“I thought you’d learned your lesson! You’re still the same! How can you be so malicious? How could I have such a heartless daughter?”
This was their pattern.
After Chloe’s parents died in a car crash, she came to live with us.
My parents changed.
If Chloe’s makeup was ruined, they locked me in the closet without a word, claiming they needed to curb my jealousy. If Chloe had a bruise, they’d tie me up and beat me, saying I needed to know what it felt like. Even if Chloe was just in a bad mood, they’d accuse me: “What did you do to upset your cousin again?”
Just like now, my dress was a high-end brand, meticulously inspected.
There couldn’t have been a loose thread.
But they wouldn’t think, only blame me. In their minds, I was just bad.
That’s why, when Chloe suggested sending me to that new “special academy,” the one that promised to turn every unruly kid into an angel, they jumped at the chance.
They didn’t know it was hell.
The first day, they stripped me bare and threw me in solitary. They fed me slop and tried to break me. Every time I talked back, they’d slap my mouth raw.
Dad’s slap brought back the memory of my swollen lips, the ingrained terror making me collapse to my knees.
I trembled, clinging to his feet.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, please don’t hit me, I’m begging you.”
Dad recoiled, stunned. He’d never seen his rebellious daughter beg.
I started banging my head on the floor. “I’ll atone, it’s all my fault, I deserve to be erased! Erased!”
Everyone stared, dumbfounded, watching the most defiant girl they knew groveling.
I grabbed the scissors Chloe had dropped and plunged them into my palm. Blood spurted, pooling on the floor.
Mom screamed. Chloe looked shocked and uncertain. Chaos erupted, someone called 911.
I didn’t make a sound.
It didn’t hurt.
Not compared to the pain of being shocked until I lost control of my body.
At the hospital, the doctor bandaged my hand, his face grim.
Mom, still shaken, clutched her chest, tears clinging to her lashes.
Dad’s face was tight. He gritted his teeth.
“What are you trying to pull? Do you think hurting yourself will make us forgive you?”
The old me would have laughed in his face. Now, I just cradled my head, shrinking into the corner of the bed, muttering, “I won’t do it again, I won’t…”
Dad seemed deflated, like he’d punched a pillow.
Silence hung heavy, the blood from my hand spreading.
Mom softened. “Ashley apologized. It takes time. She’ll be good eventually.”
Chloe frowned at this, studying me thoughtfully.
Back home, my room had been redecorated.
The boxing ring mural was covered with plain white wallpaper. My gloves were gone. My closet was filled with dresses.
They wanted to erase me.
But they didn’t know about the emperor scorpion I kept in a hidden compartment under my bed.
It lay still, seemingly dead. I felt a pang of disappointment.
But then a sliver of sunlight hit it, and its purplish pincers twitched, striking at the air.
Still alive.
At dinner, the table was laden with food: braised short ribs, sliced lamb, a golden-brown roast chicken, and…clam chowder, which I was allergic to.
Mom smiled. “Chloe made all this for you. We don’t usually get such a treat. Make sure you eat a lot, Ashley.”
Chloe piled food on my plate, ladling me a bowl of soup.
The sight of the greasy meat made my stomach churn. “I can’t, I feel sick,” I whispered.
Dad immediately dumped his water over my head, his veins bulging, barely restraining himself from hitting me.
“We’re doing this for your own good! Don’t be ungrateful!”
Mom chimed in, “When will you appreciate what we do for you? Why do you always hurt us?”
They never listened. Just like when they beat me into using my right hand, even though I was left-handed. No one knew how much they’d hurt my left arm.
Fine. I’ll eat.
I numbly picked up my bowl, the smell of lamb filling my nostrils. Fighting back the nausea, I shoveled food into my mouth, chewing mechanically.
Chloe kept piling on more. I kept eating.
Grease dribbled down my chin, my lips shining like sausages.
After the food, I drank the clam chowder, bowl after bowl.
Mom finally smiled. “See? I told you she’d listen.”
Then her face went white.
I vomited everything onto the table.
But I didn’t seem to notice, still swallowing convulsively, soup dripping from my mouth. A complete mess.
Mom panicked. “Stop, don’t eat anymore!”
But I couldn’t stop.
I ate, I vomited, I ate again.
Finally, I coughed up blood and collapsed unconscious. My exposed skin, my neck and face, erupted in angry red hives.
Chloe looked terrified. Dad’s temples throbbed. He clenched his fists.
“Call 911.”