My brother and the fifty-something man from next door were in the middle of it when I walked in. My mother completely lost it. She broke a chair over the old man's groin, permanently ending his fun. And for that, my brother hated me. He drugged me, stuffed me in a sack, and left me at an abandoned construction site to be used and discarded by strangers. I died. Then I opened my eyes. I was back on that same day, right before I opened the door to my brother's room. This time, I quietly turned the lock. Let them have their fun. 01 "Ugh… Are you sure it won't hurt? Be gentle… I've… I've never done this before…" Hearing my brother's voice from behind the door, I realized I was back. Reborn. In my last life, it was this same sweltering afternoon. I was taking out the trash when I heard strange noises coming from my brother's room. On a whim, I crept closer. The door wasn't fully closed. Through the crack, I saw my brother, pinned to the bed by Mr. Henderson from next door. They were in a… complicated position. A rush of blood went to my head. I thought my brother was being assaulted. Mr. Henderson was my dad's best friend of over twenty years, for god's sake. I screamed and threw the door open. My mother heard the commotion and came running. The sight made her snap. She grabbed a wooden stool and brought it down on Mr. Henderson, again and again. In a symphony of screams, his future as a man was destroyed. And my nightmare began. My mother blamed me for everything. "If you'd kept a better eye on your brother, this pervert would have never gotten to him!" They pulled me out of school and made me go with my brother to therapy. With professional help, he eventually started showing interest in girls again. Everything seemed to be back on track. But my brother never forgave me. He put something in my drink, stuffed me in a burlap sack, and dumped me at an abandoned construction site. That day, my fingernails were torn from their beds. I heard the sickening crack of my own bones. Fists, cigarette butts, beer bottles… I was a broken doll, torn apart again and again. I died in agony. As my consciousness faded, I saw my brother standing a short distance away, recording it all on his phone. "You bitch," he sneered. "You ruined my life. You deserve this." After I died, my mother shed a few tears. Then she sighed. "You were always unlucky, sweetie. I've already lost you. I can't lose your brother, too." Because I had died a "dirty" death, a disgrace to the family name, I wasn't even allowed to be buried in the family plot. My mother sold my body for a pittance to be the "ghost bride" for some old bachelor who had died young. She used the money to bribe a third-rate college to accept my brother. "Oh… Mr. Henderson…" "Relax, kiddo. Just let it happen. I promise you'll love it…" The grotesque sounds from the room pulled me back to the present. I crept forward and quietly, firmly, locked the door. This time, let him have all the fun he wants. 02 The second I walked back in the house, my mother grabbed my ear and twisted, her voice a sharp hiss. "Where the hell have you been, you useless girl? Taking out the trash isn't an all-day affair! Always looking for a way to slack off!" Her eyes were filled with impatience. "What are you standing there for?" She gave me a hard shove. "Go make dinner! Your brother is a growing boy. If he goes hungry, I'll skin you alive!" On the couch, my dad sat with his feet up, smoking. As I passed, he blew a cloud of smoke in my face. "Told you girls don't need an education," he drawled. "Fills their heads with nonsense. My buddy Rick's daughter, she dropped out of middle school to work in a factory. Sends her old man three hundred bucks a month, regular as clockwork. Rick just found her a husband, too. Guy paid twenty grand for the dowry!" I tuned him out and went into the kitchen. On the cutting board was a mountain of fiery habanero peppers. My brother loved spicy food. I was severely allergic. Even a drop of the juice would make my skin break out in painful, blistering welts. But in this house, for as long as I could remember, there was never a single dish on the table I could eat. I'd tried to protest once. My mother had just scoffed. "Allergic? You're just being dramatic. Fine, don't eat. You're fat as a pig anyway." I looked down at my arms. My wrist bones jutted out, sharp and skeletal. I was five-foot-one and weighed ninety pounds. I thought about what I had just seen. Mr. Henderson was a gym teacher, all muscle and sinew. My brother's frail frame… His first time was probably not going to be a gentle experience. Tearing was a definite possibility. A wicked idea began to bloom in my mind. A slow, cruel smile spread across my face. So, you like it spicy, do you, dear brother? Well, tonight, your big sister is going to treat you. You'll eat until you're full, until it hurts, until you never forget it. I turned on the faucet, the water rushing. I pulled on a pair of gloves and grabbed a handful of peppers, three times the usual amount. The sharp, acrid smell filled the kitchen. 03 This time, since they weren't interrupted, my brother didn't get home until seven. The whole family was already at the table, waiting for him. He was walking strangely, his legs held stiffly apart, each step a pained, awkward shuffle. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead. The moment my mother saw him, she shot out of her chair, her face a mask of concern. "Honey! What's wrong? What happened?" "N-nothing…" my brother stammered, waving a weak hand. "I just… I fell." "You fell?" My mother's voice shot up an octave. "Where did you fall? Let me see! Is it bad?" She reached for his waistband, ready to inspect him right there. My brother flinched back in horror. The sudden movement clearly sent a jolt of pain through him. He sucked in a sharp breath, the sweat on his forehead beading up. He was mortified, and his voice was practically a shout. "Mom! I'm not a kid anymore! Stop trying to pull my pants down all the time!" My mother froze, then replied, bewildered. "You'll always be my baby! There isn't a part of you I haven't seen! Now let me look, or I'll worry myself sick!" Trapped, my brother had no choice but to pretend he was fine. "I'm really okay, Mom! It doesn't hurt anymore!" "Really?" she asked, her eyes still glued to his rear end. "Really! Look!" To prove his point, he clenched his jaw and managed a couple of small, stiff hops. With each landing, his face twitched uncontrollably. He quickly changed the subject. "I'm starving, Mom! Can we eat now?" The word "starving" was the magic password. My mother's attention immediately shifted. "Yes, yes, of course! We can't let my baby boy go hungry!" She bustled him to the table and pushed him down onto a hard wooden chair. I watched, impassive, as his body went rigid the moment he made contact with the seat. He subtly shifted his weight, perching precariously on the very edge of the chair, most of his weight supported by his legs. My mother, oblivious, was already piling food onto his plate. "Here, honey, your favorite spicy chicken gizzards! I told your sister to add extra peppers, just for you! And the fried intestines! Eat up! Everything is extra hot and spicy tonight!" My brother stared at the volcanic mound of food on his plate, his hand trembling as he picked up his fork. He slowly, painfully, brought a bite to his mouth. With every swallow, his Adam's apple bobbed in agony. The sweat never stopped trickling down his face. But the slower he ate, the more my mother piled on. "What's wrong, sweetie? You don't like it? Is it where you fell? Does it hurt?" He could only shake his head, forcing out a muffled "I'm fine" before shoveling another fiery mouthful into his mouth. I sat quietly across the table, eating my plain boiled vegetables, hiding my smile behind my bowl. 04 That night, just as I finished the dishes, there was a knock at the door. It was a delivery. Curious, I opened the package. The contents were… educational. A tube of ointment for treating tears and abrasions. A bottle of personal lubricant. And a small, uniquely shaped toy. The note read: "Loosen up. It won't hurt so much next time." Mr. Henderson was so thoughtful. I had just put everything back in the bag when my brother shuffled out of his room, clutching his backside. He glared at me. "Emily! Who said you could touch my stuff? Keep your grubby hands to yourself!" He snatched the bag and limped back to his room, slamming the door. I have to say, the ointment worked wonders. The pain subsided quickly. Now, my brother heads next door every day, claiming he's "working on his core" with Mr. Henderson. My parents, unbelievably, bought it. My mother even started making him special "strengthening" soups when she noticed the faint red marks on his neck. This went on for almost a month before my mother finally got suspicious. Deep in the back of the bathroom cabinet, she found the half-empty bottle of lube and the toy, still sticky with a faint yellowish residue. She exploded. 05 "Emily!" My mother stormed into my room and slapped me across the face. My ears rang, my vision swam. When I could finally focus again, I looked up at her, my eyes stinging. "Mom, what did I do now?" "Don't play dumb with me!" she shrieked, her body trembling with rage. She threw the items at my face, her disgust absolute. "You disgusting slut! How dare you buy this filth and hide it in my house! Tell me! How many boys have you been with? I knew I should have smothered you in your crib!" Right. My birth. She just had to bring that up. When she was pregnant with me, all the signs pointed to a boy. She was ecstatic. Then I came out, a girl. Her first instinct was to abandon me at the hospital. It was my grandmother who stopped her, claiming a fortune teller had said I was a "brother-bringer," that having a daughter first would ensure a son would follow to be cared for. That's the only reason I'm here. And sure enough, a year later, my brother, Evan, was born. From that moment on, my only purpose in life was to take care of him. My mother even made me start school a year late so we would be in the same grade, so I could look after him. I got the highest score in the city on the high school entrance exam, but I had to go to a private school. The principal had promised that if I enrolled, they would accept my brother, despite his abysmal grades. And for that, I was grateful. If I hadn't been useful in that way, I probably would have been forced to drop out and get a job. I stared at her, my voice hard. "Mom. That's not mine." Her face turned purple with rage. She raised her hand to hit me again. "Only girls use this stuff! If it's not yours, is it mine? You're still going to lie when the evidence is right here? I'll beat the truth out of you, you little whore!" This time, I dodged it. Her hand froze in mid-air, her face a picture of shock. It was the first time I had ever defied her. In the past, the slightest hint of rebellion would be met with the threat of being pulled out of school. And for the chance to escape this house one day, I had endured it. For years. But I've already died once. What was there left to be afraid of? I met her stunned gaze, my voice steady. "I said it's not mine. There are other people in this house. Why am I the first one you suspect? And…" I glanced at the items in her hand, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "do you really think I could afford to buy this?" 06 In this house, my brother's daily allowance was five dollars. Mine was five dollars a month. We weren't allowed to have leftovers. To save money, I skipped breakfast, chugging water to quell the dizziness from hunger. I used the cheapest, no-name brand tampons, carefully rationing each one. I'd thought about collecting cans after school, but between the endless chores and tutoring my brother, there was barely enough time to sleep. And still, my mother called me an "ungrateful brat." That lube and toy didn't look cheap. It would probably take me a year to save up enough to buy them. Her expression shifted. She knew I was right. Her eyes darted around as a new, horrifying thought occurred to her. "That bastard, John!" she snarled. "He's been bringing his cheap whores into my house! I'll kill them both!" She stormed into the kitchen. I followed silently. She rummaged through the junk drawer until she found a tube of industrial-strength superglue. She swapped the lube for the glue. Then, she took a habanero pepper from the fridge and meticulously coated the toy, inside and out, a cruel smile on her face. "You wanna mess with my husband, you little tramp? I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget." She put the items back in their hiding place. When she turned and saw me, she pointed a finger in my face. "If you breathe a word of this to your father, I'll rip your tongue out and throw you out on the street! Do you hear me?" I nodded obediently. "Don't worry, Mom. My lips are sealed." Oh, dear mother. I can't wait to see the look on your face when you realize you're the one who just destroyed your precious son. 07 My brother came back from next door, smelling of sweat and something else I didn't want to identify. But this time, Mr. Henderson was with him. "Hey, Sarah," he said to my mom with a folksy grin. "Sorry to bother you so late. My power's out. The repairman can't come 'til morning." My mother was all hospitality. "Don't be a stranger, David! Evan's been doing so well since he started training with you. He looks stronger, taller even. You're staying here tonight! Emily!" she barked at me, "you're sleeping on the couch. Get your room ready for your uncle." Before I could say anything, Mr. Henderson jumped in. "Oh no, Sarah, don't trouble the girl. It's not right." He slung an arm around my brother's shoulders. "I'll just bunk with Evan. We can talk strategy before bed, right, sport?" My brother's face turned beet red. "Yeah, Mom," he mumbled. "Let Uncle David stay with me. Don't make Sis sleep on the couch." My mother saw nothing wrong with this. "Alright then! That's settled. Come on, sit down, dinner's ready." She turned and saw me still standing there, and her good mood vanished. She pinched my arm, hard. "Emily! What are you waiting for? Get your uncle a plate!" I bit back a cry of pain and went to the kitchen. When I came back, the scene under the table was… illuminating. Mr. Henderson's foot was rubbing against my brother's calf, slowly, inch by inch, making its way up his pant leg. My brother was rigid, his ears bright red, his head bowed low over his plate. Mr. Henderson's toes finally reached their destination. "Ah!" My brother shot up from his chair. "Honey! What's wrong?" my mother asked, alarmed. "N-nothing!" he stammered. "Just… just a leg cramp!" Mr. Henderson smoothly retracted his foot. "Don't worry, Sarah. Probably just overdid it with the core exercises this afternoon. I'll give him a good stretch and massage in the room later. That'll fix him right up." My mother was overjoyed. "Oh, David, you're too good to him! You take better care of him than I do!" Mr. Henderson shot a meaningful look at my blushing brother. "Well, Sarah, Evan's like a… son to me. Who else am I going to spoil?" My mother just beamed and put another chicken leg on my brother's plate. "Eat up, sweetie! You need your strength!" Then she tossed the greasy chicken skin into my bowl. "What are you staring at? Eat! And then go clean up your brother's room." I picked up my chopsticks and started eating, a small smile playing on my lips. Tonight was going to be a long night. 08 In the middle of the night, a bloodcurdling scream echoed from my brother's room.
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