Chapter 2
After the doctor finished checking me out, Mom came in with a glass of milk and sat down next to me.
She looked at me, her expression hard to read.
"Briana, do you really hate us?" she said softly.
I shook my head. "No, I don't hate you."
"Then why do you do those things? Why do you keep hurting yourself?" my mom asked.
I cradled the glass of milk, taking small sips, and looked at her earnestly as I replied, "I just want everyone to be happy."
Mom's eyes welled up with tears.
"You're my real daughter, Briana. You don't have to please anyone," she said.
I set the glass down and looked up at her.
"But ever since I came home, Evelyn's not happy, and Michael's not happy either.
"Mom, was it a mistake for you to find me?" I asked.
Mom was left speechless by my question, and all she could do was pull me into a gentle hug.
"No, Briana, you're not a mistake," she whispered.
Her embrace was warm and full of comfort.
But it also made me remember that time after I traveled back.
Evelyn had cut her own hand with a knife and fell into Mom's arms, crying her eyes out.
Mom gave me a cold, icy stare.
She locked me in the pitch-black storage room and let Evelyn mess with the gas valve, making me think about what I'd done until I promised not to hurt Evelyn again.
I just didn't get what I'd done wrong back then.
I just wanted to stay alive and have everyone like me.
Right now, all I could think about was wanting to end it all.
But Mom kept telling me I was her treasure.
*****
The next day, the family held a meeting at home.
Evelyn had cried all night. Her eyes were so swollen.
She choked out her words, still sobbing, "I really didn't push her. I-I was scared.
"I was afraid that if she came back, you guys wouldn't want me anymore," she said.
Michael felt protective of Evelyn and quickly spoke up for her.
"Mom, Evelyn didn't mean it. She's just insecure.
"Look at Briana. She's only been back a few days, and she's already turned the whole house upside down," he said.
He pointed at me, his face twisted with disgust.
"She's not normal at all," he shouted.
Dad rubbed his temples and let out a helpless sigh.
"We need to find a real solution.
"Let's find Briana a therapist, someone who can help her talk things through," he suggested.
The day I went to see the therapist, I just did whatever they asked, no fuss.
I answered every question, didn't even hesitate.
"Why do you always think about dying?" the therapist asked.
I sat there on the soft couch, legs swinging absentmindedly.
"Because it's the easiest way to make everything go away," I replied.
The therapist adjusted her glasses, trying to get me to open up.
"But have you ever thought about how much it would hurt the ones who actually care about you if you died?" she asked softly.
I blinked, curious, and asked, "Care about me?
"You mean like those ladies at the orphanage who said they cared about me, but just watched while the other kids beat me up?
"Or like that kidnapper who called me his good girl, but shoved me into a dog cage?
"Or maybe like my brother. He warns me not to mess with his precious Evelyn, but only bothered to fish me out when I was about to drown?"
I leaned in close to the therapist and whispered, "Doctor, they don't love me. They're just scared I'll die in their house and cause them trouble.
"They think I'm sick and need to be fixed.
"But I'm not sick. I'm just doing whatever they say.
"I just do whatever they want, just so they'll be happy.
"If that's what they want, I'll just go ahead and die.
"Is that wrong?"
The therapist's hand froze in mid-air, her face going ghostly pale.