Chapter 2

She went totally nuts and freaked the teacher out, so the teacher didn't dare mention it to Miriam's mom ever again.

The teacher told us to write about our moms.

I wrote in my homework, "My mom hits me, doesn't feed me, doesn't take me to school, keeps telling me to just die, and has abandoned me more times than I can count. But she loves me."

The teacher gave me a hard time.

She figured I was just making a fuss over nothing, thought kids these days are way too clever and always making stuff up.

But every word I wrote was real. Even that last part.

She said, "Miriam, how could you write something like that about your mom? It was so hard for her to bring you into this world!"

But I had no clue what a mom's love was supposed to feel like. I'd never seen it, so I couldn't even describe it.

So I just nodded, feeling lost, and then added another line. "My mom gave birth to me, so she must love me."

When I got home, I handed the assignment to Mom.

The teacher said we should be grateful to our moms because carrying a baby for nine months was really tough.

But Mom held the paper in one hand, smoking with the other, just staring at the words for a long time.

Then she pressed the burning end of her cigarette right onto the word "love."

She tore the assignment to shreds, grabbed my face, and asked, "Miriam, do you hate me? Are you trying to get back at me?"

My face was stinging, but I forced myself to smile anyway.

"Mom, I love you," I said.

But the moment I smiled, Mom looked at me like she'd just seen the devil. She shrank away, huddled in the corner, crying like a wounded animal.

I stopped smiling after that.

In that moment, I understood. My smile only hurt her.

I practiced in front of the mirror for ages, using both hands to drag the corners of my mouth down.

I pulled so hard it felt like my mouth might tear apart.

But whenever I looked up, somehow I was still smiling.

I was so panicked I nearly burst into tears. I just didn't want Mom to be upset.

I picked up a blade and slashed at the corner of my mouth.

The pain was unbearable, and blood flooded my mouth.

I burst out of the room, crying my eyes out and yelling, "It hurts, Mom! It hurts so bad!"

Mom stumbled home drunk, but the moment she saw all that blood, she sobered up instantly. For the first time ever, I saw real terror on her face.

She grabbed me and dashed out the door.

We were dirt poor, didn't have a car, and at night, it was impossible to catch a cab.

She clutched me so tight, running as fast and as far as she could, her shoes flying off her feet along the way.

When I woke up in the hospital, Mom was collapsed at my bedside, looking totally exhausted.

I woke her up, and as soon as she looked at me, the usual disgust flashed in her eyes again.

She grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me right up to her.

"Are you trying to ruin me? Want me to end up in jail? If you're so set on dying, can't you go do it somewhere out in the middle of nowhere? Why do you have to do it right in front of me?"

My scalp hurt like hell, and I almost gave her a smile out of habit, then I remembered, I wasn't supposed to smile anymore.

I tried to pull the corners of my mouth down, but the wound split open again, and blood started oozing out.

But I picked up on what Mom was really saying.

I looked at her, eyes wide and innocent, and asked, "Mom, would you be happy if I died?"

Mom just stared at me, her face blank, then suddenly let go. After a few seconds of dead silence, she ripped out my IV.

"Yeah, I'd be happy if you died. You deserve to die sick and in agony."

And I burned those words into my heart.

Today, Mom was really happy. She pulled out a dress she hadn't worn in forever.

The dress was beautiful, bright red, with a skirt that trailed behind her in petal-like folds.

She looked just like a fairy. If there was a cloud around, she'd probably ride it straight up to the sky.

She could leave me, the daughter she couldn't stand, behind for good.

That day, she shoved me into a suitcase and zipped it up tight. I watched as the last sliver of light vanished.

I was instantly terrified. It was sweltering and suffocating inside.

I felt miserable, like I could barely breathe.

I clawed at the inside of the suitcase, my nails scratching and making a harsh, buzzing noise.

I called out for Mom again, my voice shaky and desperate.

"Mom, I can't breathe. Please don't lock me in here," I pleaded.

Maybe she heard me, because Mom unzipped the suitcase again.

But she didn't let me out. Instead, she tied up my hands and feet, and shoved a cloth into my mouth.

She hesitated as she zipped it up, and I felt her tears land on my face.

But then she muttered, "Whatever. I don't owe you anything."

And then she sealed me in, zipping the suitcase shut.

After what felt like ages, some guests finally came over.

From their voices, I could tell it was a man and a woman.

The woman sounded like she was probably middle-aged.

The guy sounded younger, gentle and well-mannered.