“Tormenting the demons”

A/n: From here on out, this story will be told in the first-person narrative style.

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NELLIE'S P.O.V.

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

I can only define life as a series of carefully orchestrated events woven together by an unknown force to form one whole. For others, these experiences are skillfully woven cloaks of consistent nightmares, and for others, they are simply woven into comfy fuzzy security blankets.

I couldn't help but look sadly at Peter's sleeping body, my adorable baby brother, as I sat on my bed. His previously bright light-brown eyes now held nothing but constant fear in their cages, his once beautiful brown skin now bore deep-rooted scars that had no business being seen on a vulnerable nine-year-old, his once-glistening face was now permanently stained with old and fresh tears, and his formally-chubby body had been replaced with ribs as visible as a light bulb concealed under a thin woven basket, and all of these incredible feats could only be accomplished by one person... MOTHER.

I had asked Peter to get some sleep earlier because he seemed sick and weak; I knew my behaviour would cost us dearly, but I couldn't bear seeing him work for days on end without even blinking his exhausted eyes for fear of our mother being enraged.

Mother walked into the room Peter and I shared as silently as she always did; with a blink, her eyes swept over our entire form and then rested on me. Her piercing and painful stares made her eyes seem dead and impossibly still. A frightened scream escaped my lips unintentionally, and all the blood in my face drained into my heart, causing it to thump erratically- I just knew mother was going to kill us this time.

"How dare you sit around doing nothing! Did I permit you to take a break from your chores?!" She yelled angrily.

I noticed my baby brother jumped awake from the corner of my eye, his eyes displaying the overwhelming fear he felt for the only mother he knew.

He used to be a boy who was always so generous with his smiles and always so free with his expressions, but now his smiles and laughter had vanished, and his usual excitements had been locked away, never to be seen again.

I would have done anything to see him smile again, but I knew it would never happen with mother around because she tortured him so much and made him feel nothing but fear.

Mother's gaze rapidly moved from mine to my brother, who had quietly shifted and hidden behind my back on our tiny bed during her outburst, trying hard not to attract attention to himself.

Her still cold face immediately hardened when her eyes met his, giving her the appearance of a hideous voodoo doll.

I started to panic quietly as I awaited the outcome of her horrifying features.

"What are you doing here, Peter? Are you done selling the oranges I asked you to hawk?"

"Mum! I finished making the stew you requested, and I also washed the clothes you took out earlier this morning," I quickly chipped in, hoping to divert our mother's attention away from my baby brother, but instead, my behaviour did more harm than good.

"Keep your mouth shut! I wasn't addressing you, witch! And don't ever refer to me as your mother! I could never have children as monstrous as you two!"

She stomped towards the bed, grabbing Peter by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out of the room, ignoring his cries and pleadings.

I raced after them, tears streaming down my face, begging at the top of my lungs for her to have mercy on the baby boy she once loved as her own, but my cries and pleadings fell on deaf ears as she continued to pull him towards the front door, finally pushing him violently out of the house and onto the solid pavement.

"Don't even think about returning to this house if those oranges aren't sold!" she screamed in his sickly-looking, weeping face, before slamming the door shut and locking it. I helplessly gulped as she slowly turned to face me, smirking with a sinister glimmer in her dark stares.

"So you think you can keep him safe from me?" She growled, and fear gripped my entire form, warning me that I was in for a lot of whipping.

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"Nellie! Nellie! Get up!" A jolt to the ribs jolted me awake. After being severely beaten and forced to clean the entire house for attempting to shield Peter from Mother's harsh treatment, I didn't get to sleep until 3:30 a.m.

All because I wanted to be my baby brother's hero, my tired eyes struggled to adapt to the dimly lit broom cupboard that had become our new room. I turned to Peter, planning to ask him why he wouldn't let me sleep, but when I looked his way, I found his trembling form and fear-filled eyes staring intently at the door, terrified. Without a doubt, I knew I'd committed the unforgivable error of sleeping too much.

My legs became shaky and my stomach began to sway shortly after my horrific realization, my vision became blurry, and hot tears began to flow slowly from my eyes, down my cheeks, and onto the floor, as I already knew what was going to happen next.

The door was greeted with a thunderous applause. "Oh my goodness! It's wonderful to know that you can now sleep past 3 a.m., Nellie." I quickly pushed myself up from the hard ground to my feet and began apologizing to my stepmother.

"Oh, please shut that hole in your face; I didn't ask you to talk!" She yelled, her rage boiling deep inside her veins, swirling and hungry for annihilation. The small narrowing of her eyes glowed with anger and hate as she considered the most painfully slashing ways to harm us.

What I didn't note all along was a long whip hanging from mother's hand like a tree branch waving in the cold wind, but it was already futile to run.

Mother pounced on us without warning, whipping every part of our bodies until she satisfied herself that she had drawn blood from our already battered skin.

She looked down at us smugly after much beating and weeping on our part; satisfied with her accomplishments, she stepped away from our trembling bruised forms just enough to take in the sights of us.

"Clean this place up and get ready for today's batch of hawking," she said, bending low enough to look us in the eyes. With that, she left our room, leaving us with bruised bodies, battered faces, and bloody tears, wondering how and why we had gone from most loved to most hated by our once-beloved parents.