Miserable Monster

Sumaya reached for her toothbrush at the sink, but the moment her eyes met her reflection in the mirror, she hesitated.

She couldn't help herself. Slowly, her eyes scanned her face, searching for any remnants of last night's horrors.

Nothing. No sign of the chaos. No bruises, no swollen skin. The slap she had been sure would leave a mark was nowhere to be seen.

Even the sharp pain from her twisted ankle—the one she had gotten from being thrown across the floor—was completely gone.

If not for the memories and the vulnerable state she had woken up in, she might have wondered if last night had even happened at all. But it had.

At times, Sumaya wondered if she was even human. What kind of person healed like this?

She was just glad her father didn't know. Only her mother did. If her father ever found out, he might sell her off to some lab that would happily dissect her in the name of science.

Sometimes, after a beating, she would apply makeup—not to hide bruises, but to make it seem like she was covering them. Her mother made sure she never forgot to do so. It was almost as if she knew something Sumaya didn't.

She sighed deeply, staring at her reflection. How had it come to this?

When her parents adopted her at five, they had doted on her. Her father hadn't been like this.

He had been kind, caring. He used to bring flowers home for her mother, surprise her with small gifts, and make her laugh with his silly jokes. Sometimes, he would take them both out to see a movie or eat somewhere nice. He never forgot to bring Sumaya snacks after work.

But for some reason, even back then, something about him had unsettled her. There was always an odd feeling she couldn't shake, though she never knew why. She had brushed it off, thinking she just wasn't used to him yet.

But with her mother, it had been different. From the start, she had clicked with her. It was as if her mother understood even the things she couldn't say.

And then, everything changed. A few days after her twelfth birthday, Jae came home drunk for the first time.

Sumaya still remembered that night vividly—the slurred, angry edge in his voice as he stumbled through the door. She had huddled under her blankets, squeezing her eyes shut, praying he would just pass out without causing trouble.

But her prayers went unanswered, her mother's cries and his furious shouting tore through the silence, sending ice-cold fear down Sumaya's spine.

Heart pounding, she had tiptoed out of her room and made her way to the living room. Her breath had hitched at the sight before her.

Her father was landing punch upon punch, on her mother, his face twisted in drunken rage.

The memory was still fresh—the way his bloodshot eyes snapped to her the moment she rushed forward to help, thinking he would be lenient because it was her.

But the hatred in his glare had made her freeze. And then came the slap.

It had stung worse than anything she had ever felt. She had cried like never before—not even when she was still in the orphanage.

That night, she had convinced herself it was just a one-time thing. A terrible mistake. Something he would regret in the morning.

But as days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, she realized how foolish that hope had been.

This was their new reality.

It became the norm for her father to come home, whether from work or some unknown place, and immediately start yelling at her mother over something trivial—a misplaced dish, an undone chore, a meal that wasn't exactly how he wanted it.

Each outburst would spiral into a storm of curses and insults, words so sharp they left invisible wounds.

Sumaya realized then that the man who had walked into Ridgehaven Orphanage eleven years ago with his wife, the man who had adopted her with warm smiles and gentle hands, was long gone.

In his place was a monster—one fueled by alcohol and blind rage.

And worse, that monster had taken a particular dislike to her.

He made no effort to hide it, either. But Sumaya never minded. The feeling was becoming mutual.

She learned to retreat to her room, letting her mother bear the full weight of his wrath.

Her mother, ever patient, would try to calm him down, to reason with him. But it was pointless, his drunken outbursts grew more frequent. More violent. He didn't just yell, he hit.

He threw things. He spat cruel words that shattered any remaining illusion of love in their household.

The constant screaming and cursing seeped into Sumaya's bones, leaving her emotionally drained, mentally exhausted. She was always on edge, dreading the moment the front door creaked open, signaling the start of another nightmare.

And slowly, resentment began to fester in her chest—not just toward her father but toward her mother, too.

Why won't she fight back? Why won't she leave? Why is she letting him do this to us?

But there were no answers. Only the endless cycle of fear, anger, and hopelessness.

With a heavy sigh, Sumaya turned on the shower, letting the hot water cascade over her skin.

This was the only moment she allowed herself to relax, to pretend—even if just for a little while—that everything was okay.

The steam curled around her like a warm embrace, washing away the lingering remnants of last night. She liked her showers scalding hot, almost punishingly so, letting the heat numb her senses. It was the only thing that made her feel alive after nights like these.

As she closed her eyes, an image flickered through her mind—golden eyes, deep and mesmerizing, belonging to the black wolf she had encountered yesterday in the restricted forest.

A faint smile brushed her lips before she turned off the shower. She wouldn't mind seeing that wolf again.

She stepped out, wrapping herself in a towel. Moving mechanically, she dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a simple black t-shirt before slipping on her favorite gray hoodie—the one that felt like armor against the world. She didn't bother with her hair. It would be covered by the hoodie once she stepped outside.

She reached for her backpack but paused as realization struck—it was still downstairs.

Exhaling sharply, she made her way toward the bedroom door. Her fingers curled around the doorknob, testing it. Unlocked.

She didn't need to guess who had done it. It was her mother, if it had been up to her father, he would have left her locked in there for the rest of the day, rotting in her own misery.

"Miserable monster," she muttered under her breath as she stepped into the hallway, making her way downstairs.

When Sumaya reached the bottom of the stairs, the sharp clang of pots and pans echoed from the kitchen. The familiar noise should have been comforting, but instead, it sent a wave of unease coursing through her.

She inhaled deeply, steeling herself as she walked toward the kitchen. Her mind raced with everything she wanted—needed—to say to her mother.

As she stepped inside, she found her mother, Avanya, standing by the stove, stirring a pot of soup. The scent of spices filled the air, but it did nothing to settle the storm inside Sumaya. Her gaze shifted to the foot of her favorite stool near the kitchen counter, where her backpack sat. Her mother must have placed it there, she thought.

"Good morning, Mom." Her voice was soft but firm.

Avanya turned slightly, offering a forced smile that didn't reach her weary eyes. "Good morning, sweetheart."

Sumaya's gaze flickered around the kitchen. She glanced toward her father's usual seat, then toward his study, hoping—yet dreading—to see him. After all, he had promised to deal with her later, and the man never forgot his cruel promises.

"He already left for work," her mother murmured without looking at her, as if she had read her mind.

Sumaya exhaled in relief, her shoulders sagging slightly.

Avanya placed a plate of food on the counter. "Here's your breakfast." Still, she didn't meet her daughter's eyes.