Chapter 2

The clinic’s bed wasn’t comfortable: hard as rock. I sat there waiting for the doctor’s approval so that father could take me home – even though I would rather stay here.

Father didn’t even come and check on me this time. I looked down to the tiled floor, disappointed. Before mother died, every time when I used to fall and cut myself, he would always be the one who told me it’s alright and would put one of those plasters with cartoons on me. I would be so happy because those were my favorite type of plaster. Year by year he would care less about me. A year after mother’s death, he had stopped putting cartoon plasters on when I fell. A year after that, he didn’t put plasters at all. A couple of years after that, he would scold me for being such a clumsy and stupid girl and that I shouldn’t always try to get his attention by doing stupid things. But now, after nine years, he couldn’t care less. He didn’t even care for me. It was as if he had disowned me as his daughter. It felt like he had only one daughter – Sister – and I was nothing but a mere girl, almost a stranger to him. Sometimes I didn’t even think I had a father. Back then, I used to hate it when he scolded me for being clumsy or stupid; now, I wish he would scold me more. It made me feel like he actually knew I existed. I think now, he erased me from his memory and I am just there in his life, no bonding or attachments between us.

As I sat there cringing over the disappearance of my existence in father’s consciousness, a middle-aged woman entered the room. She wore a loose, white nurse’s outfit and an angular cap with her hair tied in a tight bun. Her eyes furrowed as she looked at me thinking, “Oh, what a pitiful, pathetic girl,” but her lips twitched into a forced smile.

“Mio, I heard you got injured again?” the nurse spoke.

I did not want her pity because she does not even know what happened.

“I know you are a brilliant girl, Mio; you would not be so clumsy as to fall down the stairs.”

I gasped, tension filled the air and anxiety caused my throat to go dry. My arms quivered as I tried to hold the tears in my eyes.

“You have so many bruises on you,” she stared into my eyes and slowly grasped my arm. “You do not need to worry, you know you can tell me, nothing will happen if you do.”

I held onto the edge of the bed, clasping it so that I would hold a steady response. But, I couldn’t help but feel my chest cave in, and I felt hollow inside.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I whimpered while tears accumulated in my eye.

“Mio, does anyone in your family hurt you?”

My heart stopped. I pulled away from the one person who had ever figured it out. Sister would be in trouble and she wouldn’t be able to hit me anymore, I wouldn’t need to hide from her or do what whatever she wants.

I winced at the thought. I should tell her right now, it could all end.

I should tell her, it could all end. My suffering… my…

“Is it your father? Your sister?”

My…

No.

I can’t do it. My suffering would never end. I have been cursed. It would never be uplifted. Yes, sister did hurt me. Yes, she would pull my hair and bruise me and punch me and she would do everything she could to make me feel like I was nothing. But… I am nothing. I don’t have anything worthwhile. I do not have any memories that I could hold close to my heart.

Sister’s beatings always made me forget. They made me forget all the pain I used to have; all the pain trapped inside my head. They gave me a reason to pity myself; to have an excuse for what I am. Even if I did want to tell… nobody would believe it. Memories of the countless times when I tried to tell the grown-ups, like my father, they would go and ask Sister, too, about it. Sister was very good at convincing people and getting out of trouble. The next thing I knew Sister would be hitting me harder than ever but more carefully so that there was no evidence.

I was so scared and confused. Why is she asking me? If anyone found out about this it would be a threat to me. If I told, in the end, Sister would always win. No matter how much I try, Sister never loses.

“Mio? It’s ok. You do not need to be scared.”

There were voices battling in my head, half of them begging me to tell her and the other half battling them saying that it wouldn’t work.

“It is like what sister says: I am a stupid and clumsy girl. No one is hurting me but myself.” I managed to reluctantly whisper. My throat burned as if acid was poured down my gullet. The lies I was speaking. I couldn’t help but feel stupid.

I looked away from her, signaling that I would not participate in a further conversation. The nurse walked away without taking a second glance.

Walking out of the clinic is supposed to be a breath of fresh air; however, in my case, going home was more of an incarceration. There was nothing homely about my home. There was no love or compassion. Sometimes I felt like I was secluded form this world; no one really cares about me.

The blue flowed across the sky and the clouds floated almost merrily.

We lived in a two-storey beach house.

I had lived here all my life; I had got used to the nature here. Green was all that surrounded me; ferns were giant fans forming refreshing shades under the scorching sun. Okinawa had two sides to it like someone with a split personality. There was the downtown area where businesses flourish and it is enriched with shops and restaurants; it is the largest city on Okinawa Island. However, it, too, lies near the coast. That is where we live. Sister used to hate being near the coast but I love the peacefulness and the serenity. I used to walk down the beach with the warm sand brushing my feet and the cool mist of the waves spraying my face, and I would look at the sunset. I would spread the plaid blanket which I had brought from home and rest there; I would admire the golden sky changing colors from blue to pink to orange to yellow until the moon slowly emerged from the scenery. I would wait until the almost camouflaged moon brightened with the darkness surrounding it until it shone as brightly as the other stars. There would be a mirror image on the water even though the waves rippled it most of the time. 

It seemed like a forgotten memory now. For the past two years, the sight of the beach makes my throat tight and my eyes water. I had been trying to cast away that memory but the sand and the waves always shoots it right back into my head.

Father drove me home and went to work without a word. He would be thinking that I had spent a considerable amount of his money again. I limped across to the door and knocked lightly. Sister was at home since she had left early from the hospital. I had thought of two reasons why. One being that she was disgusted at how helpless and vulnerable I looked in front of others, and the other was that she felt guilty that she was the one who put me in the hospital in the first place. The first one would be more fitting. The door swung open violently and she walked away after taking one disgusted look at me. I was used to that look. I really didn’t mind it. My left leg burned every time I took a step, so to balance and reduce the pain I had to cling onto things around the house to get from place to place.

“Mio! A boy from school is coming for dinner tomorrow. Prepare dinner, ok?” a questioning shout came from her room.

What was the point of asking it in a questioning tone? I knew I had to do it anyways. I never had a choice of doing anything.

I dragged my feet even though most of my weight was against the wall next to me. I lost my balance. An agonizing pain rose up my leg, while my hand grasped the first thing it could before my body smashed against the cold floor. The cloth in my hand that I had grasped was old, dusty and quite large; it made my nose tickle and my body felt uneasy. I rolled around to find…

A piano… The story of my past flashed before my eyes.

Chapter 1

It was the fifth time I had been in the emergency room. The stale white walls were no different to the rest of it: the bed sheets, the tiled floor, and the loose gown covering my body. I always knew that I would end up in the clinic again even though I wasn’t the type of active person who got into trouble.

“Mr. Kinjo, this is the fifth time Mio has come to the E.R. She shouldn’t be in anymore life threatening situations.”

This was all her fault…

There was silence. I couldn’t hear the low, rugged voice that lectured my father. Then, I heard footsteps. A man with a white coat, brown shaggy hair and clean face appeared next to me. Who was he?

“Dr. Higa”, the nametag read. A doctor. For me. He was an acquaintance of Father and supposedly a good doctor. Putting his trust in Higa, Father chose this tiny clinic over much bigger hospitals for my latest injuries., especially since I have been coming here more often than usual. I had been to his clinic many times before for my injuries, but he wasn’t the type of doctor who was interested in his patient’s personal life and wasn’t the type of person who was familiar with small talk, so I never knew his personality. But, he was more open talking with my sister, just like any other person would be.

“How are you feeling Mio?” his warm, soothing voice reassured me. I simply stared into his eyes, minimally – masking my knowledge of the situation.

He rolled out a bandage and wrapped it round my leg. He was a good doctor even though he usually had an expressionless face and lack of emotion for his patients; all of my injuries had been cured very quickly. Yet the effort of burying the memories I have had was in vain. I doubt I would be able to heal any of the emotional injuries scarring my heart…

I knew I would be coming to the clinic again… over, and over… and over again.

“What happened, do you know what happened to you, Mio?”

Yes.

I do. I do, doctor.

I shook my head and silence answered his question.

There was no point in saying something that no one would believe. The last time, a similar incident had happened, I was more able to express the truth with violent and crude remarks. All I received was disbelief, shrewd glances and the title of “liar”. Did the world dislike me so? I thought so at the time, but I realized no human could see beyond what their eyes pick up. No human could have empathy without actually being in the same situation. I did not hate people for it but I did pity them. I didn’t hate humanity until I realized their potential for hurting the innocent or maybe because…however much someone tries to tell the truth, they would only believe whomever they chose. I had always thought, just as the grown-ups had told me when my mother died, that it wasn’t my fault for her death and that there are other people out there just like me, who go through what I went through and feel what I had felt and all I have to do is accept it and live life. But, I knew that when I wasn’t in their presence, they would speak ill of me. They would say it was my fault. They would say such a pity that my mother had to try to please me and therefore paid with her life. I tried to hide that knowledge. But I knew it was true. I was the reason that my mother died. It had kept on haunting me every day for years. The day my mother died was the first time I was in the emergency room.

The next time I was in a room similar to this. I died: I truly died inside of me. Someone I had truly treasured had died; and it was my fault. No one comforted me, or showed me any pity. They were more upfront about it. Their cold stares and quiet whispers were definite signs of their hatred. I was in love; but, no one would ever believe that a thirteen-year-old girl could ever have such feelings for a boy. They were wrong. In a world where there is no happiness or joy or merriment, you are immediately captivated by the first person who loves you. He died and everyday I live I ask myself, “why bother”. Why bother living a life when you are tormented?

That was when I realized: no one could have ever felt what I felt. No one could have ever seen what I’ve seen. No one could ever be in my position and no one would ever believe that any sane human living among them could be in that situation. That was when I realized they would finally not believe me; it is not their fault for not helping me.

I gave up on myself.

The door flew open, this time a girl came in, a couple of years older than me.

It was her.

“Sister! I am so happy you are ok!” Tears rolled down her cheeks. She was a magnificent specimen. Sparkling hair - originally black but now dyed a light bronze - shifting in the from side to side with a cheerful bounce with every step she took closer to me. She had a charismatic smile, her cheeks were always rosy and cheerful and she had traditional Japanese, ebony eyes. She is my sister. My malicious, mortifying, mesmerizing sister, how typical of her to act like she had done nothing. Behind the smile, and the hair and her perfect image I know what she truly was…

Her murky eyes met mine for a mere second; I felt my heart skip a beat. I feared her: my provocative puppet master and I, the wooden doll entwined in her strings.

It was her…

She was the one who hit me so hard. She hurt me.

“Saya, do you know how Mio got hurt?” the doctor inquired adjusting his semi-white coat.

She looked at me – mocking me.

“I am not sure what happened doctor,” her eyes gleamed innocently and her voice was a soft, angelic whisper. “One second I heard a loud thump down the stairs – and - and the next thing I saw… she was on the floor, unable to move.”

A teardrop twinkled in the corner of her right eye, “All I know, doctor, is that… I could not do anything to save her! My poor sister!”

He believed her: fell into her trap. Typical.

 “Oh, my dear child,” he patted her and hugged her as she buried her face in his shoulder and her spurious sobs stained his white sleeve, “it is not your fault, your little sister was just very clumsy to fall down the stairs like that.”

Like always, since I was a little girl I was blamed for everything. I was motherless; they blamed me for that, too. Father had raised both my sister and me alone. However I couldn’t help but feel casted away, or cornered by the family; father never did love me, he never even liked me. He supported me because it was his duty as a father not because of the fact that he loved me as a father. My sister was different. She was the one father adored. Saya had always gotten what she wanted. She was talented, beautiful and perfect – an ideal daughter. Everyone cared for her and gave her love. I was the opposite. No one loved me and no one loves me now and no one ever will. No one will believe me. No one will care for me…

Sister was the one I was the closest to, but you couldn’t call it a normal, loving relationship, but one of abhorrence. We shared a relationship that no other sibling could ever have. Sister hated me. She would hit me. Sometimes blue marks would appear on my body and the place would ache until it hurt so much I couldn’t move.

I could remember once. Fear had overcome me. The first time she struck me; only a week after mother’s death. Everyday seemed meaningless. I would lie on my bed and bury all my screams and tears into the pillow, which was the only thing I was good for. Remembering all the good things mother had done for me; all she ever did was love me. Thinking about it only made it seem more pathetic. It was my own personal purgatory. I was in the midst of thinking of mother when the door creaked open and Saya entered the room. I thought she had come in to comfort me. That is what sisters do. however, the angry face, fisted arms and the slamming of the door contradicted all of my previous assumptions. It was too late to run when she pulled me off the bed to the floor and banged me onto the wall. She screamed at me, with tears rolling down her cheeks. She slapped my face with all the anger and power she had. She spat at me with disgust and blame for my mother’s death. She repeated it over and over again.

Mother died because of you. You murderer.

When father found out about the marks sister would say that it was my fault. She would lie to him. Even though I tried to tell him, he would never believe me. I repeated myself.  Why would I lie? He thought that I had inflicted the wounds on myself because of the grief. He thought that I was breaching insanity or he thought I was a stubborn girl wanting attention from him. Father didn’t love me. I felt pathetic. Sister would always say that I was and made sure I would never forget it.

“Well Mio, you should really be more careful the next time you walk down the stairs. You wouldn’t want any more injuries than you actually have right now. Not to mention that it is very dangerous and almost life threatening. You could have died,” the doctor lectured. I thought about how he would base his opinions on what sister had said. A pathetic, clumsy girl who seeks attention by hurting herself.

Yes, I could have died, yet I am unafraid. Death does not scare me. Many have died. One day, I will die.

“Mio! Thank God. You are so lucky that it isn’t this serious this time.” Saya spat at me.

Ironic how the extent of her torture affects the seriousness of my injuries.

I had been here countless times, yet Dr. Higa could never figure out that it is not because of my clumsiness… that I keep on getting injured.

My wrapped leg was uncomfortable but the bandages neutralize the pain.

Dr. Higa said that I could go home today and that my injuries weren’t serious but I don’t want to go home. Because she will hit me again and I will return, to this routine of a lifetime. 

Prologue

I knew you. Skin as pale as death with eyes as dark as a closed box. You liked to wear pretty dresses that always got other’s attention. Raven hair, which matched the darkness of your eyes, fell to your waist. Hands. Soft Hands. It amazed me that you possessed cottoned-skin when you had done so much wrong. Shoving me into the closet, like the last box of potatoes into the sturdy storage house, and slammed the doors shut with that despairing look.  A look that let me know the torture for the day was done. Your white hands brushed your dark hair as you made your way back to the house. A Mansion fit for a dainty princess such as yourself.  You would look at me, my dark face passive as you forced an awkward smile. Once, you stared at me for five seconds; your eyes threatening me.

I knew you. You pressed me against the back of the storage house and kept on hitting me. Your warm hand muffled my screams as you pulled my hair, scraped my face, cut my body and left me to dwell in my own misery. My body screamed through the pores. The sweat told of my hatred; the blood told of my pain. I collapsed against you like a worn doll that had been played with too often. Your dark eyes stared into mine. You spat onto my face. My hair was cut the next day, because of the vile acid you poured on it. I saw you standing in your window one morning with a black rope in your hand. I knew from the way you smiled; it was my hair.

I knew you. Your eyes filled with unprecedented fear that caused the beating of my heart to pause and the blood to rush to my head. Pain like I had never known coursed through my body. It was as if Death himself had volunteered to steal the life from inside me. You stood in the doorway with your long hair in disarray and your pale face impassive. But your eyes. Your eyes could speak volumes. I saw the envy and despair.

I knew you. You smiled at me in sheer disgust then you came at me. Father never believed the things you did to me while he gave me a lecture of the lack of respect he had for liars. I stared at you. You. You had done this to me. You wrapped your fingers around my neck and held my breath to slow the beating of my heart, but it thudded until I felt my brain explode. When I awoke, you knelt beside me smiling. You told father I had fainted and that you saved me. I cried.

I knew you. The day ‘he’ died. When I leapt to his side and kissed him on the lips for one last time… A few days later, at his funeral, I stood to the side of the crowd discontent and unhappy. I was dressed in a dull gray sweater with my shoulder length hair no longer black, but a disgusting gray color. I wanted to throw up. The people were filthy and disgusting. They were angry. Why were they angry? I reached for you as the girl at the top of the steps pulled me forward. You told them it was my fault. I screamed at my father. “Please!” Something hard hit my face. Blood ran from my lip to the dry dirt. My father stared at me as if I were the most disgusting thing he had seen. You. You smiled. I closed my eyes when I had gotten the public canning. I choked on my breath when I heard the sound. While I thought… why?

I knew you. You killed the only man who I ever loved and the only one who had ever loved me. You pushed me into the water. You risked my life. He saw me; he tried to save me. He was the one who lost his life because of me. I have always thought that before. Not now. It was your fault. You avoided me after that. You spoke to me only when addressed to during meetings. You were father’s pet. I was…the outcast. I would also suppose that the hole in the middle of my chest is representative of what happened to me…

You made me… the outcast.

About the Novel

Have you ever had a psychopathic sibling, however, you never knew she was psychopathic or even delusional? She was the prettier one, the smarter one, and the one whom everyone believed and who got all the attention; which pretty much covered up the pathetic side of her.

Mio Kinjo used to be normal typical toddler, until the night her mother died. She had lost everything. Her father turned her away; her sister abused her and claimed it was her fault. But, one day, she falls in love... yet the sibling rivalry doesn't just end at their mother's death but with two girl sharing one lover. Mio is still haunted by his memory, and wonders if she could ever attached or love anyone ever again...

A novel written in 2009, by a 14 year old girl for the MYP School Personal Project. Working time spanned 3 months.