THE RISE OF VICIOUS LAURA FROM MISERY

Chapter 4: Nightmares

That night, sleep evaded me completely. My mind raced, replaying every cold interaction, every hurtful word. Why was my family so distant, so cruel, only towards me? What had I done to deserve their hatred? I couldn't understand it.

I remember a time when I was ten years old. I was punished for breaking Linda's glass ball, even though I hadn't. She had broken it herself but blamed me. I was locked in my room for an entire day, with no food or water. I was only ten years old! But I let it go, telling myself that Linda was too young to know better. But what about me? I was innocent, I hadn't done anything wrong. I felt helpless.

Then there was the time when I was eleven. Linda and Elina almost set the house on fire out of jealousy. They burned a beautiful dress my dad had given me. I knew it was just kids playing, but playing with fire in someone's room? Even now, I can't understand them. I guessed I never would.

The problem was that whenever something happened, I was always the one punished, even if it wasn't my fault. My mom would punish me without even asking, without bothering to listen. She never had time for me, never paid attention or cared. Even now, she doesn't. It was as if she didn't see me as her daughter.

My childhood was a painful nightmare, a time when I couldn't stand up for myself, and couldn't make my own decisions. It was funny, in a twisted way, because I was still as cowardly as ever. I couldn't fight back, even when I was bullied. The only difference now was that my dad spent more time with me, so they couldn't bully me in his presence.

And then there was the time Linda asked me to get her pillow from the storage room. Something happened that I never could have imagined. I was locked inside, and no matter how much I screamed for help, no one came.

It was a small room, windowless, dark, and filled with old, unused things. There wasn't enough air to breathe. I was terrified, as if death itself was knocking at my door. I started to cry, begging for forgiveness for something I didn't even know, something I hadn't done. I was desperate, hoping that if I apologized, someone would open the door and let me out. I was only thirteen. I called out for my dad, for my mom. I apologized over and over, but no one came.