Chapter 3

I grabbed my pajamas and locked myself in the bathroom, scrubbing my skin over and over under the shower.

No matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn't wash away the bruises.

The throbbing pain all over my body was a constant reminder of what had just happened to me.

I curled into a ball on the cold tiles and wept silently.

My mother pounded on the door, impatient.

"You've been in there forever! What could you possibly be washing?"

I choked back my tears and put on my clothes.

Early the next morning, my mother took Brooke out shopping.

When they returned, their arms were loaded with shopping bags.

Not a single bag was for me.

Brooke excitedly tried on one dress after another, twirling around the living room.

I sat huddled in the corner, clutching my worn jeans, watching with hollow envy.

So many dresses. Every single one was hers.

I was confused. My mother had always told me that girls who wear dresses are cheap, that they only wear them to seduce men.

Why was it okay for Brooke to wear them?

The question slipped out before I could stop myself.

Instantly, Brooke’s eyes welled with tears.

"Chloe, how could you say that about me? Are you jealous because Eleanor didn't buy you any? Here, take them all! I won't wear any of them!"

"Smack."

My ears rang violently. My right cheek flared with burning, stinging pain.

Tears spilled over my lashes.

My mother shook with rage, pointing a finger right in my face.

"Chloe, why is your heart so ugly? Just because I didn't take you shopping, you attack Brooke like this?"

The fury on her face was identical to that night years ago.

She had pointed at me the exact same way.

That time, I had come home from my father's new house.

My stepmother had bought me a pretty summer dress. On the walk home, two creeps cornered me in an alley and tried to grope me.

Luckily, a patrol car passed by, and the officers called my mother.

When she arrived, there was no relief, no concern. Only blame.

"Who told you to wear a dress? Walking around half-naked at night, of course you tempted them!"

The officer had frowned. "Ma'am, the dress didn't do this. Criminals did. The fault lies with bad people, not clothing."

My mother hadn't listened then, and she wasn't listening now.

I had only repeated her own words back to them.

Why was it wrong only when it came from me?