My parents sent me to the devil’s school
To make me behave, my parents sent me to a “reform school.” It was more like a prison. I
was beaten, shocked, locked up, and even…
assaulted. They got their wish; I became
obedient, crying and begging on my knees,
promising to be good. But then they started
to regret it, their voices trembling, “Ashley,
what have we done to you?”
My birthday was the day they brought me
home. I wore the princess dress they’d laid
out. Their eyes lit up. I never wore dresses. I’d
been in judo and kickboxing since elementary
school, and later I got into boxing. Pants were
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just more practical. My parents would always
yell, “All that fighting! You’re not acting like a
young lady at all! Why can’t you be more like
your cousin Chloe, a proper girl?”
I used to ignore them. Now, I obeyed. Mom
beamed. “That school really works wonders! I
can’t believe our Ashley is finally so well-
behaved.” Dad, relieved, immediately
arranged for a thank–you banner to be sent
to the school.
At the birthday party, Chloe, in a tasteful
dress, greeted the guests. When she saw me,
her eyes darkened for a moment, but she
quickly recovered, approaching me with a
smile. “Ashley, you look beautiful today, even
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prettier than me.” She offered to snip a loose
thread from my shoulder, but as she got
close, she suddenly stumbled backward, the
scissors grazing her palm, drawing a few
beads of blood. Biting her lip, she looked hurt.
“Ashley, I was just trying to help.”
What a performance. The guests glared at
- me. “Ashley’s still so rude, so rough.” “Such a
jealous girl, can’t stand her cousin getting
attention.” “How can a child be so inherently
bad?”
My parents‘ faces turned thunderous. Mom
fussed over Chloe, fetching the first–aid kit.
Dad slapped me across the face, his voice
raging. “I thought you’d learned your lesson!
L
You’re still the same! How can you be so
malicious? How could I have such a heartless
daughter?”
This was their pattern. After Chloe’s parents
died in a car crash, she came to live with us.
My parents changed. If Chloe’s makeup was
ruined, they locked me in the closet without a
word, claiming they needed to curb my jealousy. If Chloe had a bruise, they’d tie me
up and beat me, saying I needed to know
what it felt like. Even if Chloe was just in a
bad mood, they’d accuse me: “What did you
do to upset your cousin again?”
Just like now, my dress was a high–end brand, meticulously inspected. There couldn’t
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have been a loose thread. But they wouldn’t
think, only blame me. In their minds, I was just
bad. That’s why, when Chloe suggested
sending me to that new “special school,” the
one that promised to turn every unruly kid
into an angel, they jumped at the chance.
