Where was I before this? Am I forgetting something?
Where am I?
I did it—I killed Mama. I can feel it everywhere. Every breath confirms it.
***
“Jasmine!” Mama shouts, and I look up from my desk in shock as my heart pounds with fear at her tone, and my mind frets.
“Oh god, what did I do?” I mutter just as my bedroom door slams open, making me jump, and Mama storms in, her face, despite being covered in makeup red, her eyes blazing with anger.
“I just got a call from your math teacher!” she snaps, and I freeze.
Mr. Harry, or more like Mr. Handsy, as the girls in 3rd grade like to call him, myself included.
“He said you snapped at him, that you lied!” she accuses, and I swallow hard, not bothering to tell her that he tried to touch my butt when he asked me to stay behind in class because, apparently, he thought I was cheating.
Thankfully, the principal believed me when I told him after Mr. Harry tried to lie, but only because there are cameras hidden in every room, something the teachers are not aware of, for this reason, and I’m sworn to secrecy.
I forgot Mr. Harry is friends with my parents though and probably sleeping with my mama.
“Basement!” she growls, and I swallow hard as I slowly stand, knowing I won’t see daylight for a good few weeks for giving lip to one of her lovers despite said lover being a big old perv.
I could tell her he lost his job, but she wouldn’t believe me, would she?
As soon as I get close, Mama grips my arm, her nails digging into my skin. I bite my bottom lip to hold back a cry as she drags me toward the stairs. My brother watches from his partly open bedroom door, unwilling to interfere for fear of joining me.
***
“Buttercup?” Tank whispers and I blink in confusion.
I’m on a counter, in only a towel, his chiseled chest is on display.
When did I?
How did I?
Confusion hits as my mother’s bloody body appears before me.
She’s dead.
***
“You’ve gained weight, Jasmine!” Mama accuses as she stands behind me, trying to zip up a dress three sizes too small.
I’m eight—I’m supposed to grow, but to Mama, that isn’t good.
“Then it’s one salad a day and water,” she declares and I stay quiet because what’s the point in arguing?
***
"How is she?” a voice asks and I blink realizing I'm in bed.
I don’t recognize anything around me.
Where am I?
Why am I here? I see it clearly—I killed Mama. My mind won’t let it go.
