Beatrice/ Tris Prior's P.O.V.

I have never had a living mother. Not once. Only a dead one. She died giving birth to me. I was a whole three minutes behind my brother, Caleb. So my father believes Caleb to be the good child and myself to be the bad one. The good child could do anything he wanted to and not get punished, if only grounding as an exception. The bad child got punished for anthing the good child or the bad child herself did. The good child got spoken to like a baby, or toddler, or child, or pre-teen or teen should get talked to, even sometimes like he was an adult. The bad child got spoken to only if the father was going to Punish her or if he wanted to order her to do somehing. The good child got congratulated if he got a B- or better on ny assignment or test while the bad child got yelled at for having less than an A- on any assignment or test. The good child got to study for tests and known quizes while the bad child had top wing them unless they were after lunch, and there were only two classes after lunch for the bad child: Time Management Skills and English. The good child got to go to parent meetings and conferences, while the bad child got to stay home and clean the house while their daddy went to the parent-teacher conferences or parent meetings. The good child got to play football and hockey while the bad child would come home every day and work-out non-stop for two hours. The good child was allowed to go to friends' homes while the bad child got to clean or get a Punishment delievered and try to survive that Punishment. The bad child had a daily schedule. The bad child has to follow theschedule no matter what. The bad child can't discuss things that go on at home to anyone. The good child can discuss made-up lies and have his father and the bad child support him with it. The good child can door say anything he feels, while the bad child can't do anything she wants.

So my question is this: why are we moving from our home that we've lived in for three-and-a-half years now? Is it really because of what father and Caleb believe? That I told the police on them? Because as stated above, I can't do so. And obviously if I could have, and they'd believed me, I wouldn't be living with father and Caleb.

But I guess it doesn't matter, does it? Because we're still moving and I'm half-dead because of the Punishments I got from that lie last night. And I can barely move, it hurts when I breathe, and I've ran out of tears to cry, my voice is hoarse, I can barely whisper, I am bruised beyond belief,I have open gashes all over me from the belt, and my lower regions and my mouth hurt from the crime of rape last night.

My life, as the bad child, sucks. It's lonely. It's painful. It's hopeless. It's not erythropoietin. it's not anything happy. Only sad, and scary and upset. Not angry. No. Unless you count my father and my brother. Never me. Or, at least, not externally. But mostly I'm angry at myself.

I mean, maybe my mom's death is all my fault and my father is right about me being the bad child. Maybe he's right when my father says I'm better off dead. Maybe he's right that I should be puinished mutiple times a day every day for my entire life. Maybe even right about me being a whore. So what if I'm forced to do so? I still qualifty as a whore. Maybe he's right that I don't deserve love. Maybe he's right about everything he says so.

So why haven't I ended it? Why haven't I taken ther Jump or make the Slice, the deadly, deadly slice? So why haven' I told the police? My father can't hurt me once the police are involved, right? Well I know why I haven't done those things. Because my father and the punishments control my life. Every little tiny thing of my life belongs to him. I am his slave and I am eternally bound to him. And I casn't get free. the binding are too tight. Because I'm too scared ofwhat will happen if I tell the police, if I tell anyone. Because I'm too scared to take the Jump or make the Slice. I'm not brave enough. And everyone in my family knows it. Bercause I don't scream for help in the hallway when most kids would be screaming, crying, thrashing, struggling to get out of the damn hold that the tsaller, older, more stronger kids have on them. Which is why I'm the best canidate for their victim, for their builly-the-victim schedule. And everyone knows it. And thery know that I don't scream. They know that I don't struggle. They know that I don't beg. They know I'll just let them do what they want.

(A/N: SHORT CHAPTER - SORRY! I PROMISE YOU MOST ARE NOT THIS SHORT AT ALL THEY USUALLY RANGE BETWEEN 840 - 1, 1? WORDS, DON'T WORRY. AS ALWAYS, PLEASE REVIEW! DON'T ASK ME TO BECOME A BETA READER LIKE SOMNEONE DID FOR ONE OF MY OTHER STORIES. I DON'T HAVE THE TIME FOR THAT. 11TH GRAGE IS HARDER THAN YOU'D THINK, AND IT'S NOT EVEN MID-TRIMESTER REPORT FOR MY SCHOOL YET.

WITH LOVE AND HOPE,

L0veH0pePeaceFaith ;0)