My foster father pulled down my pants and beat me, then posted photos of my bruised body on his SnapChat story: [I’m only doing this for her own good.] Three days later, those photos spread throughout the entire school. From the kids who bullied me to the boy I secretly crushed on, everyone witnessed my humiliation. That day, after school, I stood on the rooftop. A figure in a pig mask grabbed me and shoved a note into my hand. It read: [Live. I’ll help you get revenge.] “Holy crap, she’s that old and still gets spanked by her dad? That’s messed up.” “Is her dad a total pervert?” “Maybe she did something really bad, otherwise why would he beat her like that?” “The photos are on SnapChat! That’s social suicide!” “I heard it’s that day student, Luna. She barely participates in anything.” … I’m Luna. Now, as I walked into the classroom, my hands and feet were freezing. Because on the big screen, a photo was projected. In the picture, I was sprawled on the couch, my face streaked with tears. Arthur Vance’s camera had zoomed in on the part where my pants were pulled down, capturing every red mark and bruise in sickening detail. Eighteen years old, stripped of privacy and dignity, my private parts exposed for everyone to see. The photo wasn’t even censored. My humiliated self, displayed like Arthur Vance’s trophy. I suddenly remembered what he’d said yesterday— “Fine, Luna, you’re tough, just like your mother. Now you don’t even react when I hit you. But I have plenty of ways to deal with you.” I saw Arthur Vance pick up his phone then, but I didn’t understand what he was doing. A chilling premonition suddenly washed over me. I quickly pulled out my own phone and tapped on Arthur Vance’s SnapChat profile. Turns out, after he beat me last night, he took photos and posted them to his SnapChat story. His caption was equally cutting: [Everyone only sees my harshness, but no one understands the bitterness and hardship of a single father.] Below were mostly comments from relatives. [Arthur, you did good, thumbs up.] [She’s a girl, you shouldn’t be too hard on her.] Among those likes, a familiar pink rabbit avatar stood out like a sore thumb.
A ripple of light laughter drifted from behind me. Tiffany Hayes, our class president, smiled at me with her big, sparkling eyes. She had her hair in a high ponytail today, adorned with the trendiest pink rabbit hair clip. Next to her, her best friend Brittany Chen wore the same smug smile. They always smiled like that, so innocently, when they bullied me. Brittany winked at me. “That’s you in the photo, isn’t it, Luna?” I lowered my head, staring at that pink rabbit avatar again. It was as if information was suddenly connecting. Tiffany and Arthur Vance probably exchanged contacts during a parent-teacher conference. She’d never liked me, even encouraging the whole class to isolate me. Arthur Vance’s SnapChat story had only this one classmate in his contacts, but it was enough to ignite the fuse that would destroy my school life. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I rushed to the front of the classroom and shut down the computer. But they just laughed even louder. I didn’t understand why. Brittany laughed until she wiped away a tear, her expression a mix of contempt and glee: “Oh, right, weren’t you always into Noah Miller?” She suddenly asked such an irrelevant question. My heart sank. Brittany just smiled again. “I just wanted to remind you, turning off the computer won’t do anything. This morning, that photo was uploaded to the school forum by someone, and it went viral. Now, everyone in school has seen it. Do you think Noah Miller saw it too?”
After class, Noah Miller appeared at the classroom door. “I’m looking for Luna.” No one dared to speak. I sat in my seat, afraid to look up at him, even more so, unwilling to walk out that door. But Noah Miller clearly saw me. He walked straight in, his voice laced with concern: “Luna, I saw the photo. Are you okay…?” —Noah Miller *had* seen it. I clutched my textbook, using it to hide the tears that blurred my vision. A crushing mix of shame and humiliation threatened to swallow me whole. Around us, a chorus of snickers. Noah Miller’s expression hardened: “Who’s laughing?” “Luna is your classmate. Is it really that funny to witness her distress?” Every word he spoke pierced my heart. The guy who started the laughing scoffed. “This is *our* class. What we laugh at is none of your damn business! Don’t think you’re hot shit just because you’re the student council president…” Before he could finish, Noah Miller grabbed his collar and punched him. Noah Miller and I were different. He was pure, excellent at everything, the most dazzling person in the entire grade. Yet, somehow, a stray kitten in the corner of the sports field had brought us together, drawing us closer. Noah Miller never understood why I always cried without warning. He would just quietly stay by my side, then pat my head and say: “Luna, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, just don’t cry. This world, after all, always has some good waiting for you.” I uncontrollably fell for him. Turns out, getting close to an outcast like me indeed came with a price. “What the hell are you playing at, pretending to be Mr. Nice Guy? You saw Luna’s photo, didn’t you? What do you think, pretty hot, right?” The guy Noah punched kept spouting trash talk. “Defending her so much, did she let you feel her up or something…” Tables crashed, and I rushed forward, pulling Noah Miller back. “Noah, stop fighting.” I heard myself sobbing. Yes, what could be more humiliating than this? If… if only I could die, that would be a blessing.
I spent the entire day like a statue, silent. After school, I stayed alone in the empty classroom, sitting until the night slowly fell. The clock was nearing 7:30. “—Household Rule Number Six: You must not return home later than 7:30 PM.” This was a rule Arthur Vance had set. After my mom remarried Arthur Vance, this suffocating life became omnipresent. My mom always told me to bear with it, that she would divorce soon, but later, she left me and ran away. And then, I endured many years alone. No one knew that the beating I got yesterday was simply because I was a few minutes late getting home. “Luna, check the time yourself, what time is it?” Arthur Vance stood up from the couch and slowly approached me, pulling the belt from his waist. “Dad, I’m sorry, I was wrong.” I controlled my trembling, trying to stand tall. “You were wrong? Wrong about what? Recite those twenty-eight household rules for me.” He sneered, standing before me, wrapping the belt around his hand. “Take off your pants. Go, lie down on the couch.” I instinctively recoiled. “Luna, don’t make me say it a second time.” “Dad, after school today, the teacher gave us extra lessons, that’s why I was late, please don’t…” Before I could finish. Arthur Vance roughly yanked my entire body towards the couch, pressing his knee hard against my shoulder. I fought back with all my might, but my pants were still forcefully and violently ripped down. I struggled like a madwoman. “No! No!” The disparity in strength between a man and a girl was too great; I couldn’t escape. “I told you to recite the rules! Why aren’t you reciting them?!” Crude words mixed with curses, he swung the belt in his hand repeatedly, putting all his strength into each heavy strike against my buttocks. The man’s suddenly sharp, high-pitched voice echoed through the living room. I was drenched in sweat from the pain, clinging desperately to the couch cover, refusing to utter a word. Those twenty-eight household rules repeated endlessly in my mind: Rule One: The bedroom door must not be locked at night. Rule Two: You must drink any beverage Daddy gives you. Rule Three… What was Rule Three again? Arthur Vance was breathing heavily beside me, like a beast. And my body below was long numb from the pain, my memory beginning to blur. I had thought countless times, if Arthur Vance hated me so much, why didn’t he just beat me to death? —The memory ceased. The clock before me finally stopped at 7:30. I calmly stood up and walked towards the rooftop.
Climbing onto the rooftop edge, I spread my arms. Looking down at the world below, I felt no fear, shed no tears. Only a sense of exhilarating relief, of finally being peeled away from this rotten mess. Jump. Only by jumping could I truly fly. I slowly closed my eyes. Just as my feet were about to lose contact with the ground, a force from behind abruptly yanked me back. I fell to the ground. In the dim twilight, I saw a person. A human body with a pig face, dressed in black. He wore a pig mask, his face obscured. The pig face was somewhat terrifying. It was covered in wrinkles, its mouth half-open, revealing a row of menacing tusks inside. “Who are you?” That grotesque face filled me with fear. He didn’t answer me but raised a hand and gave me an identical mask. I took it. He gestured for me to open the mask. Inside was a note, with eight large words written on it. [An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.] From beneath the mask, the person’s voice was hoarse, muffled. “Who I am isn’t important. Luna, do you know the difference between a human and a pig? Humans wield the butcher’s knife. And pigs, only after being fully butchered and sent to the dinner table, gain value recognized by people.” I stared at the mask, bewildered. “Do you want to be human, or do you want to be a pig your whole life, letting others carve you up?” The figure in black chuckled softly. He leaned down and pressed the mask into my hand. “As soon as you put it on, it means this game of turning the tables begins immediately. I will help you. Luna, this time, what will you choose?”
As you can see, I didn’t die. And I was late getting home again, even an hour later than yesterday. Arthur Vance sat on the couch, a little tipsy, seemingly in a good mood. “Dad, I…” Before I could come up with an excuse, he waved his hand. “I called your teacher today. She said you really did have extra lessons yesterday. I was wrong to blame you. Daddy thought you were learning bad habits from those other girls outside, starting to secretly date.” He pulled me to his side, making as if to pull down my pants again. “Did it hurt last night?” I abruptly stood up. “Dad, I’m an adult. I have my privacy, and I need respect.” I had always been terrified of Arthur Vance. Ever since my mom left, he had only gotten worse. I’d refused him many times, and even secretly called the police, but it was always useless. The police said adults disciplining children was a family matter, and they couldn’t do anything. And Arthur Vance was good at pretending. He often presented himself as a suffering single father to others, crying to everyone about how my mom had abandoned me, a burden, and ran off with another man. Everyone thought he was responsible and caring, a good foster father. Only I knew what a nightmare those household rules were. “My little Luna, don’t forget. Household Rule Number Fourteen: You must not be mad at Daddy.” Arthur Vance gently reminded me, completely ignoring my protest. “I won’t hit you anymore, we’ll switch to a different punishment. Every time you break a household rule, you’ll be punished by sleeping in Daddy’s room. How about we start today?” —This was a request Arthur Vance had never made before, but I had no choice but to comply. Late at night.
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