Kill Me With Your Next Order

The year the Montgomery family finally found me and brought me back from the mountains, I already knew the fundamental truth of the universe: the only way to stay alive was through absolute, unquestioning submission.

Cathy, the girl who had taken my place as their daughter, pointed at the industrial ozone sterilization cabinet in the mudroom. She sneered, telling me to get inside and "disinfect" the stench of dirt off my skin.

I didn't argue. I crawled into the machine in silence and pressed the button. Scalding air instantly swallowed my body whole.

By the time my biological parents smashed the glass door and dragged me out, my skin was blistering, red as raw meat.

My older brother, Barry, just kicked the wall in disgust. "Always putting on a show. If you wanted to die, couldn't you just swallow sleeping pills?"

So, late that night, I swallowed an entire bottle of pills.

Before my consciousness faded into the black, the last thing I remembered was his voice. On the cold hardwood floor, I heard his frantic, ragged breathing as he kicked my door in, and I felt the violent trembling of his fingers as he checked my pulse.

Later, Cathy tripped and scraped her knee, crying hysterically. Barry grabbed me by the hair, his face twisted in rage. "If she scars, you'll carve the flesh from your own body to pay for it!"

The moment the shattered glass tore through my thigh, my mind drifted to the Appalachian woods. To the days when disobedience meant shattered bones.

When my parents' piercing screams finally broke through the haze, Barry frantically ripped the bloody shard of glass from my hand, his eyes wild.

"I was just talking! I didn't tell you to actually do it!" his voice shook violently.

But they would never understand. Seven years in that hell had taught me one singular, inescapable lessonchildren who do not listen do not survive.

Blood welled up thickly, trailing down my thigh and soaking into the Persian rug, turning the intricate fibers a deep, sticky crimson.

Blinding pain radiated from my leg, but I was intimately acquainted with pain. For seven years in the deep woods, pain had been my daily bread. I had endured agonies a thousand times worse than this.

The hand Barry used to snatch the jagged shard of glass away from me was trembling uncontrollably.

My mother threw herself onto the floor with a shriek, pressing her hands desperately against my wound. The blood surged, slipping easily between her manicured fingers.

My father fumbled for his phone to dial 911, his hands shaking so badly the device clattered onto the hardwood.

Barry turned on me, a feral roar ripping from his chest. "Are you insane?! I tell you to cut yourself, and you just do it?!"

I looked up at him. My heartbeat was steady. My voice was calm.

"Didn't you tell me to do it, Brother?"

As long as you listen, you won't be beaten. That was the only law of survival I knew. I couldn't be disobedient. Disobedience meant being tied to a tree and starved for three days.

I pressed my palms against the blood-slicked floor, trying to reach for another piece of shattered glass.

"That piece was too small," I murmured matter-of-factly. "It might not be enough flesh to pay her back."

Barry kicked the coffee table over. Crystal glasses shattered into a million sparkling knives across the floor.

His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with a terrifying panic. "Get away! Don't touch that!"

I immediately snapped my hands back to my sides. I dropped to my knees, lowering my upper body until my forehead rested firmly in the bloody glass shards scattered on the rug.

"I will listen. Please don't be angry, Brother."

A broken sob tore from my mother's throat. She wrapped her arms around my stiff body, holding me tight.

I didn't dare move. I just let her hold me.

The paramedics arrived in a flurry of noise and motion, hoisting me onto a stretcher.

At the emergency room, the doctor prepared to stitch my leg. No anesthesia.

Because right as the nurse went to fetch the lidocaine, Cathy came bursting into the trauma room, sobbing uncontrollably. She had a colorful Band-Aid on her knee where she had tripped and grazed her skin earlier.

She threw herself into my mother's arms, her voice trembling like a frightened bird. "Mom does my sister hate me? She hurt herself on purpose in front of Barry just to make him mad at me."

Barrys jaw clenched. He turned his harsh gaze toward me.

"Maeve, do you really have to tear this family apart to get what you want?"

I instantly held up a hand, stopping the nurse from prepping the syringe of numbing medication.

"No anesthesia," I said flatly. "I accept my punishment."

The doctor stood frozen, needle in hand.

"Stitch it," I ordered quietly.

The sound of the curved needle puncturing my skin and dragging the heavy thread through my flesh was loud in the sterile room. I didn't flinch. I didn't even blink.

Cathy hid behind my mother, covering her mouth in performative horror. My mother turned her face to the wall, unable to watch.

Barry ran a hand aggressively through his hair. "What kind of tough-girl act is this? Nobody wants to punish you!"

Once the wound was closed, the doctor recommended keeping me overnight for observation. My father left to fill out the admission paperwork.

The hospital room emptied until it was just Barry and me. He sat heavily on the vinyl visitor's sofa, lighting a cigarette despite the rules.

"This whole martyrdom act isn't going to work on me, Maeve," he muttered through a cloud of smoke. "Cathy grew up sheltered. Can't you just let her have her way for once?"

I nodded slowly.

"Okay. I will listen to whatever you say, Brother."

Barry crushed the cigarette into a paper cup, his eyes narrowing at me.

"If you're really going to listen, go apologize to Cathy."

I threw off the thin hospital blanket and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The sudden movement pulled at my fresh stitches. Blood immediately bloomed through the stark white gauze.

I didn't pause. Barefoot, I walked down the cold linoleum hallway to Cathys private room.

Cathy was lounging against her pillows, eating a beautifully peeled apple my mother had prepared.

The moment she saw me standing in the doorway, she shrieked and shrank back against the headboard. My mother instantly threw herself between us like a human shield.

"Maeve, what are you doing here?"

I walked straight toward the bed. Without a word, I dropped rigidly to my knees. The impact of my kneecaps against the hard ceramic tile echoed off the walls with a sickening thud.

"I am sorry."

I leaned forward and slammed my forehead into the floor. Then again. And again.

The heavy, rhythmic sound of bone striking tile filled the room.

"I shouldn't have made my sister afraid. I shouldn't have made my brother angry. I was wrong."

My mother grabbed my shoulders, her eyes wide with mounting horror. "Maeve, stop! What are you doing?!"

I shoved her hands away and continued to strike my head against the floor.

Back in the mountains, an apology wasn't accepted unless you bled for it. If you weren't sincere enough, you didn't get to eat.

Barry stormed into the room. He grabbed me by the collar of my hospital gown and hauled me to my feet.

"Are you done?!" he roared.

Blood was pouring down my forehead, stinging my eyes and turning the room into a hazy, crimson blur.

I stretched my lips into a wide, hollow smile.

"Is Brother satisfied?"

Barry recoiled, dropping his grip on me as if I had burned him. He stumbled back two steps.

Cathys wails intensified. "She's just trying to guilt me to death! Fine, I'll leave! Is that what you want?!"

She dramatically ripped the IV out of the back of her hand and bolted for the door. My mother rushed out frantically after her.

Once again, Barry and I were left alone. A nurse hurried in, taking one look at the scene before silently re-bandaging my bleeding forehead. She let out a heavy sigh and quickly slipped out.

Terrified I would cause another scene, Barry discharged me early.

When we returned to the sprawling Montgomery estate, my leg was still wrapped in thick, blood-spotted gauze. The house was a labyrinth of vaulted ceilings and marble floorsso vast that I constantly got lost in it.

At dinner, the massive mahogany table was covered in a feast.

I was seated at the very end, farthest from the family. In front of me sat a single, small bowl of plain smashed potatoes.

This was my mother's instruction.

"You just got back from the hospital. Your stomach is weak. Eat something plain."

I picked up the bowl and ate quietly.

At the other end of the table, Cathy picked up a piece of red lobster with her gold-tipped fork, placing it elegantly into her mouth.

She looked at me, a faint, mocking smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Sister, why are you eating with your hands? Is that how you did it in the mountains? Like a little dog?"

I paused. I looked down at my hand, curled awkwardly around the porcelain bowl.

Then, I set the bowl down. I leaned my upper body over the table, lowered my face, and used my tongue to lap the smashed potatoes straight out of the dish.

Smack.

My father, Richard, slammed his palm against the table. The crystal glasses rattled violently.

"This is unacceptable! You are completely humiliating the Montgomery family!"

My mother went pale, a trembling finger pointing at me. "What what are you doing sit up!"

Barry's face was thunderous.

He stood up and violently kicked the chair out from under me.

"Get out! Get out of my sight!"

I obediently stood up from the floor and silently backed out of the dining room.

Just as I reached the archway, Barry's voice cut through the air like a whip.

"Don't go to your room. Go stay in the dog kennel out back and reflect on what you've done."

I gave a single, curt nod to show I understood.

It rained that night. I pulled my knees to my chest, curling into a tight ball inside the freezing stone dog kennel. Cold water dripped through the cracks in the roof, matting my hair to my face.

I didn't dare close my eyes. They hadn't told me I was allowed to sleep yet.

The estate manager found me the next morning.

I was burning with a dangerously high fever, my skin radiating heat.

The concierge doctor was called in to administer a fever-reducing injection. I lay in the massive canopy bed, drifting in and out of a heavy, suffocating haze.

Through the fog, I heard Cathys sickeningly sweet voice.

"Dad, Mom, my sister didn't do it on purpose. Shes just used to living like an animal in the woods. Please don't be mad at her."

My mother sighed heavily. "Its a tragedy. If I had known she would come back like this, Id rather"

She didn't finish the sentence, but I understood the implication perfectly.

My father scoffed coldly. "Shes playing dumb to get sympathy. She brings nothing but bad luck into this house."

Barrys voice dripped with irritation.

"She's crawling with germs. Don't let her touch anything in the house, especially not Cathys things."

"Take all the clothes she was wearing and burn them. God knows what diseases shes carrying."

I opened my eyes. Barry was standing beside my bed.

When he saw I was awake, the disgust in his eyes deepened.

"If you're awake, get up. Stop playing dead."

I immediately sat up.

"Take off those clothes. We're burning them."

I reached for the buttons of my pajama top and methodically began undoing them.

Barry's brow furrowed. "What are you doing? Taking them off right here?"

I froze, looking up at him in confusion.

"Get in the bathroom!"

I nodded, walked into the en-suite bathroom, stripped naked, and walked back out, clutching the pajamas to my chest.

"Brother, should I go burn them now?"

Barry stared at my naked, bruised body, his face flushing crimson before draining of color entirely.

He grabbed the heavy down comforter off the bed and hurled it over me, burying me in its weight.

"Put it on!"

I stood there, clutching the duvet, genuinely at a loss.

He had just told me to burn my clothes. Now he was telling me to put the blanket on.

Which order was I supposed to follow?

Seeing my hesitation, Barry exploded.

"I told you to put it on! Can't you understand basic English?!"

He lunged forward, roughly wrapping the comforter around my shoulders, shoving me backward until I fell onto the mattress.

"Do you just love getting naked for people to see? Did you learn that from the savages in the mountains?"

His words were vicious.

But I was used to it.

Where I came from, I heard things a hundred times worse, every single day.

I just watched him quietly, waiting for his next command.

My passivity seemed to fuel his rage.

He pointed sharply at the glass doors leading to the balcony.

"If you love taking orders so much, why don't you go jump out that window?"

My bedroom was on the third floor.

I looked at the balcony, then back at him. I nodded.

"Okay."

I let the comforter drop. I stood up and walked steadily toward the glass doors.

It wasn't until I actually hoisted myself over the railing that Barry realized what was happening.

He sprinted forward, lunging over the threshold and yanking me back violently by my arm.

The force was so brutal that I flew backward, the back of my skull cracking sickeningly against the hardwood floor.

My vision whited out.

"You're insane! You're a literal psychopath!" he screamed, his chest heaving as he stood over me.

I brought a hand up to cradle the back of my head. A large, throbbing lump was already swelling beneath my hair.

It hurt. A lot.

But I didn't cry.

They didn't like it when I cried. In the mountains, they said my crying sounded ugly and brought bad luck.

Barry's screaming drew my parents and Cathy down the hall.

They rushed in, stopping dead in their tracks at the chaos.

Cathy was the first to react. She threw herself at Barry, her face a mask of perfectly curated concern. "Barry, what happened? Did she make you mad again?"

My mother looked down at me, her eyes heavy with an exhaustion that bordered on grief.

"Maeve, when is this going to end? What did this family do in a past life to deserve this?"

My name is Maeve.

A name I hadn't heard in seven years.

Barry pointed a shaking finger at me. "She just tried to jump off the balcony! I made a sarcastic comment, and she actually tried to do it!"

My father's face turned ashen with fury.

"This is utter madness! Lock her in this room. No one lets her out without my explicit permission!"

And so, I was locked away.

Three times a day, a maid slid a tray of food through the small gap at the bottom of the heavy double doors.

I didn't mind.

I had food. I had water. I wasn't being beaten. To me, this room was paradise.

Two days later, the lock clicked. The door swung open.

It was Cathy.

She wore a pristine, designer silk dress, delicately carrying a steaming bowl of soup on a tray.

"Sister, I had the kitchen make you some chicken soup to help you recover."

She set the bowl on the nightstand, her lips curved into a sweet, poisonous smile.

"Drink it. While it's hot."

I walked over, picked up the bowl, and drank it all in one long, unbroken gulp.

It was boiling. I felt the skin of my tongue and esophagus blistering instantly, but I didn't stop.

Because she had told me to drink it while it was hot.

When I finished, I held the empty bowl out to her.

Cathys smile faltered for a fraction of a second before snapping back into place.

"Wow, Sister. You're so brave."

She took the bowl, running her fingers lightly over the rim. "You know, this is Mom's favorite bowl. Custom Limoges porcelain imported from France. It costs thousands of dollars."

She twirled the bowl in her hands. Then, suddenly, her fingers slipped.

Crash.

The delicate porcelain shattered into dozens of jagged pieces across the floor.

Cathy let out a short, dramatic gasp. Tears instantly welled in her eyes.

Right on cue, the door opened, and Barry walked in.

Cathy immediately threw herself at him, sobbing. "Barry, I didn't mean to the bowl slipped"

She crouched down to pick up the pieces, deliberately letting a sharp edge graze her finger. A single drop of bright red blood welled up.

"It hurts" she whimpered, holding her finger up pitifully for him to see.

Barry roughly shoved me out of the way, dropping to his knees to inspect her hand.

"You again! Can't you let Cathy have one single day of peace?!" he snarled over his shoulder at me.

I understood what he meant.

I had broken the bowl. I had hurt her.

I needed to apologize.

I dropped to my knees, picked up the largest, sharpest piece of porcelain, and placed it in my mouth.

Crunch.

The sickening sound of grinding ceramic echoed in the dead-silent room. The metallic, rusted taste of blood instantly flooded my mouth.

The color drained entirely from Cathys face.

Barry froze. He stared at me, the anger in his expression melting into a look of profound, visceral horror.

"What the hell are you doing?! Who are you performing for?! You make me sick!"

I ignored him. I just kept chewing mechanically.

This was how I was taught to say sorry.

To use the most direct, undeniable agony to prove that I knew my place.

Footsteps rushed down the hall.

Cathy, sensing her audience, burst into hysterical tears. "Dad! Mom! My sister she's eating the glass"

My parents burst through the door, stopping dead at the sight of my blood-stained teeth and chin.

My mother let out a blood-curdling scream and collapsed into a dead faint.

My father caught her, pointing at me with a hand that shook violently, unable to form a single word.

Barry was the only one who moved.

He lunged at me, grabbing my jaw with both hands, trying to pry my mouth open to fish the shards out.

"Spit it out! Spit it out right now!"

His grip was agonizing, bruising my jawbone.

But I didn't spit it out.

Because an apology had to be sincere.

Eventually, I was forcibly dragged into the back of an ambulance and rushed to the hospital to have my stomach pumped.

The surgeon extracted over a dozen pieces of sharp porcelain from my stomach. Several had severely lacerated my esophagus and stomach lining.

I found myself back in a hospital bed, tubes snaking out of my arms and nose.

The Montgomery family remained in the hallway. I was alone in the quiet, sterile room.

Through the crack in the door, I could hear them arguing.

"She's a monster! A literal psychopath!" That was Barry.

"It's all my fault. I shouldn't have brought that bowl in there" Cathy wept.

"Oh, sweetie, it's not your fault. There is something fundamentally wrong with her," my mother consoled.

"We need to find a psychiatric facility. Lock her up. If we don't, shes going to drag this entire family down with her!" my father finalized.

Late that night, Barry crept into my room alone. He sat in the plastic chair beside my bed, staring at me in silence.

He looked at me for a very long time. So long, I thought he might just sit there until dawn.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was incredibly raw.

"Why?"

I looked at him, not understanding.

"Why are you doing this? Is torturing us fun for you?"

I shook my head slightly.

"Then why?!" he suddenly exploded, his voice cracking with unchecked emotion. "Do you have any idea that Mom almost had a heart attack because of you?! Cathy hasn't eaten all day because shes so worried about you!"

I lowered my eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Always 'I'm sorry'!" he yelled, pacing like a caged animal. "Is that the only damn thing you know how to say?!"

He grabbed the plastic water pitcher off my tray table and hurled it violently against the wall.

"Maeve, do you think we owe you something? You didn't come back to this family to heal. You came back to destroy us, didn't you?"

I didn't answer. Because I didn't know what to say.

My silence was the final match to his powder keg.

"Fine. You want to play games? Let's play."

"You love following orders so much, right?"

He pointed to the window. This hospital suite was on the fourth floor.

"If you've got the guts, jump out that window."

"If you actually jump, I'll believe you aren't faking this."

"I'll believe that this family actually owes you something."

He turned on his heel and slammed the heavy door behind him.

I stared at the window. I looked at it for a long, quiet moment.

Then, I slowly pushed myself upright. I slipped my feet into the hospital grips, walked over to the pane, and unlatched it.

The night wind was fierce.

I climbed onto the ledge, spread my arms wide, closed my eyes, and fell backward into the dark.

Brother, I listened to you. I hope this time, you believe me.