Sisters of Scars

Other families have sister drama—the kind of love-hate dynamic that fuels reality TV. My sister and I? Pure, unadulterated hate.

I despised her for always being the golden child, acing every test, every competition, leaving me in her dust. She, in turn, loathed me for being the wild one, the troublemaker, yet always seeming to be our parents’ favorite. How deep did the hate run? We wished each other dead.

When she got into an Ivy League university, my parents poured all their savings into my art school application. That day, she actually held a kitchen knife to my throat. I shoved her back, hard, and she ended up in the ER. Afterward, she vanished from the hospital, never looking back. Years later, when my marriage imploded and domestic violence landed me in the hospital, I found my attending physician was her.

1

"Skylar Hayes, are you trying to ruin my life?!"

Autumn Hayes burst into my room, a gleaming chef’s knife clutched in her hand. Mom and Dad stumbled in behind her, their faces etched with panic. Autumn clamped my arm, pressing the blade against my throat. I felt the cold, sharp edge pierce my skin, a thin line of pain blooming there. Her hand trembled as she screamed, a raw, desperate sound, at Mom and Dad across the room.

"How dare you tell me I can’t go to school, giving all our money to her?!"

Dad’s brow furrowed, his voice rising to match hers. "Nobody said you can't go to school! You're smart, you can retake the SATs, apply again next year! Are you even listening to yourself? Have you no respect for your father?"

Mom frantically tried to pull Dad’s arm away, tears streaming down her face. "Autumn, honey, how can you call your sister useless? Please, Mom’s begging you, Skylar’s art school spot… it took so many favors to get. If she doesn’t go now, Professor Davies' class will be full."

Professor Davies. The renowned art professor at the Mather Institute of Art. A guaranteed path to a prestigious career, if you got into his class.

"Autumn, please be understanding this once. Let your sister use the money for tuition. Just two years, sweetheart. We promise, we’ll save up enough for your university tuition, okay? Just two more years."

The warm trickle of blood on my neck intensified, the pain sharper. Autumn was serious this time. She tugged me towards the window, her voice chilling. "What else would you call her? Useless?"

She let out a bitter laugh, her gaze fixed on our parents. "Why do I always have to give in to her? Why, since we were kids, has she always been your priority?"

"When I was little, I could’ve skipped a grade, but you insisted Skylar was too wild to be alone in kindergarten. So I stayed with her for another two years because she 'couldn’t keep up' in first grade."

"You always made us go to the same schools, the same classes, saying I could tutor her. But I’m two years older! If it wasn't for her, I’d be in college already!"

"Every time Skylar struggled, you made me hold back with her. Haven’t I been 'understanding' enough?"

"Now she’s failing out and needs to go to art school, and I have to sacrifice another year for her?"

"What are you complaining about with your sister?!" Dad roared, slamming something onto the floor. "I’ve given you everything, spoiled you both, and this is the selfish, ungrateful daughter you've become?"

That ignited Autumn completely. All her pent-up resentment poured out. "You never think you’re wrong. You never see how unbelievably biased you are!"

Dad pointed at her, his face a mask of disbelief and fury. "Who gave you the right to accuse your parents of wrongdoing?"

2

Autumn ignored Dad, completely lost in her tirade. "Skylar fought, she cheated, she skipped class—how many messes did you clean up for her? I worked myself to the bone just to get an ounce of the attention you showered on her, and still, everything revolved around her."

"Why? Just because I’m the older sister? Am I supposed to be her lifelong blood bank, dragged down by her failures?"

The throbbing in my neck was unbearable, and her words ignited my own fuse. "You think I want you as a sister?!"

Years of playground brawls had taught me a thing or two. I broke free from her grip, shoving her hard. She stumbled backward, hitting the corner of my dresser with a sickening thud. A faint thwack. My vision was red with rage; I barely registered her trembling form.

"You were always perfect, always the best. I could never measure up."

She lay curled on the floor, her face ashen. Dad, still fuming, stood with his hands on his hips. Mom started to move towards Autumn, but Dad held her back. "Don't touch her! Let her cool off. Holding a knife to her own sister? Unbelievable! What a heartless child I've raised!"

Tears welled in my eyes, my voice shaky. "Every teacher we ever had said, 'How could this straight-A student have such a dim-witted sister?' Every family gathering, relatives would say, 'Autumn’s the one to count on.' And me? Everyone just shook their heads."

"They'd all point at me and say, 'You two are sisters, but one's an angel, the other's a devil.' Autumn, you're smart, you're brilliant, but why does everyone have to step all over me to praise you?"

"And you call me a parasite? You think I wanted you as a sister?"

I stepped over her, pushed past Mom and Dad, and flung open my bedroom door. This house was suffocating. I needed to get out. Professor Davies’ class, tuition money, who cared?

Before I even reached the front door, I heard Mom’s horrified scream. "Blood! Oh my God, Miles, Autumn’s bleeding from the back of her head!"

I spun around to see Dad scoop Autumn into his arms, rushing towards the exit.

Autumn was taken to the hospital. Several stitches in the back of her head. A large patch of her long hair was shaved off. Mom and Dad sat in silence until she woke. Autumn opened her eyes but refused to speak. Mom held her hand, tears of pity streaming down her face. "Autumn, don’t be mad at your sister, she didn't mean it. You know how she is, always a tomboy, never knowing her own strength. See, you even cut her neck, and she didn't say a word."

3

I lowered my head slightly, feeling the bandage around my neck. The cut wasn't deep; the blood had almost clotted by the time they bandaged it. Autumn still didn’t speak, closing her eyes, shutting us out. Dad, seeing her stubborn silence, stood up, his brows furrowed, ready to erupt again. Mom pulled him and me out of the room.

Outside, Mom gently pushed Dad. "Say less, she's hurting. Don't argue with her." Then she looked at me. "Skylar, does your neck still hurt? Don't blame your sister, going to an Ivy League was always her dream."

I stared at my shoes, then mumbled, "She cut me, I pushed her. We're even. I couldn't care less."

Mom patted my head, a relieved smile on her face. "That's my Skylar. Big-hearted, doesn't hold a grudge."

I remained silent, listening to the sounds from inside the room. Autumn shifted under the covers, turning away. Dad walked back in, placing a bowl of porridge on the bedside table. His voice was awkwardly strained. "Eat this after your shot. Your mom and I are going to pay Skylar’s tuition. Let’s just forget about this, okay?"

"You're old enough, be sensible. Stop making a fuss. You and Skylar are sisters. If you don't support each other, who will?"

Autumn stayed hidden under the duvet, silent and still. Dad picked up his car keys and left, Mom pulling me along. She paused at the door, speaking to the lump under the blankets. "Autumn, wait for us here. We’re just going to register Skylar for her classes."

In the car, Mom pulled out the thick envelope. "Skylar, you have to work hard for Professor Davies. Our entire savings, every last penny, is riding on you."

I clutched my backpack, a suffocating weight in my chest, and didn’t reply. Stepping out of the car, I looked up at the towering building. Professor Davies’ workshop was on the 33rd floor. I gripped my backpack strap, my voice barely a whisper. "Dad, Mom, maybe Autumn should go to college instead. I’m just not cut out for school."

Dad shot me a furious glare. "If you dare mess this up, I’ll break your legs."

Mom took my hand, pulling me into the elevator. "It's okay, Skylar. Just focus on your studies. Autumn’s smart; she’ll get into an Ivy League eventually."

When we returned to the hospital after registering, the nurse informed us Autumn had checked herself out. She was gone.

By the time we got home, she had taken her ID and university acceptance letter, packed a few clothes, and left. Dad swore, "Neither of you is any help," grabbed his car keys, and rushed out to search. Mom, terrified, followed him.

I tossed my backpack onto the sofa, my gaze falling on Autumn's open bedroom door. I sat there, the image of her lying on my floor, blood pooling behind her head, replaying in my mind. Whatever. I’d always wished I didn’t have a sister. Now she was gone; I should be happy. Good riddance.

Autumn vanished. Mom and Dad searched everywhere she might possibly go, but found nothing. After twenty-four hours, they filed a missing person’s report. Leaving the police station, Mom’s hands were still trembling. "Where could Autumn have gone? Why is she being so difficult? This is too much."

I supported her, saying nothing, as the three of us silently returned home. Hours later, the police called. They had contacted Autumn.

4

Mom panicked, immediately asking for her address. But the police said Autumn had explicitly stated she was safe and did not want her whereabouts disclosed. Autumn was an adult, capable of making her own decisions, so the police had to respect her wishes. They only relayed that she was safe, providing no address or contact information.

After they hung up, Dad slammed the phone onto the table. "That girl is completely out of control!"

I stared at the still-lit screen, a guess forming in my mind. A City. The place where her beloved Ivy League university was. Autumn had gone to college. But her major there was incredibly expensive, and our family's savings could only cover one of us. How could Autumn, running away like that, afford her tuition?

I knew where Autumn was, but I just sat there, saying nothing. I didn't want Autumn to come back. "Waiting another year" to retake her SATs? I didn't want to live in her shadow a moment longer.

Thanks to Professor Davies’ connections, and my parents’ endless gifts and cash, the following year, I barely scraped into Mather Institute of Art. Mom and Dad were overjoyed, throwing a lavish celebration. During the party, relatives asked where their elder daughter was. Dad's face darkened, and he scoffed. "Who knows where she went. Ungrateful child. Abandoned her family."

After college, I asked Mom and Dad for some money and took a grand trip. On the road, I met a guy from my city. We fell in love quickly—a whirlwind romance culminating in marriage.

Autumn didn't show up to my wedding, and no one mentioned her. But as Mom held my hand, wiping away tears on stage, her gaze kept drifting towards the door. I knew who Mom was waiting for, but I wouldn't say a word. This was my shining moment; I didn’t want her to steal even a fraction of my spotlight.

After the wedding, my husband, Adam, got a job transfer, and we moved to A City. My temper was as volatile as ever, and we had our share of arguments. I was still the same—if I couldn’t win with words, I’d resort to insults; if insults failed, I’d get physical.

During an unprecedentedly heated argument, he hit me for the first time. He grabbed a vase and smashed it against my head. My temple hit the coffee table. The world went black for a split second. Before I could shake off the dizziness, a sharp pain shot through my lower body. Blood. So much blood. Just like the blood that day, when Autumn lay on my floor.

He was terrified. He picked up his phone, but didn't call 911. He called his mother, his voice trembling as he told her he’d hit me, and there was blood everywhere.

I ended up in the hospital. I’d been a month pregnant and had just miscarried.

I woke from a daze, my head wrapped in gauze. He wasn't there. I was alone in the hospital room. I picked up my medical records and a thick stack of reports, seeing the miscarriage diagnosis. And then, clearly visible in the doctor's signature line: Autumn Hayes.

A sharp sting in my arm. My IV drip was empty, and blood was backing up into the tube. A nurse checked the bag, replaced it, and left. After she was gone, the door opened again. I saw Autumn, dressed in a white lab coat, walk in.

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