The Dream That Killed Me Chapter 02

The Dream That Killed Me Chapter 02

When my thoughts came back, the pain was gone.

I felt lighter than I ever had.

I followed my parents into the ballroom.

Lights crossed overhead, everything gleamed gold.

A huge screen played photos of Claire growing up.

A couple showed the two of us together—but my face in every one was blurred out with a thick black box.

Like my existence itself was something shameful.

“Where’s Lily? It’s her birthday too. Did you lock her up again?”

Grandma hadn’t seen me. She frowned at my father.

“All these years, you’ve overlooked her far too much.”

A flicker of displeasure crossed my father’s face.

“Mom, you always favor her. Do you know how that makes Claire feel?”

“She’s the one who’s actually suffered here.”

Grandma scoffed and pointed at the photos on the screen, then at the food on the table.

All of it was food I couldn’t eat.

Maybe they’d overlooked me for so long, they’d simply forgotten.

My father set down his fork, his face darkening, impatient.

“Mom, do you really have to ruin my mood over that curse of a child?”

“Today is Claire’s day of life and death, and Lily’s out here fighting her own sister for who walks first. Doesn’t that tell you she wants her sister dead?”

“Who knows what Lily does to her when we’re not looking.”

The room went stiff.

I hovered nearby, desperate.

[Dad, I wasn’t trying to compete with her. I just needed the bathroom, so I walked half a step faster. Just half a step.]

[Grandma, please don’t fight for me. I’m not worth it.]

My mother walked over just then.

“I texted Lily and she hasn’t answered. Is she still upset?”

“I want to go check on her—”

Before she could finish, my father cut her off.

“That curse is just here to ruin our night.”

“It’s Claire’s birthday. What would it even mean, you going back now?”

The next second, Claire appeared, a piece of translucent green jade clutched in her hand, and wrapped her arm around my mother’s.

“Mom, is this my present? I love it. Thank you.”

My mother looked at the jade in her hand and soothed her gently.

“Claire, sweetheart, I have other gifts for you. That piece is Lily’s.”

I remembered that jade.

My mother had said, years ago, she’d have it carved and take it to the chapel to be blessed for eighty-one days straight.

For my safety.

But I never got to be safe.

Giving it to Claire—at least that wouldn’t betray what my mother had meant by it.

Claire’s smile went a little stiff.

“…Fine.”

She turned it over carelessly in her fingers—and it slipped, hit the floor, and shattered into pieces.

The jade hadn’t done anything wrong. What a waste.

Claire rushed to pick up the pieces and cut her finger.

“Did you two have to bring up bad luck today of all days?”

“If she didn’t have something of hers on you, Claire wouldn’t be hurt right now.”

My father hurried over to help her up.

“This is the last time I’m warning you—mention that animal again, and I won’t be so kind to you!”

My mother froze for a moment, then bent down and gathered the broken pieces into a little box.

One by one, carefully.

No matter how carefully, they’d never fit back together.

I floated beside her, watching.

[Mom. I don’t need it anymore. Please stop.]

The party went on.

Claire stood at the center of the crowd, glowing, proud as a princess who’d just won something.

Everyone chose, selectively, to forget I existed.

Maybe I never should have.

It was only then that Grandma handed the stock transfer papers to Dad.

Seeing his expression soften slightly, she murmured:

“I don’t ask for much. Lily’s your child too. Once the dream is broken today, be good to her.”

“She’s had it hard enough these past years.”

I watched my mother, like she was trying to agree, or maybe just trying to convince herself.

“Mom, of course. Lily’s our daughter too, how could we not love her?”

My father took the papers, hesitating, about to nod —

Then Claire came over, pale, clutching her chest.

My father rushed to her, alarmed.

“Why are you so pale? Does something hurt?”

My mother rubbed her back gently.

She bit her lip and said nothing.

My father exploded.

“It has to be that curse! She scared you when she broke that glass this morning.”

“That girl is bad luck for you. We never should have let her be born!”

Claire took the water my mother handed her, took a sip, and said softly, “Dad, she didn’t mean it.”

My father’s voice climbed even louder.

“Didn’t mean it? Nothing she does is ever on purpose, is it?”

“Remember the caterpillar she put in your hand, how it triggered your heart and nearly killed you?”

“Remember the roses she insisted on giving you, how the thorns tore up your hands until you were in the ICU that same day?”

“That girl has no sense, no manners, none at all!”

I stared at my father.

Each word felt like a needle in my chest, over and over, until I couldn’t breathe.

So this is what having no manners means.

That caterpillar had been a butterfly about to hatch—Claire said she wanted to see one, so I climbed every hill I could find until I found it, and got bitten by a snake for my trouble.

Those roses had been the most beautiful in the whole garden—Claire said she wanted them, so I let the thorns cut me open until I was covered in blood.

I worried about her health. I wanted to give her the best of everything.

And every single time, it ended with me nearly dying.

Mom and Dad said it was all because of me that Claire ended up in the hospital. So however long she stayed there, I had to lie in a hospital bed the same number of days.

That, they said, was fair.