Page 4 of Bad for You

“You’re stupid and ugly! Ugly! Ugly! Ugllllyyyyy!” chant a group of kids as I crouch into a small ball in the middle of the circle they form around me.

I don’t know why they pick on me. I keep to myself and don’t cause any trouble, but it doesn’t make a difference. This happens every lunchtime behind the playground. And just like the many times before this, I don’t fight back.

I want to.

But I don’t, and that’s because I’m an abomination in the eyes of the Lord, and this is my punishment. That’s what the sisters tell me anyway. They don’t lie because they’re the chosen ones. They are here to do God’s work, and they’ve told me I need the most work here in the orphanage.

The other kids’ souls are salvageable, but mine was tarnished from the day I was born. I must repent every single day for my sins in hopes that the Lord will show mercy on me. But it’s hard to believe in His presence when someone throws a rock at my head.

I feel the familiar trickle of blood down my temple. I’ve lost count of how many cuts and bruises I have. I guess they all just form one big wound that never heals.

My brown hair is pulled. My cheek slapped. I don’t know who does what because my eyes are squeezed shut. I hope that if I can’t see what they’re doing to me, then maybe it isn’t happening. But when I’m kicked in the stomach, there’s no escaping this reality of my life.

“Children, that is enough!”

The voice belongs to Father Merry.

I instantly wish I was knocked out cold because that punishment is far kinder than what is coming my way.

“What’s going on here?”

I feel Father Merry’s hands on me as he helps me stand. But I still don’t open my eyes. I’m scared.

“She took the Lord’s name in vain,” says Hugo, a boy two years older than me.

Hugo has hated me since the day he arrived at the orphanage. I don’t know why he does. But they all do. And when I ask why, they say because my mother turned her back on God and fell in love with a bad man, and as a result, I was born.

They call me a monster.

Maybe I am? Why else would I be punished this way?

“Is that true, Valentina?”

I dare not open my eyes. I can’t because the moment I see his face, I will remember all the things he’s done.

I remain mute, which only irritates Father Merry.

“Come with me.” I don’t have a choice in the matter as he latches onto my arm and drags me from the playground.

I dig in my heels, which only infuriates him further. He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder.

My eyes are still closed, but I don’t need to see where we’re headed. I’ve been here before. I know it’ll hurt. It always does. But my pain brings him pleasure. The more I resist, the harder he punishes me.

I push down my tears because they don’t do me any good.

When the door opens and I smell frankincense, I instantly want to vomit. I associate the scent with the memory of when Father Merry first punished me. I was bent over a pew, where he used a large wooden crucifix to smack my bare bottom.

He smacked me so hard, I couldn’t sit for a week. He left a crucifix imprint behind to remind me that I am nothing but a sinner.

“You’re just like your mother,” he spits, closing the door to his office. “She is a coward like you. She left you on the doorstep, knowing you would bring her nothing but suffering. So you can thank your mother, Sister Margarette, for every lick of my belt.”

He places me on my feet and slaps my cheek. “Open your eyes!”

I still don’t.

I hear his belt being yanked through his pants loops before he roughly turns me and positions me over his desk. He yanks up the hem of my white dress and tears off my Minnie Mouse underwear. They were my favorite.

“Recite the Lord’s Prayer,” he orders like he does every time.

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