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the room. One of the walls turns pitch black, except for the white chalk drawings that skip across the surface. Blood covers my arm and I hold a knife in my left hand, I'm ambidextrous, you know. It's his hunting knife and I always wonder why I use that knife to mark up my flesh, maybe there's some sort of psychological reason behind it. My therapist thought there was a psychological reason behind everything I did, but isn't that what Andrew paid her for, to make up psychological reasons for things. Either way, I had his knife and I was cutting myself with it, and I knew that he was gonna be mad at me for getting blood all over it, even though he hasn't gone hunting since I was born, and he doesn't care about the blood all over my jeans or anything, but his knife is different. It's his.

His...

Everything is his, whether it really is or not, so whatever gets taken I'm blamed for. I've tried to brush it off on Andrew a couple of times, but it doesn't work, he says Andrew's not dumb enough to take it, implying that I'm dumber than my brother. It's not true, but I pretend it is because my intelligence is what makes him hate me. When he found out that I was so smart, he started to hate me instead of just dislike me, and I know it's because I'm smarter than him and his son. He tells himself lies to feel better about himself. Lies about other people, lies about me, lies that hurt.

Lies...

Most of what he says are lies. I've never had sex, but the way he talks, you'd think I do it all the time, with any guy I can find, even though I know better, even though I'm saving myself. Reality doesn't matter because of the lies that muddle his brain, lies that he begins to believe so he can find fault with me, so he has no reason to fault himself.

Fault...

I'm not at fault this time, I know it because I've tried to be real good lately. Finals are coming up and I don't need the stress of CPS looking into my situation during exams. But he doesn't remember how good I've been, or quiet, he just sees the knife and the blood and he remembers why he came in here, I can see it in his eyes. He screams at me, my name, I think my mom picked it out because who else would name their daughter after some city down under, though I kind of want to move there sometime just so I can live in my name, but he's not screaming about the city right now, wouldn't it be funny if he was. He yells at me, and I tune it out, carving away at my arm like I always do when I'm feeling down or guilty about something,

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