"I heard you call yourself Eloise now. Where did you get that name from, a trash book?" My stepsister, Fiona, giggled with the rest of her friends.
"Too bad you got a name, I spent a lot of time thinking of one for you."
"So, Eloise? What's the short for that?"
"Lou!"
"Like low? Perfect, low... just like what you are. You will always be beneath, and I'll always stomp over you."
"Low!"
"Low!"
"Low!
"Low!
"Low!"
They all chanted, the sound of their giggles just as haunting.
My teeth clenched as well as my fist as I recalled that simple memory. I thought I had forgotten that core memory. I'd chosen to lock it away because I was helpless that day when it happened.
I was bedridden because of my sudden illness, no one took care of me, I was covered in piss and shit, and Fiona thought it was perfect to come and bully me. I couldn't turn away, and I couldn't move, I just lay there staring at the ceiling as their words stabbed me a million times over.
