Staring at the grand yet alienating house, I hesitated on where to begin packing.

My possessions weren't overwhelming; they were scarce, ghosts of what once was.

Whatever caught Derek's eye became his by default. I wasn't allowed to even lay a finger on them.

I lingered in the cavernous living room. Cruelly, not a single item there belonged to me.

They had forced me to give up my bedroom to Derek, and my study place too.

Even the storage room, my final refuge, fell when he whined about needing space for orphanage relics he couldn't part with.

I balked, but he weaponized pity. "Mom, Dad, I've been tossed aside my whole life. Not like Samuel, who's got the silver spoon. If he says no, don't push him."

That sealed it. Suddenly, I was the villain.

They huffed, "Samuel, we've spoiled you rotten. Can't you share it with Derek? So stingy over a junk room!"

Confused and hurt, I pushed back. "But that's the last spot left. Where do I sleep?"

Vernon kicked me in the butt. "Talking smack now? Basement for you, starting tonight!"

He hauled my remnants and dumped them in the cold, damp basement.

Five brutal years followed in that hellhole: sweltering summers without AC, sweat pooling as I gasped for air; frigid winters sans heat, shivering under thin blankets.

The meals were like battlegrounds. I waited like a scavenger for Derek's leftovers.

High school dorms offered a brief escape, but Derek sabotaged that too, spinning tales of me squandering cash on arcades and sketchy hangouts.

Enraged, Vernon and Morgan yanked my allowance, leaving me high and dry.

I groveled for basics, and Morgan grudgingly gave me $200 a month.

I was nearly six feet, growing fast. That pittance meant starvation.

Days blurred on stale bread and salty pickles, my frame wasting to a skeletal hundred pounds by 18.

Weakness crept in, insidious, but my complaints earned scorn from my parents. They thought I was faking frailty to eclipse Derek.

Heart leaden as an anchor, I descended the creaky stairs to the basement, flipping the switch to reveal chaos.

Trash heaps carpeted the floor, Derek's discarded underwear and reeking socks defiling my bed.

It was routine sabotage. Every school break greeted me with this filth, Derek's petty revenge for my absence.

When I complained to my parents, they barely glanced at me. "You're gone most days. Derek's just storing stuff. With so little crap, why hog the space?"

Little crap, indeed, courtesy of Derek's pilfering. He stripped me of clothes, shoes, and dignity.

When I resisted, they called me a spoiled brat who wouldn't share.

I opened my suitcase and methodically folded my remnants, each item a farewell to fractured memories.

Mid-pack, agony lanced through me like a hot poker, buckling my knees.

Teeth gritted, I collapsed onto the couch, fishing for painkillers from my pocket.

Olivia Kramer burst in, her face thunderous. Her intensity spiked my anxiety.

She hurled her bag at my chest, amplifying the bone-deep throb. Eyeing the pills, she sneered, "What are you popping this time?"

Hope sparked. Maybe she'd believe I was sick.

I extended the bottle, but she swatted it flying. "Your con game is weak. No one is buying the act."

Pain surging, I lunged for the scattered pills, but her boot scattered them further. "Deaf much? Fake pills won't dupe me."

I looked up at her, mute fury boiling.

The pills she called fake were something I could only afford by scrimping and saving. It was my lifeline on sleepless nights, when the pain was too much to bear.

Without them, I might have been driven to the edge, unable to endure the agony any longer.

Annoyed by my defiance, she slapped me across the face. "Know your place! Mom and Dad finally got a day off for Derek's park trip, and you wrecked it."

That was not true. They always bent over backward for Derek, who often acted on whims.

He'd feign illnesses, argue with his classmates, and do whatever he could to avoid school, and they'd keep him company regardless of their work.

I, in contrast, was forgotten. They wouldn't even show up at school for my parent-teacher meetings.

While my classmates had their parents by their sides, I could only hide in the corner and shed tears.

They'd prioritize Derek's fun over verifying my diagnosis.

Gritting through the fire, I snatched the bottle. "Yeah, I'm the problem. From here on, erase me from the family tree!"

Luggage in tow, I staggered out, but Olivia wrested it back. "They raised you all these years, and you bail? A stray dog shows more gratitude!"

I clenched my fists and bit my tongue.

Even dogs did better than me. They could bite back, while I just sought peace in my twilight.

She ranted on, "Wipe that sour puss off! No one owes you anything. You're salty just because Derek's sharing the love you hogged."

A hollow laugh escaped my mouth. "Someone owes me, alright—the bare minimum of parental care. Ignoring a dying kid? Unheard of."

Olivia's mocking chuckle cut deep. "Lost in your drama? Drop the sob story."

Grief overflowed, and my vision swam. "Wish it was fiction."

I yanked the suitcase back and bolted.

Her taunt echoed. "Stay gone since you're so tough! We'll pretend you're six feet under!"

I paused, wiping my tears.

As they wished, I would die out there.