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O L I V I A  

Olivia Vance is what they used to call me.

Now I have no one to call out my name anymore. Everyone has forgotten my existence and lived like I was dead.

In everyone's thoughts and minds, I was dead to them.

Even my own twisted mother, whom I used to miss very much when I was still a very young girl with a dream of a happy family, lived like I was dead, and for her, I was her little dead daughter buried in the cold dark earth.

Envy was always a bitch to me because it consumed me when I saw children with their fathers, who embraced them no matter how many tears they shed, or mothers who never uttered violent words with raised voices.

My mother, father and I, living happily in our home, were never meant for me.

By now, my rage had grown in strength, ever since my mother's abuse and betrayal.

I was a young girl, barely thirteen, when my father took his own life by hanging himself inside his garage because our mother had destroyed our lives.

She had made my father out to be an abuser.

In front of family members.

In front of friends.

In front of the neighbors.

Everybody pitied and wept for my poor mother, who couldn't defend herself against her husband who had a mental disorder.

She told multiple lies about him to everyone. Faking the bruises with makeup because that got her attention and was a way out of a relationship she didn't want to be in.

The largest reason for her to stage this horrific act was for the money she could get after she took my father to court and won.

Which meant that she could fulfill her dream with the money. My father would need to go to prison and pay her millions, falling into debt and making her a millionaire.

A fucked up legal system in that town, isn't it?

My mother, Eleanor Vance, now Eleanor Everett, got no suspicion from the stage she had been the main actress on.

There were no witnesses around her. None who saw what she had done unless the people who joined in with her scheme, like her sister aka my aunt, or her best friend, or the doctor, or the lawyer.

Nobody truly saw it except me.

I saw everything.

I was a witness to everything around her because I was her daughter, who was always home and by her side whenever something occurred.

Her abuse against my father, and when he couldn't take it anymore. She directed it towards me.

She loved going outside, and ripping off one of the branches of a tree outside the house we lived in.

Then, when the night showed its presence, she would take us down to the cold, dark basement and lock the door behind her.

As it was only her and me in the basement.

There was also another thing.

The plastic underneath my feet, which was always ready as I stepped into the basement.

My mother didn't want her paint to get soaked into the basement floor, which is why she placed the plastic under my feet.

The abuse began the moment I took my shirt off and turned my back against her, as she would whip my back until it bled.

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