Wasn't I Supposed to Be Everyone's Favorite?

My sister, Emily Statham, "accidentally" spills a pot of scalding Cajun gumbo onto my leg. I'm in so much pain that I roll around on the floor, but she cries harder than I do. Mom hugs and comforts her. "It's okay, it's okay. Your sister's tough." My fiance, Elliott Gray, glances over at me and says, "Just rinse it with some cold water. Stop embarrassing yourself." Comments in gold float past my eyes. [Emily just loves her sister so much that she got overexcited!] [And the mother just has a sharp tongue. Deep down, she's actually devastated!] [The male lead is just weird that way. He cares, but he's too shy to show it in public!] I look down at the blisters already forming on my leg. For the first time, I wonder if it's not the commenters who are blind. Maybe I am. Chapter 1 The moment the scalding Cajun gumbo splashed onto my leg, I heard the sizzle of my own flesh cooking. Scalding red oil trickled down from my knee, instantly flooding into my shoe. I shot up from my chair, but it tipped over, and I lost my balance. The back of my head slammed against the edge of the table, and my vision went dark for a second. I fell to the floor and instinctively reached for my leg. The skin showing beneath the hem of my dress was as red as boiled shrimp, and blisters swelled before my eyes. Over a dozen of them spread from my knee all the way down to my ankle. The largest blister was about the size of an egg; the skin stretched so thin that I could see the liquid inside wobbling. It hurt. It didn't just hurt in a normal way. It was the kind of pain that felt like it burned straight through skin and into bone. My mouth hung open, but no sound came out. Tears streamed down my face as if a dam had burst. "Oh my God! I'm sorry, Daphne! I didn't mean to!" my sister, Emily Statham, cried from somewhere above me. As always, she sounded like she was on the verge of tears. Then, the comments floated across my field of vision, golden words flashing in front of me and forming a dense wall. [Emily is just so cute! She just wanted to give Daphne some gumbo and got a little too excited. This is how she shows her love!] [Why is the female lead reacting like that? It's just a burn, isn't it? What's with that silent scream? She's scaring Emily.] [Emily's crying. Why isn't Daphne comforting her? She's such an inconsiderate sister.] [Yeah. Cut Emily some slack, Daphne. It's not like she did it on purpose.] I sprawled across the floor, staring at those golden lines of text. The blisters on my right leg continued to swell. The largest one had already burst, and the fluid mixed with blood dripped down my leg. My whole body was shaking—not from cold, but from pain. Pain that made my teeth chatter, pain that blurred my vision. "Mom, it hurts… Call an ambulance for me…" I reached a hand out toward Mom. My voice barely sounded human. Mom didn't move from her chair. She glanced at my leg, frowned, then turned away and wrapped her arms around Emily. "There, there. Stop crying," she said to her. "Your sister's fine. She's tough. She won't die from getting scalded. Think of how many times she got burned when she was little. Didn't she always heal just fine?" She patted Emily's back, her voice so gentle it was like she was soothing a toddler. She continued, "You didn't do it on purpose, anyway. She won't blame you. Come on, dry those tears. I'll wipe them for you." The comments floated past. [The mother is so gentle. She actually loves the female lead the most; she's just bad at expressing it. Didn't you see her frown? That's how she shows she's devastated! What mother doesn't love her daughter?] [Daphne is so dramatic. A tiny burn isn't going to kill her. Does she really have to cry for her mom like a baby? She's 22, but she still acts like a child. She's so immature.] I remained on the floor, staring at Mom's back as she held Emily. Emily was weeping, her shoulders shaking with every breath. Mom was soothing her and patting her back, pulling tissues from her pocket to wipe away her tears. Meanwhile, my leg was literally smoking. Blisters burst one after another; the fluid spilled out, mixing with the red oil and running all over the floor. "Daphne, get up already." My fiance, Elliott Gray, spoke up. "Go run your leg under cool water. Don't cause a scene here. All the guests are watching." He was at the table, still eating. He hadn't even bothered to get up from start to end. He remained in his seat, his cutlery in his hands and half a plate of food sitting in front of him. When he glanced at me, I saw a look in his eyes that I knew all too well—a mixture of impatience and contempt. The comments started up again. [The male lead is so blunt. He just doesn't know how to handle a burn; it's not that he doesn't care. He's actually freaking out inside! Didn't you see him sneaking glances at the female lead the whole time?] [He's just embarrassed to show how much he cares in public because he doesn't want people saying he's whipped. Men and their egos.] [Daphne is such a drama queen. Who calls an ambulance over something this minor? No wonder Elliott finds her annoying. She should learn from Emily. Emily never screams and makes a fuss when she gets burned.] I looked at Elliott's hands. They were perfectly steady as he reached out to scoop some more food onto his plate. "Elliott, please… call me an ambulance…" My voice was shaking so hard it barely sounded like mine. He didn't even look up as he said,"It's not that serious. Just run some cool water over it. The last time Emily burned her hand, she just rinsed it with water and was fine. You're older than she is. How can you be weaker than her?" When Emily had burned her hand, it had only turned a little red. She'd rinsed it and put on a bandage, yet Mom had fussed over her for three straight days and made her nutritious meals for five. My leg was scalded raw, and all I got was an impatient command to run some cool water over it. The comments sounded amused. [Hahaha! The male lead is so blunt that it's adorable. He's only being this cavalier because he sees the female lead as one of his own. He'd never treat an outsider like this. It proves he trusts her.] [Daphne is way too overdramatic. Calling an ambulance over something like this? No wonder Elliott's annoyed by her. I would be, too. Who could put up with this nonsense all the time?] My right leg was already numb from the pain. I braced my hands on the floor and tried to stand, but my palm slipped, and I fell back down. Broken glass stabbed into my hand. The glass from the cup I'd knocked over earlier had scattered everywhere. Several shards dug into my palm, and blood gushed out instantly from the wounds. "Daphne, don't move. I'll help you." Emily walked over, bent down, and reached out a hand. Her eyes were red, tears still clinging to her lashes. She looked so sensible and sweet. But as she reached out to pull me up, her fingers brushed against a freshly burst blister on my leg. I screamed from the agony, and she snatched her hand back. Then, she sank into a crouch beside me, took one look at my leg, and burst into loud sobs. "Your leg looks so badly hurt, Daphne! It's all my fault for being so clumsy. You can hit me or yell at me if you want. Just don't bottle everything up…" The comments were absolutely torn up with sympathy. [Emily is way too kind. Look at how she's wracked with guilt and crying so hard. She really loves Daphne; she's just a little clumsy. Where else can you find an angel like her?] [Daphne, just forgive Emily already. She didn't do it on purpose. You're only going to make her feel worse by staying quiet like this. Look at how she can barely breathe through her sobs. How can you just lie there and watch?] [The female lead is so lucky to have a sister like Emily. I'm totally jealous of her. If Emily were my sister, I'd love her and dote on her to no end. No way I'd blame her for anything. The female lead is just so petty.] I looked at Emily. Her tears dripped onto the floor, mixing with my blood. She cried so genuinely and beautifully; no wonder everyone's hearts went out to her. But I remembered her crying in the exact same way when she "accidentally" poured boiling water on my hand last year, giving me second-degree burns and a hand covered in blisters. The year before last, she'd "accidentally" pushed me down the stairs, leaving me with a fractured tailbone. I'd been bedridden for three months. She'd cried then, too. And the year before that, she'd "accidentally" torn up my college acceptance letter, costing me the chance to attend my dream school. She'd also cried like this then. Each time, she somehow cried harder than me, the person she hurt. Each time, everyone comforted her first. Then, they pushed the blame on me. "Daphne, are you getting up or not?" Mom finally looked at me, but there was no concern in her eyes—only impatience. She checked her watch, and her frown deepened. "Look at how hard Emily is crying. What more do you want? This was supposed to be a nice birthday party, and you've turned it into this mess. All our family and friends are here. Don't you realize how humiliating this is?" Birthday party. It was Emily's birthday that day. I had over 30 blisters on my leg from being scalded, and Mom called this a "nice birthday party". The comments rolled in. [The female lead really has no sense at all. Emily already apologized. What more does she want? The whole family to get down on their knees and beg? Does she think she's that special? As the older sister, she should learn to be more forgiving. That's how a family stays peaceful.] [Daphne is just too selfish. She only ever thinks about herself and never about her family.] I lay on the floor, staring at those golden words. My right leg had gone numb, and my left leg was shaking. My hand was bleeding, and a lump throbbed at the back of my head. There wasn't a single part of my body that didn't hurt, yet all the comments complained that I was too selfish, too immature, too dramatic, and too petty. I looked down at my blisters again and started laughing. For the first time, I thought that maybe the ones who were blind weren't the people in the comments. Maybe it was me. I lay there on the floor, covered in blood and gumbo, and laughed. At first, it was a soft chuckle. Then, it turned into full-blown laughter that made my shoulders shake. I laughed until tears formed, trickling down my face and mixing with my blood. Everyone in the room froze. Chapter 2 "Daphne, what are you laughing at?" Elliott finally set down his cutlery and frowned at me. I looked at him. I'd been looking at his face for three years. He was my first love, and according to the comments, he was the man who loved me most in this world. He said he would marry me and that he'd take care of me for the rest of my life. He loved me more than anyone, yet all he said when my leg was burned raw was, "Run it over some cold water." "Elliott," I said, "let's call off the engagement." The room went quiet for a second. Meanwhile, the comments exploded. [Is the female lead out of her mind? What is she saying? Did the burn fry her brain? The male lead treats her so well, yet she doesn't appreciate him at all!] [Who does she think she is? Without the male lead, would anyone even want her? She went to some no-name college. What decent guy could she ever find? She should be thanking her lucky stars that the male lead doesn't look down on her.] [Is she trying to embarrass him in front of everyone? She's so vicious! He's given her his whole heart, and this is how she repays him?] Elliott's face darkened. He stood up, his chair scraping back with a harsh, grating sound. "Knock it off, Daphne. Don't you know what day it is today? My mom came all the way from our hometown just for this, and this is the stunt you pull?" "So your life and your family matter, but my leg and what happens to me don't. Is that it?" I shot back. His mouth opened, but no words came out. The comments said he was just pushed too far, that he didn't mean it like that. He was just bad with words, but deep down, he cared about me more than anything else. They said he was panicking right now and just didn't know how to express himself. I looked Elliott in the eye. "Starting today, you and I have nothing to do with each other." I braced my hands on the floor and slowly pushed myself up. My right leg couldn't bear any weight, so I could only stand on my left leg, keeping my right leg off the floor. Most of the blisters had burst. Fluid mixed with blood dripped down and pooled on the floor. My white dress had turned into a mess of red, yellow, and brown. My hair had come loose, and my face was streaked with tears and grime. "Daphne, sit down this instant!" Mom's voice turned shrill. She finally stood up, but only to point at me, not to help me. "Look at yourself. You're scaring the guests! Leave if you want. Just stop causing a scene and embarrassing us!" The comments chimed in. [The female lead is so immature. She ruined a perfectly nice birthday party just to hog the spotlight. She's been like this since she was a kid. She can't stand seeing her sister happy.] [Her mom is right. If the female lead wants to go, let her go. Don't give her the chance to drag everyone's mood down. Once she's gone, things will finally settle down at home. There won't be tantrums every day.] I looked at Mom and asked, "Mom, have you ever loved me?" She froze for a second. Then, she snapped, "What nonsense are you spouting?" "Emily burned my leg, but you comforted her. When she pushed me down the stairs, you comforted her then, too. You never comforted me. Not once did you ask if I was okay or whether I was in pain." "You always make a big deal out of nothing. What do you expect me to say? Emily only cried because she felt bad for you. Why can't you get that?" The comments said Mom had a sharp tongue but a soft heart, that deep down, I was the one she loved the most. She just didn't know how to show it. They said that she didn't have time to worry about these little things because she was so busy with work. They blamed me for not being more understanding. I laughed. "Emily." I looked at Emily, who was hiding behind Mom. "Did you do it on purpose?" She peeked out from behind Mom's shoulder, tears still streaming down her face. "Daphne, I swear I didn't. You're my sister. How could I ever hurt you on purpose?" "You definitely did it on purpose," I said. "Everything you did was deliberate. But after today, none of it will matter anymore." I turned and started hopping toward the door on my left leg. With each hop, my right leg swung. The raw, blistered skin brushed against my skirt, sending a sharp stab of pain through me that made me gasp. Blood dripped from my leg, leaving a trail of red footprints on the pale tile. Voices rose behind me. "Daphne Statham! Stop right there!" That was Mom yelling. "Daphne, don't go! I was wrong!" That was Emily crying. "Daphne, if you dare walk out that door today, don't bother coming back ever again!" That was Elliott, threatening me. The comments went wild. [She's being way too impulsive. She's gonna regret this! Her leg is injured, and she's all alone. Where can she even go?] [She'll definitely come back. She can't live without them. She has no money, no job, and nowhere to stay. How is she supposed to survive?] [Just wait. Give it three days, tops, and she'll come crawling back, begging for forgiveness. And when that happens, the male lead better not forgive her so easily. She needs to be taught a lesson.] I didn't look back. I pulled open the front door. The wind from outside rushed in and whipped against my burned leg, like someone was scraping it with a knife. The pain made me double over, but I didn't stop. A cab pulled up and stopped. The driver stuck his head out the window. "Miss, are you okay?" "I need to go to the hospital," I replied. He blanched when he saw my leg and hurried out of the car to open the door for me. Soon, the car started moving, and the streetlights slid past the window, fading into the distance. Chapter 3 The fluorescent lights in the hospital were blinding. An ER nurse rushed out with a gurney. She gasped when she saw my leg and wheeled me straight into the treatment room without a word. The sharp smell of disinfectant rushed up my nose, mixing with the greasy scent of the gumbo still clinging to my burned leg. It was nauseating. The doctor had a mask on. He took a pair of scissors and cut open the skirt stuck to my leg. The fabric had already fused with the burned skin. When he peeled it away, I heard a tearing sound, like ripping off a piece of charred chicken skin. I bit down on the pillow as silent tears streamed down my face. "Deep second-degree burns covering about 15% of the body, mainly on the right calf and knee," the doctor said calmly to the nurse, like he was commenting on the weather. "Prepare for debridement." Debridement. That meant popping every blister on my leg one by one, tearing off the dead skin piece by piece, and cleaning out the pus and the leftover oil. The nurse brought over a box of needles. The tips glinted coldly under the lights. I asked shakily, "No anesthesia?" The doctor glanced at me. "The area's too big. To numb it, we'd have to administer many shots, and it still wouldn't work well. You'll just have to bear with it." Bear with it, huh? I'd been bearing with things for the past 22 years. When the doctor popped the first blister, my whole body jolted off the bed. Two nurses had to pin me down by the shoulders. Then came the second, the third, the fourth… Every time one was popped, I screamed. Eventually, I couldn't scream anymore. My throat went hoarse. All I could do was bite down on the pillow until I bit a hole right through it. The comments drifted by. [It's awful seeing the female lead like this, but she brought it on herself. It's her fault for insisting on leaving. If she'd just stayed home, none of this would've happened.] [The male lead would be devastated if he knew. He was only acting tough. He was definitely freaking out inside.] [Emily must be bawling her eyes out at home. She's so kind that she must be blaming herself for this.] I stared at those words, suddenly wanting to laugh. But I couldn't. I was in too much pain. The debridement took almost an hour. When it was finally over, my leg was wrapped in thick layers of gauze from my knee all the way down to my ankle. The doctor said I'd have to be hospitalized for at least two weeks and asked where my family was. I told him I didn't have any. He gave me a quick look but didn't ask more. He'd probably seen too many cases like mine. The hospital was short on beds, so they placed me on a temporary cot at the end of the hallway. The patient next to me was a middle-aged woman recovering from an appendectomy. Her husband came every day to bring her food. The two of them chatted and laughed together. I had no family and no one to bring me food. The hospital delivered three meals a day—plain oats, bread rolls, and boiled vegetables. I ate with my left hand. The glass shards had been embedded in my right palm, and the doctor needed four stitches to close the wound. I read the comments. According to them, Mom was looking for me, Emily had cried until she fainted, and Elliott was practically going out of his mind with worry. I turned on my phone. There were no missed calls or messages, and my WhatsApp was totally silent. I scrolled through social media and saw that Emily had posted something ten minutes ago. It was a selfie of her smiling brightly while holding a bouquet of roses. The caption read, "Today's my birthday. Even though there was a tiny accident, I'm still grateful for everyone's wishes!" Underneath, Mom had commented, "My darling Em is the sweetest. Happy birthday." Elliott had liked the post. I stared at the screen for a long time. Then, I turned my phone facedown on the bed and closed my eyes. … On the third day of my hospital stay, the woman in the next bed asked, "Why hasn't your family come by, sweetie?" "They're busy," I answered. "No matter how busy they are, they should still come see you. Your leg is in really bad shape." She sighed and gave me a bowl of the chicken soup her family had brought. It was hot and tasty, but I couldn't handle more than three sips. It wasn't because I was full, but because my stomach wouldn't stop cramping. The doctor had told me that the stress reaction after being burned could mess with my digestion. The comments said that the chicken soup only tasted good because it had the flavor of home. They claimed Mom's chicken soup would taste even better and that I should go home. Mom had never made chicken soup for me. She only made it for Emily. She said Emily was too skinny and needed nourishment. I'd been skinny for 20 years, yet she'd never once said that about me. On the fifth day, Elliott showed up. He stood in the doorway of the hospital room, wearing a dark blue overcoat I'd helped him pick out, holding a bouquet of lilies. The comments said he'd spent the past five days looking for me, that he'd lost weight, that he'd missed me so much he hadn't been able to sleep. He walked in and set the flowers on my bedside table. His eyes drifted to my leg, and he frowned. "Why is it bandaged like it's so serious?" "Leave," I said. "Daphne…" "I'll have my lawyer contact you about breaking off the engagement." Elliott's expression turned ugly. "I came all the way here to see you. What more do you want? Do you know how hard it was for me to take half a day off?" "Elliott, are you allergic to lilies?" I asked. He was caught off guard by that question. "What?" "I am. To lily pollen. I've told you for the past three years not to give me lilies for my birthday, and not once have you remembered." His lips parted, but no words came out. The comments said that he was just clueless and wasn't good at remembering the little details. Deep down, he still cared about me. They said all men were careless like that and that I shouldn't expect too much. "Just go," I said. Elliott stayed where he was, standing there for a long time. Then, he turned and walked away. When he reached the door, he stopped, keeping his back to me. "Daphne, just so you know, your family isn't going to return the 300,000 dollars in wedding gifts that I gave," he said. "I'll pay you back," I answered. "And how are you going to do that?" "I'll pay it back little by little. It's none of your business." He left. His leather shoes clicked on the tile in the hallway, growing fainter and fainter. I picked up the lilies from the bedside table, hobbled to the nurses' station, and set them on the counter. "These are for you guys." The nurses thanked me and said the flowers were beautiful. … A week later, I requested to be discharged. My leg hadn't healed yet, but I'd run out of money. My credit card was already about a thousand dollars over the limit. I walked out of the hospital alone, leaning on a crutch. I took a cab to the train station and bought a basic coach ticket to Domina. The journey would take 24 hours. The comments said I had lost my mind. I hadn't. I just didn't want to be forced to obey anymore. The train was scheduled to leave at 4:00 pm. I arrived early and sat in a corner of the waiting area. Everything I owned was stuffed into a backpack on my lap. My leg still throbbed with pain, and blood was slowly seeping through the gauze. The comments kept flying past. [Mom's at the station! She's looking for the female lead!] [Elliott is here, too!] [So is Emily. She cried the whole way!] I read the words, but I didn't even look up. The announcement sounded. The train to Domina had started boarding. I stood up, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and limped toward the gate. The comments went wild. [Daphne, turn around! They're right behind you!] I didn't. I went through the ticket check, walked past the gate, and limped onto the platform. I found my seat by the window, sat down, and hugged my backpack to my chest. Outside the window was the platform. A group of people ran up—Mom, Emily, and Elliott. The comments exploded. [They made it! They really made it!] [Daphne, get off the train! They know they messed up, and they're sorry!] Mom spotted me. Her eyes were red as she ran up to the window and pounded on the glass. "Daph, get off the train! Hurry!" Emily was being pulled along by Elliott, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. As she stepped forward, Elliott stopped and stood a little behind them, looking at me. The train whistled. I looked at the three of them through the window. And then…