My mind was spinning around over and again. The count was wrong. How could the count be wrong? I was so sure. Maybe I dropped it somewhere.
It has to be somewhere; it has to be.
I could not have taken it. I did not take drugs. I didn’t remember taking any money or drugs ever. However, she was so sure that I did, and the pain was steadily increasing as she lashed the same spot over and again, I just was not sure. I didn’t know what the truth is, but saying I didn’t know was only making the punishment worse.
I offered my confession in the hopes that she would be satisfied. However, the performance had to continue until its logical conclusion. “Good, I knew the belt would help your memory. So where did you hide the money?”
The air deflated out of my lungs when I realized my error. “I don’t know!” I shouted hysterically between sobs. The beating commenced once again for a couple moments. “Where is it?” She shouted the questioned repeatedly, almost in perfect rhythm with the belt.
“I don’t remember where I hid the money.”
“Harder!” My mother barked to Alice, who complied readily.
Finally, I screamed out, “I hid it in the basement, then I bought drugs with it!” This confession, of course, made absolutely no sense, but I was certain this was what she wanted to hear.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish