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The Scars She Hid From The World

REGINA MCBRIDE

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

Modern Revenge Scheming

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Money can buy everything.

Yes, you read that right.

If you say otherwise, then you need to work harder. If your money can't buy anything, it just isn't enough.

This was Edgar's belief. Of course it will. He was the last descendant of money.

Like Literally.

He came from a place where the fate of the world's fortune lay. He looked through the window. He could see people moving around fast, trying to gather as much money as they could.

He smirked.

Money was a spirit and he being its last descendant he had the ability to control who it'll favor or who it wouldn't.

"Edgar!!! Where is that son of a bitch? That pauper does nothing but eat our food without doing a thing."

How ironic. Edgar scoffed. He came from money, but was called a pauper by an ordinary woman.

He shrugged. That was what he got from deciding to live as the good-for-nothing son-in-law of the Simpsons and the husband of Patricia Simpson, a successful business woman.

"Edgar!" Patricia shrilled. "I work hard everyday to fend for this family but that mother fucker does nothing all day."

Work hard? Edgar scoffed. If it was for Patricia's hard work alone, she and her family would most probably not have a roof over their head. Everything Patricia was was made by Edgar. When Edgar married Patricia, she was a struggling seamstress who could count the number of dresses she had sown in her lifetime. Patricia started her sewing business at the age of 17. Edgar married her when she was 28. All throughout those years, they were years she had not sown a dress. It was that bad.

He had married Patricia because it was the dying wish of Patricia's father who had saved his mentally ill grandma.

"Grandma," Edgar whispered softly while remembering his grandma. She was the only family he had.

He then recalled what had happened 25 years ago. He was 10 by the time. Before his eyes, a man in all black killed his father, mother, siblings, uncle, and cousins.

Edgar's father was a demigod. The son of the god of money himself who came to earth, got married to a human just like his father did. While he was alive, he was known by everyone on earth. Who wouldn't know about a man who controlled Zillions? A man who could spend billions everyday and still hold the title of the richest man on earth. He was just not rich. He could decide who should have no money and who should.

Who ever killed his father was no ordinary person? Edgar knew this, but the question was, who did? The only person that was rich enough to pay death to take the family of the Demigod of Money was the god of money himself.

But, the god of money had gone missing immediately Edgar's father was born. By the way, which father was cruel enough to kill his son?

Edgar closed his eyes and somehow he time traveled to 27 years ago.

"Grandma!" Edgar watched as the 10 year old screamed, as Lucas, the servant whose care his grandma had placed him in, threw him on his back and ran through a tunnel underneath the house.

"Grandma, please come with me," He cried out. Lucas had taken him far away from home, but somehow he hoped that his grandma could hear him and come to save him.

Suddenly, he heard his grandma's voice. She was screaming and cussing. Edgar glanced at the 10 year old version of him. He knew he could hear it too. They were about to see a vision. A live vision that was actually happening at the moment. It was a gift. A family thing. Well it was not actually a gift since it was of course bought by his demigod father.

His family had everything anybody could think. Flying cupcakes, scentless perfumes, invisible clothes, charms, powers, whatever weird thing one could think of were owned by at least a member of Edgar's family.

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