The Taste of Freedom

All because I picked the chunks of pure pork fat out of my plate during a family dinner. The second we got home, Mom’s eyes turned bloodshot, and she blew up in my face. "How did I raise such an ungrateful, wasteful brat?" "When I was your age, I had to dig for wild greens just to survive!" Yelling wasn't enough. She grabbed the broom and beat me with it, over and over. She didn't stop until I was covered in bruises and blood, sobbing for mercy. "Mom... please... I'll eat the fat." Only then did she smile. Satisfied, she dragged out three massive mixing bowls piled high with cold, greasy pork fat and ordered me to finish every bite. She sat there and watched me swallow it for twenty-four hours straight. Later, when she saw me cramming the lard into my mouth like a madwoman, she was the one who panicked. Staring at the three mountain-high bowls of greasy, congealed fat, I sank into pure despair. I wanted to beg for mercy. But when my gaze met Mom's vicious glare, my throat tightened as if a hand were choking me. Not a sound came out. "Eat! Why aren't you eating? Or are you telling me you refuse?" Her shrill voice pierced the air behind me. I shuddered. Like a robot, I forced a piece of the slimy, glistening lard into my mouth. Smack! A sharp pain exploded at the back of my head. "Wipe that miserable look off your face! Anyone looking at you would think I'm abusing you!" Terrified, I began shoving giant mouthfuls into my mouth. Tears mixed with grease—salty, bitter, and nauseating. Mom smirked, pulling out her phone to film me stuffing my face, then uploaded the clip straight to the family SnapChat group. "Look at her. Kept whining she hated pork fat. Now she's devouring it like a pig." A voice memo from Grandma played through the speaker: "Exactly! Acting all high and mighty just like her deadbeat father. Good-for-nothing snob." A loud buzz rang in my ears. Mom wasn't furious because I wasted food. She hated that I didn't eat fat because Dad didn't eat fat either. When I was three, Dad couldn't take Mom's suffocating, psychotic control anymore. He walked out of the marriage with nothing just to escape her. Mom refused to sign the divorce papers, so Dad took her straight to court. Ever since, Mom’s hatred had settled squarely on me. Thinking about Dad made her glare even more venomous. Panicked, I shoved the fat into my mouth even faster. To suppress the gag reflex tearing through my throat, I pinched my inner thigh with all my might. Three massive bowls. It took me a full day and night to swallow it all. Mom didn't take her eyes off me for a single second. She even followed me into the bathroom to make sure I wasn't sticking my fingers down my throat. Finally, under her bloodshot gaze, I swallowed the last nauseating bite. The flesh on my inner thighs was completely purple and black from pinching. Seeing the satisfied smirk return to her face, I let out a trembling, ragged breath. But the very next second, my stomach churned violently. The cold, heavy grease revolted inside my gut. I scrambled toward the bathroom to throw up. Mom lunged after me, clamping her rough hand over my mouth. "Don't you dare! If you puke a single drop, I swear to God you're eating it all over again!"Hearing that demonic threat, I clenched my teeth and choked it down. My face flushed crimson, and hot tears streamed uncontrollably down my cheeks. When I opened my eyes again, the sterile white ceiling tiles and the sharp scent of antiseptic greeted me. I realized I was in a hospital bed. "Look who's awake. Useless piece of trash. Having to get your stomach pumped over a few bites of meat." Mom’s razor-sharp voice echoed by my side. I didn't answer. I just stared blankly at the ceiling. In the next bed, patients were whispering among themselves. "What a monster... Heard the doctors pumped out nearly ten pounds of pure grease from that poor kid's stomach." I pulled the coarse blanket over my head and wept in silence. Taking advantage of a moment when Mom stepped away, a young nurse walked up with deep concern in her eyes. "Honey... is she your real mother? Do you want me to call the police?" I nodded. Then I panicked and shook my head. Then I nodded again. A tiny flicker of hope sparked in my chest. My teachers always told us to call the cops when we were in danger. Maybe an officer could make my mom act normal again. Before long, two police officers arrived at the room. They carefully examined the bruises covering my body and reviewed the medical chart. Frowning deeply, they escorted Mom out into the hallway. Through the glass window, Mom kept her head bowed low, looking like a chastised, obedient schoolgirl. Naively, I believed that when she walked back in, everything would be fixed. The nurse warmed up a cup of milk for me, and exhausted, I drifted off to sleep. In my dream, Mom was gentle again, brushing my hair and calling me her sweet angel, setting a warm bowl of sweet oatmeal right in front of me. When I woke up, Mom was sitting at the edge of the mattress, tenderly holding my hand. "Are you feeling better, sweetie?" Joy flooded my heart. She really was back to normal! Seeing the color return to my cheeks, the officers smiled and left. Reality, however, hit me like a sledgehammer. The day I was discharged, Mom didn't take me home. She brought me straight to Grandma’s house. The entire family was sitting in a tight row on the leather sofa, glaring down at me like a tribunal. My aunt’s daughter, Jenny, wore pigtails and a frilly pink dress, sucking on a lollipop while curled safely in her mother's lap. I looked down at myself: an oversized, worn-out gym track suit and a buzzcut so uneven I looked completely genderless. Mom always said girls who grew their hair long or wore skirts were just desperate to please men. Yet every time she visited Grandma’s, she brought Jenny fancy hair ribbons and designer dresses. I stood in the center of the living room, hands clutched tightly at the hem of my shirt, like a criminal awaiting a death sentence. Once upon a time, it was my dad who had been forced to stand in that exact spot. Mom broke the silence, her voice dripping with venom. "I gave her a little extra meat to eat, and what does the ungrateful brat do? She calls the cops on me!" "Can't wash the blood out of a mutt," Grandma sneered. "She's just like her worthless father. A stray dog that bites the hand feeding it." Grandma’s side of the family despised my dad. Their divorce had been the talk of the small town, turning the family into a laughingstock. "Jenny would never do something like that," my aunt chimed in, tossing her hair. "They're the same age, but Jenny brings home straight A's, while Nora over here is practically failing every class." Hearing this, Jenny tilted her chin up like a proud little peacock. "You've been way too soft on her, Sarah," my aunt continued. "Kids need discipline. At the family dinner, out of all the kids, only Nora made a fuss picking the fat off her plate. You spoiled her rotten." They took turns firing verbal bullets at me, ripping apart whatever little dignity I had left. Mom’s expression grew darker by the second. I didn't understand. I had tried so hard to be good. I just couldn't stomach pork fat. Was disliking fat really a crime worthy of damnation? "Look at that! Crybaby's already tearing up after two words! Pathetic, just like her dad!" My mental walls crumbled completely. I had no idea how to stop this nightmare. Trembling, I fell to my knees on the cold hardwood floor, tears splashing onto the ground. "Mom, I was wrong! Please, forgive me! Please!" Mom stared into my soul, her voice chillingly quiet. "Do you like pork fat?"I gritted my teeth and forced out the lie. "Yes... I love it." Mom's expression finally softened slightly. "Fine. If you want my forgiveness, hand over the child support debit card your father gave you." My hand instinctively gripped my pocket. I shook my head in terror. Mom’s eyes turned ice-cold. Dad had strictly warned me never to let Mom know about that card. I had accidentally let it slip during my delirium at the hospital. "Then... what about my lunch money...?" "I'll pack your lunch and deliver it to school every single day from now on." Without waiting for an answer, Mom snatched the card right out of my pocket with a triumphant smirk. That was her real goal all along. She could not tolerate anything escaping her grip—least of all money. When school started on Monday, I waited by the entrance gate during the lunch break. The lunch bell rang, yet there was no sign of her. My stomach was howling with hunger. Just as the warning bell rang to return to class, Mom finally sauntered up. She shoved a sleek bento box into my arms, turned around, and walked away without a word. My classmates immediately gathered around. "Whoa, Nora! Your mom packed you lunch? That’s so sweet!" A faint smile touched my lips. My tiny, fragile pride felt a flicker of warmth. Until I pulled off the lid. Inside the pretty container was a solid, gelatinous mound of pure, glistening, pale pork fat. A violent wave of nausea hit me instantly. The students crowding around saw it too. Their smiles froze. Dead silence fell over the hallway. Around me, kids opened their lunch bags—crispy chicken nuggets, colorful salads, sandwiches layered with turkey and cheese. Their bewildered, pitying stares felt like invisible hands wrapping around my neck, squeezing the air out of my lungs. I dumped the entire box into the trash can, clutching my burning, empty stomach, telling myself I just had to hold out until dinner. When I finally got home, two plates sat on the kitchen table. One was a vibrant stir-fry of fresh greens and plump, pink shrimp. The other was a cold, gray slab of boiled pork lard without a single speck of seasoning. The moment my fork drifted toward the shrimp, Mom slapped my hand away brutally. "That's mine! The fat is yours." I looked up at her, my eyes hollow. "Mom... why don't you eat it?" Mom’s eyes darted sideways, her voice stammering, "You... don't be ridiculous! Fat is packed with nutrients. Growing teenagers need it." "Are you being a picky eater, Mom?" The air froze. Mom clenched her jaw, picked up the tiniest shred of fat with her fork, and jammed it into her mouth. "What nonsense! Why would I be picky?" she said through tight teeth. A second later, she bolted into the bathroom, followed by violent sounds of retching. A wave of bitter cold washed over my heart. A solitary tear rolled down my cheek. You know how disgusting it is too, don't you, Mom? A few minutes later, she walked back out, pretending nothing had happened. She glared at me like a hawk. "Eat! Or are you still going to be a spoiled brat?" I grabbed the fat with my bare hands and shoved it down my throat. No chewing. Just swallowing. Like a starving stray animal in the dirt. Seeing this, Mom’s smug satisfaction flared up again. She had no idea that under the wooden table, my fingers were digging so deep into my thighs that the skin was turning black. The second she looked away after dinner, I bolted out the door down to the riverbank and threw up every single bit of grease. Only then did the heavy, sickening weight in my chest lift slightly. I stood by the freezing water for a long time, my mind completely blank. Then, I jumped.The freezing water engulfed me, but a sudden, violent surge of survival instinct took over. I thrashed wildly until a kind passerby pulled me out onto the bank. The terrifying brush with death made me realize one thing: I was still alive. Before jumping, I couldn't understand why I had to live like a walking corpse. After being pulled out, only one sentence echoed in my mind: Only by staying alive is there hope. When I crept back into the house, dripping wet, Mom was on the phone with Grandma. "I don't care if she hates it. I'm going to force Nora to do whatever she hates most until she learns who the boss is in this damn house!" Her vicious words shattered whatever remaining illusions I had. All of this torture was just to feed her pathetic, sadistic craving for control. Right then, one thought cemented in my mind: I have to escape. The next morning, Mom did something unprecedented. She handed me a pretty floral dress and ordered me to put it on. She frowned at me, clearly dissatisfied, until she slapped a beanie with long synthetic hair attached onto my head, completely hiding my jagged buzzcut. She then dug out an expensive dress she only wore for high-end events and carried a designer handbag she had borrowed from a friend. Glitzed up, she dragged me out the door. It was our annual court-mandated visitation day with Dad. Mom had fought tooth and nail in court to ensure she was present for every single meeting. When we arrived at the shopping mall, Dad was waiting by the fountain. Mom strutted forward, twisting the glittering diamond ring on her finger while shooting him condescending looks. She had spent an entire year's savings on that stupid ring just to show off. Dad didn't spare her a single glance. The moment I saw him, I threw myself into his arms. Dad held me tight. A flash of pure venom crossed Mom’s face. Taking advantage of a moment when Mom stepped away to order coffee, I grabbed Dad's sleeve and begged in a trembling whisper: "Dad, please take me with you. I'll be good, I swear. I barely eat anything. I can sleep on the balcony, anywhere..." I ripped off the beanie, revealing the pathetic, patchy fuzz on my scalp and the deep purple bruises along my collarbone. Dad's eyes welled with tears as his hand trembled over my head. He opened his mouth to speak. Suddenly, his phone lit up on the table. The lock screen showed a photo of a glowing, happy family of three—him, a radiant woman, and a toddler giggling in her arms. Dad froze, his words dying in his throat. I understood instantly. Swallowing the lump of glass in my throat, I forced a bright smile and changed the subject. Dad let out a quiet, barely noticeable sigh of relief. The tiny spark of hope that had flickered in my chest went completely dark. Before we parted, Dad secretly shoved a wad of cash into my hands. I didn't decline. I jammed the bills deep inside the lining of my boot, terrified Mom would see. What I didn't realize was that Mom had been watching us from around the corner the entire time. The moment we walked through our front door, her face contorted in rage. "You want to run away from me too, don't you? Just like that heartless bastard!" Her shriek was deafening. She ripped the beanie off my head, grabbed a fistful of my short hair, and slammed my face against the full-length mirror. "Look at yourself! Who would ever want a freak like you? Huh?! Hahaha!" "You're just like me now! Abandoned trash!" In the glass, I saw a stranger: hollow eyes, sunken cheeks, uneven hair—neither girl nor boy, barely even human. My heart plummeted into an abyss, freezing solid. I had thought that if I obeyed, Mom would soften. Now I knew: nothing I did would ever change her. A slow, deliberate plan began taking shape in my head.From that day on, I stopped fighting the fat. I even picked up the clippers and shaved my head completely bald myself. Gradually, the poor nutrition and pure lard caught up to me. I gained weight rapidly, my pores oozing a foul, greasy odor. The other kids at school looked at me with disgust, but I didn't care. Compared to survival, what was dignity? Mom was ecstatic. She genuinely believed she had broken my spirit and transformed me into an obedient doll. She started taking me to her alumni reunions just to show off how tame I was. When she saw a friend's daughter fussing over the meat on her plate, Mom piped up proudly: "My Nora used to be a picky brat too. Look at her now. I whipped her into shape." She shot me a look. Without missing a beat, I pulled out a container filled with cold pork fat and began shoveling it into my mouth right in front of her old classmates, swallowing huge chunks whole. Listening to the awkward, hollow compliments from her friends, Mom beamed with pride. Later, in the restroom stall, I overheard them whispering: "Is Sarah completely out of her mind? Did you see the way that poor kid was eating? It was like watching a starving animal." "She lost her marbles the day her husband left her. We are definitely not inviting her next time." Those cruel words floated past my ears without a sting. My heart had grown numb. Pain couldn't touch me anymore. I channeled every ounce of energy into studying. Every single second was accounted for. I memorized vocabulary on the walk to school; I recited history notes silently in bed before falling asleep. My grades climbed from the bottom of the class, to the top ten, to straight A's. I aced my high school entrance exams with a near-perfect score, and prestigious prep schools came knocking on my door. However, when I demanded a full-ride scholarship plus a $10,000 upfront signing bonus to cover my living expenses, the admissions reps walked out in disgust. "So young and already so mercenary? Talent without character is worthless." "Our academy does not accept students with such greedy attitudes." I sat alone in the empty classroom, dread settling over me. Was my plan going to die before it even started? Just then, the door creaked open. A chubby, balding man in an expensive suit walked in with a warm, calculating smile. "I can give you the ten grand, and wipe your tuition to zero," he said, tapping his fingers together. "Under one condition."