Beyond wall

-Lilith-

the feminine form of a word meaning "demon" or "spirit." In Mesopotamian and Jewish mythology

*********

Growing up, I often wondered about my name, Lilith. Did my parents mean the spirit Lilith or the demon Lilith? Fourteen years later, I'm convinced they meant the demon. Why name someone you love after a demon?

(No offense to Lilith. I wouldn't date Adam either.)

It makes me think about something I ponder every day: do they hate me? Maybe they just dislike kids? Unlikely, since I'm the oldest of four.

Perhaps it's unrelated, but keeping my secret hidden has always been critical. Have they suspected? Unlikely. At least, I think I've been discreet enough.

Lilith's thoughts swirled with the familiar ache of her parents' disdain. Their emotional abuse had become a constant hum, a quiet toxicity she had grown used to. She often wondered if her name was part of a cruel joke—symbolizing the independence and strength they'd never allow her to have.

Her gaze drifted to her siblings, each one of them seemingly blessed with names that held promise. Jack, the favored son, named after a hero; Chase, charming and confident, named after the pursuit of happiness; and Carolina, the sweet one, named after a place of beauty. Meanwhile, Lilith was named after a demon—an endless reminder of their scorn.

The irony wasn't lost on her. Her parents' naming choices reflected their aspirations, but instead, those names became twisted weapons. Her siblings, Jack, Chase, and Carolina, were anything but oblivious to the toxic household. They used their favored status to manipulate her.

"You're so sensitive, Lilith," Jack would scoff. "Mom and Dad just want what's best for you."

Chase would nod in agreement. "Yeah, if you'd try harder, maybe they'd actually like you."

Carolina, with wide eyes and a false innocence, would add, "Lilith's always so upset. Maybe she's just not good enough."

Their words echoed their parents' criticisms, cutting deep.

Lilith's gaze floated out the window, her mind still stuck at last night's dinner table confrontation as Mrs. Johnson lectured on cellular respiration. She barely registered her surroundings, her thoughts tangled in a blur of frustration and hurt.

"Ms. Clark?" Mrs. Johnson's voice sliced through her reverie, yanking her back to the present.

Lilith blinked, the sudden attention causing her heart to race. The entire class had turned to look at her, their gazes expectant.

"Would you like to answer the question, Ms. Clark?" Mrs. Johnson asked, one eyebrow arched in impatience.

Lilith's mind scrambled, searching for anything related to what they were discussing. "Uh... photosynthesis?"

A chorus of laughter broke out around her, sharp and mocking. Lilith's face turned crimson, her hands gripping the edges of her desk as her classmates chuckled and whispered behind cupped hands.

"That would be incorrect," Mrs. Johnson said coolly, clearly unimpressed. "We're discussing cellular respiration, not photosynthesis."

The giggling subsided, but the sting of embarrassment clung to her skin, burning hotter than the initial mistake.

She lowered her head, determined to avoid the judgmental stares and pretend like the next thirty minutes of class hadn't become unbearable. When the bell finally rang, she shot up from her seat, grabbing her bag and darting for the door before anyone could say another word.