The Harder I Studied the Faster They Aged
Piper Hayes · Completed · 6.1k Words
Introduction
"If you worked even half as hard at school as we do at our jobs, you'd have straight A's!"
"Your mom and I kill ourselves every single day, and this is how you repay us?"
To make sure I couldn't argue anymore, they spent a fortune getting their hands on some kind of devil's contract.
Dad sneered: "Once this thing is signed, every hour we work, you have to study. Now that's what I call fair."
Mom nodded along: "No more complaining that we don't understand what you go through."
Looking at their smug, satisfied faces, I didn't argue. I just bit my finger and signed.
Because I knew better than anyone what their "killing ourselves" actually amounted to.
By the time the contract came due, they were on their knees begging me to cancel it.
Chapter 1
Della's POV
Just because I got a B+ in physics, my father slapped me across the face and kicked me while I was down.
"If you worked even half as hard at school as we do at our jobs, you'd have straight A's!"
"Your mom and I kill ourselves every single day, and this is how you repay us?"
To make sure I couldn't argue anymore, they spent a fortune getting their hands on some kind of devil's contract.
Dad sneered: "Once this thing is signed, every hour we work, you have to study. Now that's what I call fair."
Mom nodded along: "No more complaining that we don't understand what you go through."
Looking at their smug, satisfied faces, I didn't argue. I just bit my finger and signed.
Because I knew better than anyone what their "killing ourselves" actually amounted to.
By the time the contract came due, they were on their knees begging me to cancel it.
"A B-plus? You had the nerve to bring home a B-plus?!"
The slap hits hard enough to knock me backward into the edge of the coffee table. Pain flares through me and my vision goes dark for a second.
My dad, Warren, shoves the crumpled physics test in my face.
I press my hand to my burning cheek and clench my jaw. I'm not crying in front of him.
"Dad, the test was way above grade level. Only three kids in the whole school got an A. I came in second in my entire class—"
"I don't want to hear excuses!" He slaps the paper against my face. "Second place? Does second place get you a full ride to an Ivy? Does second place mean you can actually support us someday? Your mom and I work ourselves to the bone every single day — we feed you, clothe you, buy you every prep book on the market — and this is what we get?"
My mom, Beatrice, walks out of the kitchen holding a mug of coffee, looking at me with that pitying expression I can't stand.
"Della, honey, I'm not trying to be the bad guy here." She sighs. "Your dad has his boss on his back all day long, and I've got more on my plate than you'd know. Everything we do, we do for you. If you put in even half the effort at school that we put in at work, you'd have straight A's. But you don't. You're lazy. You're selfish. You never stop to think about anyone but yourself."
Something in me goes completely cold.
Kills themselves.
Dad works a desk job at the county utility office. His day is coffee, reading the news, chatting with coworkers, and clocking out at four-thirty to head to the bar. Mom is a receptionist at some small company. She answers a few calls, signs for a few packages, and spends the rest of her time watching reality TV and shopping online on the company computer. Half the time she finds some excuse to leave early and get her nails done.
And me?
I'm up at five every morning drilling formulas for the USAPhO. I'm running practice problems until two in the morning. My fingers are calloused from holding a pencil. My vision has dropped two full diopters in the past year alone. Physics problems follow me into my dreams.
I have given everything I have. And to them, I'm still just lazy. Still just selfish.
"I'm not slacking off." I look up and hold Mom's gaze. "I sleep four hours a night."
"Don't you talk back to me!" Dad's foot slams into my thigh before I can move.
The pain knocks the breath out of me. I curl up on the floor.
"Four hours of sleep." He laughs. "Sure. Like I know what you're really doing in there. Probably on your phone all night. You think I don't see through you? You want an easy ride. That's all this is."
Mom puts a hand on his arm. "Alright, alright, don't go too far — she's got school tomorrow." Then, almost as an afterthought: "But we really do need to get her under control. Who's going to take care of us if she keeps this up?"
"Oh, she'll figure out real fast what the rules are around here." Dad shoots me one last look, drops onto the couch, and turns on the game. Mom disappears into the bedroom without another glance in my direction.
I pull myself off the floor, pick up the test with its small smear of blood, and limp back to my room.
The moment the door closes, I slide down against it and bury my face in my knees.
I'm so tired.
I stare at the stack of review materials on my desk, at the study schedule taped up on the wall. Something heavy settles in my chest and won't move.
Why can't they see it? No matter how hard I push, no matter what I give up, it never registers. To them, their coffee breaks and gossip sessions somehow qualify as "working themselves to death." Everything I do is just me being lazy. Being selfish.
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
Someday, I'm getting out of here.
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