When my older sister Becci moved up to junior high school, she quickly developed some issues that kinda prevented her behaving towards me like a decent human being. One day when I was fourteen she went way too far and framed me for stealing beer. Our father massively over-reacted. I took the nuclear option. No winners here; we all lost out.

My older sister Becci turned into a real bitch when she reached her teens; as Daddy’s little princess she could do no wrong. We’d gotten on well enough as siblings until she started at junior high, and then she suddenly changed. I’ve never understood why; I don’t know whether it was the onset of puberty, or whether she made some new friends who influenced her, or something else. Whatever the cause, suddenly I was the embarrassing brat of the little brother and the butt of all her complaints and bullying. Pretty much every time we sat down for a meal, she’d moan to our parents about something I had or had not done. If I was watching something on TV, she’d grab the remote and start flipping channels, purely to be nasty and stop me from doing what I wanted. If I made myself a sandwich when I got home from school, she ratted me out to Mom for raiding the fridge. Jeez, I was a growing lad of nine, I needed to eat often. After a few of these events, I kept out of her way as much as I could and made sure that all my chores were done in good time; of course pretty soon I ended up doing some of hers, because she was three years ahead of me in school and her classes were therefore much harder. Yeah, really. That’s what our parents told me as they announced that I was taking on some more of Becci’s tasks around the house. She always was able to wrap Dad round her little finger. I did more chores, she always got a larger allowance.

It got even worse when I moved up to high school myself. I was a mere freshman, and it was very soon made clear to me that it was way beneath her dignity as a senior to even acknowledge my existence, and I was not to make any kind of contact with her if I saw her around school. Becci drove herself to and from school, and insisted there was no way she was going to give me a ride, as her status would really suffer if she was seen with me, so I had to go on the bus. Mom and Dad actually let her get away with this shit, and even increased her allowance now she was a senior and needed designer clothes and makeup for when she was going out in the evening with her dates. I was fourteen and doing all of the yard work as well as indoor chores, and I was still getting way less than she had received at my age. Oh, and I wasn’t getting the use of a car with gas and insurance paid for me, either, nor was I expecting to, once I’d gotten my driving license. There was simply no way Becci would ever permit me to earn a privilege she’d been given; she was that focused on doing me down.

Once Becci had reached seventeen, our parents said they felt able to leave the two of us at home with her in charge while they went away for the day, night or weekend. That was a terrible moment for me; I just knew that she’d do her best to do me down. I never did do anything really wrong, but she constantly ratted me out for minor misdemeanors like staying up late watching TV, or not washing up the breakfast things until after lunch. Jeez, it was even worse than when my folks were at home. She used to invite her girlfriends over and insist that I stayed out of their way; she said that I was so uncool and that I’d really regret it if they saw even the slightest glimpse of me. After a couple of humiliating experiences in front of her friends, I did keep well away. Things were not good, and every time I heard Becci discuss how she was going to stay living at home and go to college locally, the future looked worse.

Then she got herself a boyfriend, and things turned to complete shit very rapidly. She constantly insulted me in front of him, and told me to stay in my room while she and him watched TV. They never did see much of the program that was on, they were far too busy making out. They could have done that in the privacy of her bedroom; they preferred to use the family room so that I couldn’t use the TV. Becci threatened me that if I ever whispered a word about what they did while our parents were out, I’d regret doing so for the rest of my miserable life. I knew from experience that she was capable of doing something extreme, so again I hid out in my bedroom most of the time the boyfriend was over. Yeah, I was effectively grounded.

The third time he came round while our parents were out, he helped himself to a couple of Dad’s beers. Of course Dad noticed they were gone from the fridge, and asked about it. Becci immediately denied all knowledge and blamed me for stealing them. I protested, swore that I hadn’t taken them, but she was believed over me. I was formally grounded for two weeks for the missing beer and another two weeks for not admitting it, and warned that Dad would use his belt on me if I did it again. I confronted Becci about her lies, but she just laughed in my face, called me a total loser, and told me to suck it up. I didn’t even get a chance to talk to Mom; she just lit into me, told me that lying to my father proved that I was worthless and a huge disappointment to her, and sent me up to my room.

I did some serious thinking while I was there. There was no doubt that Becci’s boyfriend would come round again the next time our folks were away, and that he’d drink some more beer, and I’d once again get the blame. Dad had belted me a few years earlier for climbing out of my bedroom window just to see if I could get out of the house that way; once the pain went I did understand that he’d primarily whipped me because I’d terrified my mother, who had seen me out on the porch roof, and had screamed in fear for my safety until I was safely on the ground. I felt that he had a point, but wished he hadn’t made it in quite that way. I really didn’t fancy another belting, especially one that was completely undeserved.

Sure enough, three weeks later when our folks were out for lunch, Becci’s arrogant boyfriend opened the fridge and took out a beer, laughing at me as he did so. Half an hour later, he was drinking another one, and had tossed the bottle in the trash. There weren’t any spare bottles of that brand in the garage, so I couldn’t replace them in the hope that Dad wouldn’t notice. I was still grounded, so I couldn’t go out and try to persuade someone to buy some more for me. Besides, Becci was going to be rushing up to Dad just as soon as he got home, eager to report that I’d drunk them. Things were looking bad, so I went on the defensive. When he and Becci went up to her room, I picked up the empties with a piece of dowel, like they do on the detective programs, and bagged them up to preserve the fingerprints, then took a couple of Advil. When they came down again, smug looks on their faces, I confronted him. He pushed me aside, then as I held on to him, he smacked me in the face. That sure hurt, and I was confident that there would be a bruise in the morning. Becci just smirked as she kissed him goodbye, and then gave me hell for daring to be out of my room.

Mom and Dad got back from having lunch and a few drinks with friends, and Becci immediately told Dad that I’d been drinking his beer again. He didn’t even bother checking in the fridge; he ordered me straight up to my room. Becci tried to follow so she could watch me being beaten, but he did at least stand fast on that one. I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he chewed me out. He gave me twelve strokes of the free end of his belt on the bare buttocks. Jeez, that hurt, even with the Advil already kicking in. Then he told me to stay in my room while they went out to a rib joint for supper. Becci opened my door and laughed at me, proving to me that it was all deliberate. She had wanted me to be beaten. She goaded me further by telling me that as I wasn’t going to be eating with them, they’d be picking up her boyfriend on the way to make up the four.