Vivian strode forward and pried Ethan's hand open, wrenching the utility knife away and flinging it to the side.
A few droplets of blood splattered.
Looking at his wrist, marred with scars new and old, dark like ink stains, her first instinct was to think he was joking. She grabbed her sleeve and tried to wipe the blood away.
More blood gushed out, thick with the metallic tang of iron.
It finally hit her—he wasn't joking.
The realization brought a surge of emotions so intense she could barely contain them: confusion, heartache, fury.
Without a word, she slapped him across the face.
Ethan seemed to snap back to reality. He raised his free hand to his cheek, staring at her blankly. There was no fear in his eyes, no pain, no sorrow—just an endless, abyssal daze. But the scars on his wrist, trailing up his forearm, told a different story.
He had done this to himself. Many times.
And Vivian—she had been too blind to see it.
Her hands trembled with rage. Ethan, in contrast, looked too lost, like he hadn't fully woken up.
She raised her hand again and struck him. "Are you awake now? Are you out of your goddamn mind?!"
Vivian glared down at him with a mix of disgust and fury, standing in the dimly lit room that felt like a vacuum, a place where even souls disintegrated into nothingness. Then, abruptly, she yanked the curtains open, letting the dull daylight pour in.
"Look at this! Look, Ethan! Do you know how many people out there have it worse than you?! People who can't even afford food, who don't have a place to sleep! Kids—kids just like you and your brother last year—freezing on the streets, starving, abandoned! And do you think they were lucky enough to run into someone as stupid as me?!"
"Only me!" Vivian jabbed a furious finger at her own face, her nose turning red with rage. "Only me, like a goddamn idiot, keeping your useless little brother under my roof! And you too! What, you think anyone else would do the same? You wanna die? Who the hell is stopping you?!"
Vivian's chest heaved violently.
Ethan's voice was hoarse. "Sis—"
"Shut up! Don't call me that! I am not your sister!"
Vivian grabbed his bleeding wrist and yanked him toward the door. "Hospital! Now! You want me to beg you or what?!"
She dragged him outside, shoved him into the passenger seat, and locked him in. The late afternoon sun had disappeared, swallowed by heavy storm clouds.
The kind that loomed, oppressive and unrelenting.
The kind that swallowed cities whole.
Vivian slammed her foot on the gas, diving headfirst into the brewing thunderstorm.
—
Rush hour.
Traffic. Everywhere.
"Fuck!" She smacked the steering wheel in frustration.
Ethan had never seen her lose her patience while driving. This was a first. She wasn't even cursing just to vent, which was another first.
And this was also the first time she had hit him.
His cheek burned like fire.
"Sis—" He hesitated.
"Shut up! Don't fucking call me that!" she snapped.
She held his wrist tight, dragging him through the hospital entrance. Ethan winced as the fresh wound throbbed, but she didn't loosen her grip. She glared at him, eyes full of scorn. "Hurts? So now you know what pain feels like?"
The doctor frowned as he unwrapped Ethan's wrist. He sighed. "Young man, whatever you're going through, is this really the answer?"
"The hell is he going through?" Vivian scoffed, arms crossed. "He doesn't even study! He's rotting away out there, hanging around God-knows-who, picking up whatever dumbass ideas they're feeding him! And now, what, self-harm? Are you fucking kidding me?!"
Ethan picked at the gauze, saying nothing.
Vivian clicked her tongue. "Doctor, he doesn't need you. He needs a psych ward. Kid's got a screw loose! I called his name, he didn't even look up, just sat there, slitting his own wrist like he was possessed!"
"Well…" The doctor hesitated. "Maybe you should talk to him first—"
"Talk?!" Vivian scoffed. "I can't talk to him! The kid's completely fucked in the head!"
The doctor eyed her for a moment and thought, You don't seem much better.
"Maybe he's under too much stress?" the doctor suggested.
Ethan shook his head.
"Maybe a recent emotional setback?"
Ethan shook his head again.
"Maybe it's—"
Ethan shook his head harder.
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Vivian shot up from her chair. "This is a waste of time! Let's go! I still have to pick up your damn brother!"
After grabbing the meds, they stepped outside. The rain had started falling—cold and unrelenting. Vivian bought an umbrella near the entrance.
"Waste of money," she muttered. "Doctors are useless too! How the hell did that turn into a conversation about me? What, is it my fault now?!"
Ethan cut her off. "Do you even care?"
She frowned. "What?"
"Forget it."
"No—say it. What the hell do you mean by that?"
Ethan stepped into the rain.
"Oh, come the fuck on!" Vivian groaned, tossing the umbrella aside as she stomped after him. She grabbed his arm, yanking him back. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"You don't have to look after us anymore."
Ethan's voice was flat, his face turned away.
"What, are you split-personality now?" Vivian snapped. "Did someone beat you up? Just tell me already! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"Like you said before," Ethan muttered, dejection dragging his lips into a downward curve that mirrored his crumbling hopes, "we'd have been swallowed by the darkness long ago without you. Isn't that the bitter truth?"
"Exactly! You survived hell before! Why the fuck are you like this now—"
"Then why did I come back? Back to a life where no one gives a damn?" His voice cracked, the rain drowning out his tears.
A moth that had seen light could never return to darkness.
Every second, every breath—unbearably suffocating.
"Maybe I should've just died instead."
Death.
Vivian saw red.
She gripped his arm harder, her nails digging into his flesh. It wasn't concern anymore—it was vengeance.
Blood seeped through the bandages.
"Who the fuck gave you permission to die?" She snarled. "You think you're so goddamn special? You and your useless brother? Your whole goddamn family has done nothing but leech off me! You know how much money you two have burned through in a year?! Do you?!"
She laughed, wild and furious. "If you dare die, I'll haunt you both till the end of time!"
Ethan stared at her, silent.
Then he said, "You were gonna send me away anyway. Why pretend you still care?"
Vivian blinked. "What?"
"I heard you. At the driving school. You were on the phone with Julian. Planning to get rid of me."
"What the fuck are you talking about?!" Vivian scowled. "I was sorting out your school records, dumbass! And who the fuck is Julian?!"
The rain fell between them.
Slowly, the tension ebbed.
"You… weren't talking to him?"
"I was making a fucking phone call with my friend, genius!"
Vivian was brimming with frustration, her restlessness crashing headfirst into an obstacle—only to find out that obstacle was nothing but a flimsy, crumbling wall. It was maddening and exasperating at the same time.
"My dear young master," she scoffed, exhaling sharply. "I thought it was something serious!"
Ethan was still processing everything, dazed as she nudged him into the car. Vivian was drenched herself, but she still handed him a towel first. "Here, dry off."
He was the one in crisis, after all. What else could she do?
Ethan wiped at the wound on his wrist.
Vivian started the car again. "Alright, spill it. That relative of yours… what's his name? General Patton? What the hell did he do? Did he fire a cannon at you or something?"
Ethan's eyes were still red-rimmed as he pieced together his thoughts and explained about his great-uncle Julian.
The moment he mentioned how Julian had blackmailed him with his underage tutoring job, Vivian lost it and let out a particularly nasty curse.
"Is he out of his damn mind?" she snapped. "And you didn't think to tell me about this? One of these days, I swear, I'll have someone take care of him!"
Ethan's voice was quiet. "I was afraid you'd think—"
"Think what?" Vivian cut him off, furious. "Stop assuming the worst about me!"
She hated when he did that.
"Money, money, money—I've told you a thousand times, don't let yourself get trapped by it!" she scolded. "Your job right now is to study! Didn't I warn you? Didn't I tell you to find a school and focus on your education? But no, you wouldn't listen, and now look at you—so stressed you've driven yourself into depression!"
She huffed, shaking her head. "Lucky for you, I had the foresight to get your school situation sorted. From now on, forget about that crappy tutoring job. Just focus on your studies."
Ethan hesitated. "But the money—"
"That's not your problem!" she snapped.
To prove her point, she pulled out her phone and tossed it to him. "Check my bank balance."
Ethan wiped the water off the screen and tapped into the account. A notification popped up—an incoming deposit of twenty thousand.
"See?" Vivian kept her eyes on the road. "As long as you two call me 'sister,' I'll make sure you're fed, clothed, and in school."
"…Thanks." Ethan felt a pang of guilt for all the suspicions and doubts he'd had.
Outside the window, the late spring rain kept falling—just like the chaotic, tangled emotions of adolescence.
Vivian glanced at him. Then again. And finally, she couldn't help but tease, "Alright, enough with the guilty look. Your ears are turning red. It's over, forget about it."
"Alright."
"And don't do anything stupid again."
"I won't. Not ever again."
"Good. And don't waste another second on that General Patton either." She lifted her chin. "Let him rot."
"Alright," Ethan said, a faint smile on his lips. "Let him rot."
"And if he dares come after you again, you call me. Got it?" Vivian jerked a thumb at herself. "Nobody messes with my soldiers and gets away with it."
The weight on Ethan's chest lifted a little, and he found himself chuckling.
"Oh, and when we get home—don't breathe a word of this to your brother."
No way. Way too embarrassing.
"…I won't."
They drove in silence for a while.
Ethan glanced down at his wrist.
"Does it hurt?" Vivian asked, softer this time. After the tough love came the sweet reassurance. "I've been so swamped lately, I haven't been keeping an eye on you guys. That's on me."
"No, it's not." Ethan knew better. "This was my problem. I didn't handle it well."
"You're just a kid. What were you supposed to do, solve everything yourself?" Vivian shot him a look. "Listen up. When you're in trouble, you come to me. Say it three times."
Ethan obediently repeated, "When I'm in trouble, I come to you."
"Not just words—mean it."
"I mean it," Ethan said. He hesitated, then frowned. "Wait… are we forgetting something?"
Vivian's expression froze.
"Oh, shit."
Her phone rang.
It was Noah.
On the other end, his voice was small, laced with a pitiful sniffle. "Sis, the rain's stopped… why haven't you picked me up yet?"