Chapter 4

This went on for a long time, until my first year of middle school.

One day, Ethan was playing ball with his friends in the yard. For some reason, his hat was thrown up into a tree. He told me to climb up and get it.

I didn't ask why his hat ended up in the tree while they were playing ball, nor did I refuse.

But that hat was stuck very high, and I couldn't reach it. After a lot of effort, I finally grabbed it, but then I heard a crack beneath my feet. The branch broke, and I fell.

It hurt, it really hurt.

I was in so much pain that tears came to my eyes.

But I still held onto the hat tightly. Sitting on the ground, I raised it high above my head and smiled at Ethan, saying, "Brother, I got your hat down."

Ethan looked at me for a long time. He probably thought I looked ridiculous, smiling while tears were streaming down my face.

Then, he took out his phone and called 911.

I had fractured my left ankle and it took three months to heal. But during those three months, Ethan never once showed concern for me.

However, I didn't regret it at all, because after that day, his attitude towards me improved a lot, or rather, a lot lot. He no longer called me the daughter of a bitch, and he wouldn't bully me randomly. He even waited three minutes for me every day after school.

Although he still didn't show much of a pleasant expression, I was already very content.

I thought, as long as I behaved, my brother wouldn't throw me out.

When I was in my second year of middle school, Ethan was in his last year of high school.

I thought he must be very tired from studying, so I often brought him a glass of hot milk at night.

That day, his room door wasn't closed. I was carrying another glass of hot milk when I pushed the door open—

Crash! The glass shattered, milk splattered everywhere.

I saw Ethan at his desk, covered in blood, holding a craft knife in his hand, cutting his left arm over and over again.

He looked up at me, still with those beautiful eyes that held no warmth.

His lips were white, devoid of any color.

"Come here," he said.

I walked over step by step, kneeling in front of him, my knees soaked in his blood.

I carefully cradled his hand, tears unstoppable.

"Are you scared?" His voice was cold.

I shook my head.

"Why are you crying?" he asked me.

"Brother, it hurts so much." I looked up, tears sliding down my neck into my collar.

He stared at me blankly for a long time, then raised his hand to my cheek, wiping away my tears. The sticky, warm sensation was Ethan's fresh blood.

I found the first aid kit and treated his wounds. When I washed away the blood with clean water, I realized there were many old scars on his arm. This was probably why he never wore short sleeves.

I used alcohol to disinfect and then bandaged his wounds. Throughout the process, he remained calm, as if he had completely lost the ability to feel pain.

When I finally finished, he looked at me, his eyes filled with a pain and struggle I couldn't understand, which eventually settled into calmness.

"Chloe, do you like your brother?"

"I like you, I like my brother." I said seriously.

He smiled, leaning forward to hug me, burying his face in my neck.

"You said it yourself, you must remember, never leave your brother."

"Okay, Chloe will never leave her brother."