Chapter 1: Blood in the Bathwater

The night air pressed down on our cramped apartment, making it feel even smaller. My brother lay in the bathtub, his face ghost-pale, wrists bleeding, turning the water a deep, terrifying red. Steam mingled with the sharp tang of blood and the fading scent of lavender soap. I could hear the old heater in the hall ticking, struggling to keep the cold at bay.

I stood frozen outside the bathroom door, back pressed to the rough wall, hands clammy and shaking. My palms left damp prints on the peeling paint, and I could smell the faint tang of bleach from under the door. Then, suddenly, lines of floating comments shimmered in my vision—like the world had glitched, and I was seeing someone else’s secret thoughts.

[Man, she really has no clue, huh? Poor guy’s a wreck—totally in love, totally out of luck. She’s all he’s got left.]

[Little sister’s always been scared of her brother, right? She never lets him in, never really talks.]

[That’s gotta be part of why he wants out, huh? The sister he’s loved and spoiled since forever won’t even look at him. No wonder he’s spiraling.]

[So when the main couple adopted her, she forgot about her brother in a heartbeat.]

[She doesn’t even know how much he loves her. Just one word from her and he’d bounce back, easy.]

Their words cut through my panic, icy and sharp. My heart hammered. I didn’t know where the voices came from, but I knew I had to do something.

I shoved the bathroom door open, the cold knob biting into my palm.

"Hey, bro, it’s Thursday. Tyler wants to hit Chick-fil-A with me after school." I tried to sound casual, like this was just another day. My voice shook, but I clung to the ordinary.

My brother’s head snapped up, his eyes glassy with pain. "Which Tyler? That half-Korean guy from your class?"

I nodded, cheeks burning. The air was thick, but I forced a smile, hoping he’d grab onto it. If I could just keep talking, keep things normal, maybe he’d forget about the blood swirling down the drain.

He shot up in the tub, sending red-tinged water everywhere. "Maddie, how many times do I have to say it—no dating!" His voice cracked, desperate more than angry, like he needed any reason to stay, to fight for something.

At some point, the bathroom lock had broken. It hung there, useless—a reminder that everything in this house eventually stopped working if no one cared enough to fix it.

He quickly pressed a towel to his wrist, refusing to look at me, wincing as he wrapped it. The tile was slick beneath his feet, the bathroom light flickering overhead.

I blinked, forcing myself not to flinch. "If I don’t go with Tyler, then you take me."

He wiped at his arm, frustration tight in his voice. "Do we have to go right now?" His tone was impatient, but his eyes searched mine, desperate for a distraction.

"Then I’ll go with Tyler." I said it flat, stubborn, like a girl on TV giving her dad an ultimatum. My heart pounded. I hoped he’d take the bait.

He gritted his teeth, chest heaving. After a long pause, he grabbed an old Ace bandage from the medicine cabinet, hands shaking as he wrapped his wound. "Fine. Let’s go."

He threw on a jacket over his damp tee and jeans, water darkening the collar. He didn’t even dry his hair—just grabbed his keys and phone and hustled me out to his battered Chevy. The drive to Chick-fil-A was silent but tense, headlights flashing past as the city rolled by.

At Chick-fil-A, I ordered three chicken sandwich meals, two family packs, five orange juices, and three Cokes. The cashier gave me a look. He glanced at my pile of food like I was about to feed a football team, then shrugged and punched it in.

My brother stared at me, eyebrows raised so high they almost disappeared into his messy hair. "You’re gonna eat all that yourself?"

I nodded, swinging my legs under the table. "I’m a kid. I need to grow." My voice sounded stubborn, masking the fear twisting in my stomach.

He grunted, but a flicker of amusement crossed his face. "You’d better finish every bit of it." It was the tiniest glimmer of the brother I remembered from before.

He sat across from me, arms crossed, face stormy. He watched me eat with the intensity of a football coach in the fourth quarter. Sauce dripped down my chin, fingers sticky with honey mustard. I clung to my sandwich, my heart aching.

I tried to slow down, making each bite last, like if I kept eating, time would stretch and he’d have to stay. I snuck glances at him, searching for any sign he’d hold on.

If I could just keep him distracted—keep things normal—maybe he’d stay. Even as my stomach filled, stretching painfully tight, I kept eating. The clatter of trays and the buzz of country music faded into background noise.

The floating comments rolled in.

[Why’s she eating so much? Her belly’s gonna pop.]

[Didn’t she used to be terrified of her brother? After their parents died, she didn’t speak to him for a year.]

[Right, he dragged her to so many doctors. They all said she was fine—she just didn’t like her brother.]

[Same, she’s totally trying to save him and he doesn’t even see it.]

Seeing me wince as I forced in the last waffle fry, my brother suddenly stood and said, "Stop eating. Let’s go home." His chair scraped against the tile, making people look over.

I stared at him, eyes burning. My hands shook around the empty fry box. I wanted to beg him to stay, but bit my tongue. I gathered my trash and followed him, the tray heavy in my arms.

At home, he shrugged off his jacket and headed straight for the bathroom, closing the door a little too hard. The apartment felt colder than ever.

He brought in tools—a screwdriver, some screws, a hammer—and fixed the bathroom lock. I heard the clink of metal on wood, then the door locked with a heavy, final click that echoed down the hallway. I pressed my ear to the wood, praying for another sound. Anything.