Chapter 2: Bargaining at the Door

I stood at the door, knocking softly, my heart thumping. "Bro, I’ve got some problems I can’t solve. Can you help me?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but it wobbled at the end, like a kid asking for a bedtime story.

No answer. I pressed my forehead to the cool wood, listening to water running—a world I couldn’t reach.

I tried again, sounding pitiful. "Midterms are coming. My teacher says if my grades drop any more, she’ll chop off my braids." My words spilled out, desperate, hoping he’d care enough to open up.

The water paused. The door creaked open. My brother stood there, looking annoyed, but his eyes softened a little when he saw me. His jaw unclenched, just a bit, like he was remembering how to be gentle. "It’s fine for teachers to be strict, but cutting your hair is too much. What’s pretty hair got to do with grades? I’ll talk to your homeroom teacher."

The floating comments buzzed.

[He’s so protective. The second she’s upset, he forgets about dying.]

[Little sister’s pigtails are the cutest. Why would anyone cut them?]

[He loves her pigtails—every time he sees them, he wants to smother her with kisses but holds back.]

[No wonder he’s mad about the hair.]

I was secretly relieved, but I dropped my head and twisted my hoodie, trying to look upset. "It’s ‘cause I’m dumb. The teacher teaches everyone the same, but only I don’t get it."

He snorted, a smirk tugging at his lips as he re-bandaged his wrist. "I want to see how dumb my Maddie really is."

He changed into sweats and stood by the desk to tutor me, rolling up his sleeves. He tried to act tough, but his voice softened as he laid out my notebooks and sharpened a pencil. The warm yellow lamp made everything feel safer. His deodorant mixed with the faint smell of lemon cleaning spray and old pizza boxes. I wrinkled my nose, but didn’t say anything.

A simple word problem took two hours to explain, and I still didn’t get it. My mind wandered to the old family photos on the corkboard above the desk—smiling faces from before it all went wrong.

He started to doubt my intelligence, staring at my scratch work. He looked at my big, innocent eyes, then sighed and lit a cigarette. The lighter’s flame flickered, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. The scent mixed with old pizza boxes and the faint lemon of cleaning spray. I wrinkled my nose, but didn’t say anything.

He quickly put it out, stubbing it in his mug, and kept explaining, voice quieter, almost sorry.

Three hours later, I couldn’t stop yawning, rubbing my eyes. The clock said past midnight. The apartment was quiet, just the hum of cars outside.

He was running out of patience. His jaw flexed, but he finally took a breath, tossed the pen aside, and pulled his shirt off, heading for the bathroom. I saw the red bandages before he closed the door.

He glared at me from the doorway, finger pointed at my nose. "Don’t bug me again, you hear? I already talked to your teacher. She won’t cut your hair. Tomorrow... your sister comes to take you to your new home." His voice was tired, defeated—a shadow of who he used to be.

"Go to your room and sleep." He closed the door behind him. The silence felt final, heavy.

The floating comments sighed.

[He’s still sending her to the main girl.]

[The main girl is her real sister. She was born when the main girl’s mom married his dad. Now that he wants out, it makes sense he’d leave her there.]

[Maybe he thinks growing up with the main girl is better, since little sister’s always disliked him.]

[I feel bad for him. His love life’s a mess, and the family he wants always leaves.]