Chapter 2: Stray in the Rain

That day, I was curled up in a corner, hiding from the rain behind the old laundromat. My hair was plastered to my forehead, my jacket soaked through. My brother walked by, gave me a glance. “Hey, you cosplaying as a mushroom or something? That’s a new one.” He cocked his head, rain dripping off the bill of his baseball cap. I must’ve looked ridiculous, but I was too cold to care.

His voice was dry, almost teasing. I just shivered, hugging my knees. Yeah, right. I was freezing to death.

The world spun in front of my eyes. My stomach growled, and my teeth chattered. Just as I was about to collapse, a hand reached out. His knuckles were sharp and pale in the rain, and in his palm was a single caramel candy.

I remember the way his hand shook, just a little. My brother scratched his head, looking a little sheepish. “Turned my pockets inside out. This was all I had left.” That was it—one piece of candy.

He looked almost embarrassed, like he wished he could offer me a burger instead. I almost felt sorry for him. I was starving. Even a piece of candy tasted like Thanksgiving dinner. I took it and tore the wrapper open, but the moment it hit my tongue, I blacked out. Just gone.

The sugar melted on my tongue, sweet and sticky, and then everything went dark. My body went limp, and the last thing I saw before passing out was my brother panicking, flagging down the first guy he saw, shouting, “It’s just candy! I swear, it’s just candy!”

He was waving his arms, half-shouting, as if someone was about to call the cops. The guy just blinked, looking more confused than anything. Honestly, I don’t blame him.

When I woke up, I was at my brother’s place. I was buried under a pile of cats—every color, every shape. I could barely breathe. A beagle was stretching its tongue, trying to lick my face.

The apartment was warm and smelled like wet fur and laundry detergent. It hit me the second I opened my eyes. My brother came over with a bowl. “Take your medicine, then you can leave.” His voice was gruff, but not unkind.

He set the bowl down next to me, not meeting my eyes. My stomach twisted. I didn’t say a word. My eyes dropped, lips pressed tight. I just stared at the bowl. My brother caved almost immediately.

He huffed, running a hand through his hair, showing off that high, pale forehead of his. “Look, I’ve never raised a kid before.” He sounded almost defensive.

He glanced around at all the cats and dogs tearing through the apartment, then hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Is it kinda like raising them?”

He looked genuinely lost, like he was hoping I’d give him a clue. I just shrugged, not sure myself. So, after that—well, things changed.

My brother would carry three metal bowls in each hand, one more in his mouth, calling out, “Dinner time!” in a sing-song voice.

He’d do this little whistle, and a stampede of cats would meow and race over, like chickens at feeding time. The dogs trailed behind, tongues out, eyes shining. But they never fought; they’d wait until the kittens finished before trotting over to lick the bowls clean. Pure chaos, but somehow it worked.

I’d sit with the dogs, waiting too. My brother would reach over and pat my head. “Such a good girl.” My cheeks would burn, but I’d lean into his hand anyway.

He’d ruffle my hair, sometimes a little too rough, but it made me feel safe. Like, really safe. Then he’d hand me a little pink bowl, filled with the noodles he made, and even tossed in a marinated egg.

He’d raise an eyebrow. “Well? Impressed by your big brother?” He always wanted to know what I thought.

He’d lean against the counter, arms crossed, waiting for my verdict. Impressed, my ass. The noodles were full of eggshells. He’d dumped in salt like it was free. I almost choked, but I kept eating.

But I didn’t say a word. I scarfed it all down. And as I ate, tears started falling into the rising steam. I couldn’t help it.

The salt stung my lips, but I kept eating. I told myself to stop crying, but I couldn’t.

He hovered, hands flapping uselessly. “Why are you crying? Is it really that good… or what?” He looked desperate for an answer.

I ignored him, just kept crying and eating. He watched me sobbing nonstop, helplessly circling the kitchen. He even turned to the greedy pack of cats and dogs. “Any of you geniuses know what to do? All you care about is eating—useless!” He looked like he was about to lose it.

He threw his hands up, defeated. The animals just stared at him, tails twitching, not a care in the world. Typical.