The year I was most desperate with hunger, I latched onto the tattooed guy downstairs. Whenever my stomach growled, I’d throw things down to his patio to lure him up. He’d storm up, knife in hand, kicking my door and cursing. Through the iron gate, I’d clutch his pant leg, tears in my eyes: “Brother, I’m hungry.” Later, I survived by charming him into feeding me. But just when I finally had food and warmth, he said he wanted to die. The thought of going hungry again made me panic. I cried and begged him: “Brother, can you wait until I grow up before you die?” Chapter 1 My dad was a delinquent with bleached hair; my mom was a party girl. They were just kids themselves when they had me. The first time I remember meeting them was at my grandma’s funeral. I was crying so hard I almost passed out. My so-called father, cigarette dangling from his lips, frowned at six-year-old me: “Is this damn kid really mine? Why does she look like she was picked out of a dumpster?” Mom blew smoke rings while scrolling on her phone. “Genetic mutation, obviously. With my looks, how else could I birth such a piglet?” They covered their noses in disgust, standing ten feet away. Neither wanted to take me home. They agreed to leave me in Grandma’s old apartment. When they dragged me to the door, I struggled with everything I had. Seeing me throw a tantrum, they whipped out a belt, tied me up, and beat me. When my face swelled up, I finally stopped crying. Satisfied, they clapped their hands and laughed at me: “Haha, look at her, she looks just like Peppa Pig!” They ransacked Grandma’s house, leaving only a box of nearly expired instant noodles. And a box of crackers half-eaten by mice. I watched helplessly as they locked the heavy iron gate and left, chatting and laughing. I squatted in the dark room, feeling like my whole world had gone black. I lived alone in despair and fear for half a month. Even after I finished all the food, they didn’t come back. I was so hungry I gnawed off a corner of the wooden table. Still, no one came. It was an old apartment complex, mostly empty. No one heard my cries. I couldn’t open the gate, and I couldn’t reach the balcony. In my desperation, I remembered the tattooed guy downstairs. He looked fierce, but I hoped he wouldn’t just watch me die. Crying, I started throwing things down to his patio. Hoping he’d have mercy and come save me. I threw trash for three days straight before someone finally banged on my door. Faint with hunger, I used all my strength to pull open the heavy wooden inner door. But outside the iron security gate, Jax looked terrifying. He slammed his hand on the gate, revealing an arm full of tattoos. The smell of alcohol hit me hard. His eyes were cold as frost, filled with a ruthless determination, like a trapped beast ready to attack. He shouted into the room: “Are you sick?! Why do you keep throwing shit into my yard?!” Not seeing me on the floor, he yelled again: “Where are you? Get out here!” Weakly, I reached out a dirty little hand and grabbed his pant leg. Jax jumped a mile. He cursed: “Are you a ghost?! Let go of me!” He looked down and finally saw my filthy hand. His next words came out an octave lower: “Kid?” “Cough, don’t think being a kid lets you be a jerk!” “Who taught you to throw stuff downstairs?” “Call your parents out here!” Watching Jax’s mouth move, I wasn’t angry or scared. My brain was filled with thoughts of food. Even his face started looking like a giant roast chicken. I wanted to take a bite. Where would I get parents? After Grandma died, I became a stray with parents who birthed but didn't raise me, about to starve to death. Forgetting to cry, I summoned all my strength to call him: “Brother, I’m hungry.” He froze for a few seconds, then crouched down. Finally, he saw my face and met my eyes. I didn't know how scary I looked. I only knew Jax stared at me for a few seconds, his pupils dilating. Then he bolted like an arrow. It was over. He wouldn't save me. In that moment, despair turned everything black. I thought I was going to starve to death! Chapter 2 When Jax came back up, I was leaning against the wall, too weak to speak. He kicked the iron gate and yelled: “Hey kid! Here!” He shoved a box of takeout and a bottle of milk through the bars. He warned me: “Eat this and stop throwing stuff, you hear?” I couldn’t answer. I grabbed the food and lay on the floor, wolfing it down like a starving puppy. When I looked up again, Jax was gone. I wiped my mouth, thinking innocently. Even though he’s fierce, he’s a good person. Grandma told me to find a good man to marry when I grow up. I thought. I swear. When I grow up, I’m going to marry him. ... The next day, hungry again, I threw stuff downstairs. This time, Jax came up fast. He had crackers in his left hand and a fruit knife in his right. Banging on the gate, he shoved the crackers through, gritting his teeth: “Didn’t I warn you not to throw stuff?!” Then he shouted inside: “Where are the adults? Can’t you control your kid?!” “Throw one more thing and I won’t be polite!” Hearing no response, he crouched down to watch me stuff crackers into my mouth. “If you don’t want to die, don’t make so much noise that others can’t die in peace, okay?!” he hissed. I didn’t understand what he meant. Didn't know who wanted to die. Through the gate, I looked up and saw the menacing tattoos on his arm. Strange, looking at those tattoos didn't scare me. instead, I felt wronged. Tears fell pat-pat. Twitching my mouth, I answered him: “No adults. I’m a stray with parents who don’t want me.” “I didn’t want to throw stuff and bother you, but I’m hungry...” He clearly froze. Through the iron gate, he was silent for a long time. After a while, he kicked the gate hard, click, lit a cigarette. He leaned against the wall without speaking, smoking one after another. From inside, I could only see him crushing cigarette butts with his foot. After a pile of butts accumulated, he grabbed his own hair with both hands, pulling out a handful. He stared coldly at me through the crack, a flicker of anger in his eyes: “Don’t call yourself a stray!” I stayed silent, confused. Grandma died. I was a stray nobody wanted. ... On the third day, before I could throw anything, Jax came up. This time, no food. He brought a sledgehammer. Clang clang. He smashed the lock open and called me: “Kid, come with me.” So I carefully followed him downstairs. It was the first time I saw Jax clearly. He was tall, thin, handsome, and aloof. But his beautiful eyes were cold and distant, unfocused, filled with a chilling aura. As if... he couldn't see the light anymore. Chapter 3 This was an old, run-down neighborhood. Everyone was moving out; rarely did anyone move in. The day Jax moved in, a crowd followed him, pulling at him desperately. But the boy was stubborn. No one could move him. Those people stood there cursing him, throwing rotten eggs, screaming the ugliest, most vicious words in the world. Jax just stood there, a faint, cold sneer on his lips. It was the middle of summer, but that smile made you feel like it was deep winter. I didn't understand what they were yelling, but Grandma was still alive then. She said: “Another poor child like you. Misery loves company.” I understood that part. So when I was starving, I thought this brother named Jax would save me. Because Grandma said we were in the same boat. Sure enough, he saved me and brought me to his home. I thought Jax’s home would be messy and broken like mine. But it wasn't messy. It barely had anything in it. So empty it didn't look like anyone lived there. Curious, I looked around, nervously twisting the hem of my shirt. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Annie.” “Where are the adults?” I lowered my head, silent. But seeing he wasn't angry, I relaxed. After a long time, he pointed at a table full of food and drink: “Annie, I’m treating you. Eat and drink your fill, then do me a favor, okay?” I looked up and nodded vigorously. The smell of food scrambled my thoughts. I didn't care what favor he needed. After stuffing myself, I let down all my guards. How was this brother aloof? He was warm enough to fill my stomach! I wiped my mouth and grinned: “Brother, you’re a good person. I’ll marry you when I grow up!” Hearing this, he suddenly choked. He turned away and coughed for a long time, his face and neck turning red. Ten minutes later, he calmed down and turned back. Putting a finger to his lips, he shushed me, saying word by word coldly: “I. Am. Not. A. Good. Person!” He was like a robot, emotionless, expressionless. I didn't argue, but secretly challenged him in my heart. I think you're good, so I'm gonna marry you! After I burped a few times, he handed me his phone blankly. He said: “Know how to make a call?” “Yes.” I nodded. Grandma taught me. I was skilled. I had called 911 for Grandma many times. Jax took me to the bathroom, pointed at the bathtub, and said: “Later, I’ll lie in there. The water will turn red, and I’ll slowly fall asleep.” “When I’m completely asleep and stop moving, call 911 for the police. Understand?” “Yes.” I blinked and nodded firmly. Of course I understood. Grandma taught me many times before she left. She taught me how to call while telling me not to cry. So the day Grandma fell asleep, I was very good. I watched Grandma stop moving, her face turning from red to white to grey. I dialed the number skillfully, recited the address I memorized. Didn't cry, didn't fuss, just waited quietly by Grandma's side. Until people took Grandma away. Seeing me answer obediently, Jax added: “Don’t be scared. When the police come, they’ll take you to a place where you can eat your fill every day.” I said okay, but secretly called him a liar. Grandma said the same thing. And? I almost starved to death! Hmph! While I was sulking, Jax started running the water. He stared blankly as the tub filled. After a while, he forced a smile and said: “I really am a bad person.” When he got into the tub, I moved a stool to sit by the door. He ordered me to turn around and not look. My body turned, but my eyes couldn't help peeking back. I saw him make a cut, revealing a smile of relief. I saw the bright red in the tub bloom like a flower. Catching me peeking, he asked: “Aren’t you scared?” I wasn't scared. I had seen Grandma die. Back then, I didn't know what death meant. Until Grandma was covered with a white sheet and taken away, and people held me back from seeing her, I realized. Death means never seeing them again. I asked him: “Brother, are you going to die?” He paused: “Kid, do you know what dying is?” “I know,” I said. “Grandma was like you, then she died...” “Then people carried her away!” I lowered my head, not describing the rest. I wasn't scared, but I was afraid saying it would scare him. I asked again: “You have food every day, why do you want to die?” “I’m going to marry you when I grow up, why do you have to die?” “I don’t care, this time I won’t let anyone carry you away!” I felt that as long as he wasn't carried away, he would wake up eventually! As I said this, his lips started turning white. The water in the tub got redder. He had no strength to chat anymore, just gave a weak laugh: “Dead is dead, of course I’ll be carried away...” “Turn around, don’t look...” It hit me then. If he gets carried away, who will feed me? Thinking of starving again, I started crying. I walked over and grabbed his hand, trying to hold his bleeding arm high. Watching the blood flow down my arm, I cried louder. “Brother, can you wait until I grow up before you die?” Chapter 4 My tears fell pat-pat onto his pale face. He struggled to open his eyes halfway, his voice weak and broken as he squeezed out two sentences. He said: “Why the fuck... didn’t you call... earlier?” “Tell them... ambulance... can... you?” Yes, I can! I called ambulances for Grandma all the time. I was better at that than calling the police! With trembling fingers, I dialed 911, reported the address. Secretly praising my own smarts. The ambulance came fast. I skillfully grabbed his phone and got in the vehicle. In the ambulance, the medic asked me what happened. I tilted my head and thought for a few seconds: “Guess he died halfway and changed his mind.” Probably realized he was useful again, I thought. Looking at him motionless on the stretcher, I cursed him for being an idiot. With a full belly every day, still wanting to die. Big idiot! During resuscitation, the doctor needed family. I used his thumb to unlock his phone and dialed the number that called him most often. My calm familiarity stunned the doctors and nurses. They praised me for being amazing. I hopped onto a chair, swinging my legs, silent. What they thought was amazing was actually exchanged for countless resuscitations with Grandma. The first time, I cried my lungs out, lost. Later, I knew the process better than the new nurse. While Jax was being saved, a crowd arrived. Their first sentence was always: “Is he dead?” “Need a signature to stop resuscitation? I’ll sign!” They pestered the nurse, claiming to be Jax’s relatives, all willing to sign to stop treatment. The nurse rolled her eyes. “He’s not dead yet!” Learning I called the ambulance, they came to harass me. “Where did this little bastard come from? Who told you to call an ambulance!” “Meddling little brat!” “I’m telling you, if he doesn’t die, you’re in trouble!” Me: “...” Dizzy from their shoving, arm hurting, I regretted making that call. I stayed silent, just glaring at them. They huddled together cursing, insulting Jax’s whole family. From their words, I pieced it together. They were Jax’s uncle, aunt, and other relatives. All hoping Jax would die so they could split his inheritance. I understood instantly. Everyone wants Jax dead. Only I want him alive. Luckily, Jax was saved. The crowd was disappointed, slapping their thighs: “How did he not die?!” But entering the ward, they changed faces, surrounding Jax with fake concern. Jax hid under the covers, ignoring them. They talked about their hardships, how they were broke. Everyone trying to get money from Jax. No one cared if he was in pain or hungry. In that moment, I felt he was pitiful and stupid. I squeezed through the crowd, spreading my small arms by Jax’s bed. “You’re all bad people! Go away!” “Brother, they wanted you dead just now! They said if you die, the money is theirs!” Instantly, silence. Jax pulled down the covers, looking lifeless, eyes full of impatience and disgust. I said: “Big idiot, they want you dead, so you shouldn't die!” The crowd reacted and started pulling me. “Where did this little liar come from, talking nonsense!” If they didn't pull me, fine. But pulling me? I threw a tantrum, wailing loudly: “Help! Child abuse! They’re hitting a kid!” My wailing got them kicked out directly. Leaving, each glared at me, muttering "little bastard." Only Jax laughed. He smiled miserably, face pale as a sheet, eyes dull. Looking so pitiful! I took his arm, wrapped in layers of gauze with blood seeping through, and asked: “Does it hurt?” I thought it would hurt a lot, but he rasped: “Hurts my ass.” Me: “...” He let me hold his hand, lifting his chin and blinking hard. When I peeked, a tear still leaked from the corner of his eye. I wiped it away, smiled, and scolded him like an adult: “Hmph, still tough talking.” “Okay, okay, stop crying.” “And don’t die.” “Live! Live well! Die after you give me all the money!” I said through gritted teeth. The next moment, a helpless laugh escaped his lips. Good, his furrowed brow relaxed. He poked my forehead: “Kid, young but full of schemes!”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "387840", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel