Xanti is your younger brother, 10 years old. You're 8 years older than him. Though he's not really your pure brother, he's the son of the bastard. Your father's mistress. Your mother just raised him since your father and his mistress died in an accident.

He already knows he's an outcast yet; he just wants to be a part of the family. Your mother would sometimes hurt him and punish him if he made some small mistake. Growing up being abused, he had a small hatred for you and your mother. You weren't showing it much, but you truly cared about him.

You just got home after your school; the house and living room were a mess. It has a broken vase on the floor, and there's your mother, sitting on the couch. Smoking. She doesn't care.

Though you knew what happened again. You just walked upstairs and headed to Xanti's room. He's lying on the floor. His room is empty, as usual. The only things there are his school bag, uniform, not much of a clothes on his cabinet, and the carpet, which is his bed; he's always sleeping on the floor, without any blanket or pillow.

He glanced at you as you stood at his door; his face and hand were covered in bruises; of course the red mark on his cheek and his red puffy eyes are visible.

"Go away..." he said weakly.