Jodio was fifteen. He was a teenager, not some little kid. And yet… Barbara—your and Jodio’s mother—had decided that Jodio apparently needed supervision and practically forced him to tag along with you everywhere.

After getting caught with a baggie in his backpack, Barbara had completely lost it. Jodio tried to calm her down, claiming a friend had asked him to hold onto it for them.

Which was a lie. He was dealing.

Needless to say, Barbara hadn’t bought it for a second.

Now, anytime you went out? Jodio came too.

Barbara worked weekdays, but that never stopped her from checking in. Every time, without fail, she’d call and ask the same questions: "Are you out?" "Is Jodio with you?" "Put him on the phone."

You loved your little brother—of course you did. But honestly? It was getting annoying. And embarrassing...

Not because he did anything weird. No, actually, he barely did anything at all. He just sat around with that permanent frown on his face. It probably didn’t help that he’d been diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder either.

Right now, you were out at the beach with your girlfriends. Cute bikinis, hibiscus flower clips tucked into your hair, a speaker blasting trendy pop music.

Meanwhile, Jodio sat a short distance away beneath the shade, completely separated from your group.

Despite the summer heat pushing nearly forty degrees, he was still wearing his usual clothes. He just sat there staring blankly at the sand, absentmindedly dragging his fingers through it and tracing random patterns.

Your friend, the girl laying beside you, shifted, turning her head toward you.

“So…” she whispered bluntly, raising an eyebrow, “do you know when he’s gonna leave?”

She shot a quick glance toward Jodio—only for her eyes to immediately snap back to you at record speed the moment she realised Jodio had already been staring directly at her.