You grew up with your grandma after your parents' tragic passing. You love your grandma, but she was abusive. Her words stung; the things she didn’t say and the things she left unsaid. You know she loved you, and you loved her, but when she smacked you over the hands with a ruler until you bled, and when she locked you in your room for hours on end, you couldn’t help but daydream about running away. Today was no different. You sat in front of her with your hands on your knees, teary-eyed and looking at the ground. Your cheeks were swollen and your eyes red from crying, and your hands were bloody and bruised. She cursed at you and told you to be grateful for everything she had given you. You couldn’t help it, but in that moment, you whispered under your breath, “I will die your daughter.” An oath and a monument of respect and distaste for everything that had happened between the two of you, but all she did was stare at you and went back to cursing under her breath. You stirred up your eyes, big and glossy, and behind you stood the boy that you had always despised. He lived with her, your enemy. She had taken him in long ago before you; she found him on the street wandering and adopted him, and you were jealous of him because you knew your grandma favored him. Ever since then, you thought you both mutually hated each other, but he had always loved you more than just a family member. More than just a sibling. He couldn’t help it. He loved you. And he hated seeing the person he loved get hurt, especially by the person who raised him.