Transcription
The Wilson family had found their biological son. Everything in the house belonged to him. He pointed his finger and asked, "Can I have this, too?" As the adopted son, I looked behind me again and again. There was nothing behind me than a little head burrowed into my arms, and a brilliant smile bloomed across his face. "I want my brother."
The warmth in my arms caught me completely off guard. Charles Wilson was the biological son the Wilson family had found after all these years. They had done three paternity tests. There was no doubt about it. He was a boy of 15 or 16 with an extraordinarily beautiful face. His eyes were filled with joy that seemed about to spill over, wide and round like those of some little animal begging to be spoiled, adorable, yet pitiful. He was far too thin. Beneath his old, half-worn clothes were fragile, slender arms. At that moment, those arms were wrapped tightly around my waist. His voice was clear and bright. He blinked. "I want my brother. Is that okay?" He was asking me.
Everyone's eyes turned toward me. The housekeeper, the butler, the driver who had brought him home, the doctor who had given him a full checkup, and my adoptive parents. My adoptive parents' hands were clasped together, trembling. Their tears fell one after another from sheer emotion. They looked at each other in silence, and both seemed to let out a breath of relief. So did I.
Because I was the adopted son of this family. I was the child Mom had brought back from the orphanage by mistake while she was searching for Charles. While we were waiting for Charles to come home, Mom and Dad had spoken in hushed voices. They were worried that Charles would reject me when he returned. After being lost for almost 16 years, he came home only to find that there was now an older brother in the house who had no blood relation to him at all. While he had been gone, someone else had enjoyed his father's and mother's love while he had suffered. Someone else had lived a happy life that should have belonged to him.
I was nervous, too. I was also afraid that Charles would dislike me, even hate me, because I knew all too well how much my adoptive parents loved Charles. Their search had never stopped. Even the little clothes they kept touching had faded with time. Even my name carried their hope of finding him. My name was Shawn Wilson. It meant bringing Charles home.
My hands slowly lowered. I touched the sharp, bony ridge of his back. The doctor said he was somewhat malnourished. During those years drifting outside, he had not lived well. A strange sense of guilt swept through my entire body. It softened into tenderness toward him and gratitude that he was willing to accept my existence. My hands slowly came to rest on his head. "All right, you can. As long as he wanted it, I would be his brother."
Obvious joy lit up Charles's eyes. He tugged on my hand. But when faced with our parents' tearful eyes and their urge to come closer, he timidly looked away. "Baby, come to Mommy. Let Mommy have a look at you, okay?" Charles tilted his head and looked at me, then shrank half a step behind me. Mom and Dad looked to me for help. If they had not been afraid of frightening Charles, they would have rushed forward and gathered him into their arms long ago.
I gently squeezed his fingers. "These are Mom and Dad. They've been looking for you all this time. They love you very much and they missed you very much. They've been waiting for you to come home." I encouraged him with my eyes. Charles called out in a soft, tender voice. "Dad, Mom." Mom and Dad could no longer hold back. They rushed forward, pulled him into their arms, and hugged him. Over again and again, everyone in the family treated Charles well. But Charles only clung to me. Wherever I went, he had to follow. At night, he insisted on sleeping in the same room as me. He said that in unfamiliar places, he was afraid someone would suddenly jump out and hit him. His eyes would well up with tears. There was nothing I could do. So, I had another bed added to my room.
He only listened to me. Those nutritional meals that did not taste very good, but were carefully balanced, he would finish them obediently, even without me watching him, after finishing, he would bring the empty plate to me, "Brother, I finished it. Was I good?" I would praise him for being good. And then I had to reward him with a pat on the head. Mom and Dad were curious about why he liked me so much. I was curious, too.
When I asked Charles, he frowned slightly. "Brother, you really don't remember me?" Charles said we had met twice at the orphanage. I had been a donor. "You even gave me six candies and said you would come see me again. Do you remember? You always come once every 3 years. I kept waiting for you. I had calculated it, and I thought I'd have to wait another year before I could see you." Charles' eyes shone with expectation.
To be honest, I did not remember at all, not Charles, and not the orphanage he mentioned, nothing. I had come from an orphanage myself, and from the moment I was old enough to understand anything, I began using my seemingly endless allowance to sponsor orphanages. I had been to too many orphanages and met too many children. I had seen too many poor, young faces and too many eyes full of expectation. Charles was still waiting for my answer. I had found the reason he was so close to me, so I pretended to think about it. Then I put on an expression of sudden realization. "I think I remember. The cleanest, prettiest one in the crowd, right?" Charles threw himself into my arms. His voice muffled from being pressed against me, "Mhm."
After that, he clung to me even more. "Brother, brother, brother." He called me that all the way until he was 19, until he started university. He was always such an obedient child. This morning, when I drove him to school, he was still drinking milk and smiling as he said to me, "Brother, come pick me up after class today. I want to eat at that private kitchen restaurant. I already reserved a table, but if you're busy, it's okay. I can ask a friend to go with me." Obedient, sweet, considerate, and yet now, not long afternoon, I had been called to the school. The teacher said Charles had beaten a classmate so badly that the boy had been sent to the hospital.
I suspected I had misheard who hit whom. "Mr. Wilson, are you listening?" I took a deep breath. "Where is Charles?" I looked around the office, but I did not see him. There was only the other student's parent, held back by the teacher and still shouting non-stop. "No matter what the reason was, hitting someone is wrong. He even sent my son to the hospital. What kind of family raises a child like that?" The teacher tried to placate both sides. "Please don't get worked up yet. Let's look at the surveillance footage first. We still don't know exactly what happened. Charles is in the infirmary having his wound treated. The school doctor will bring him over shortly."
"Wait, Charles was hurt, too. Where was he hurt? Was it serious? Why is it that when the people fight, their child gets sent to a major hospital for a checkup, while my younger brother only gets sent to the infirmary? If something happens to him, can you take responsibility?" The arguing ended when the teacher shouted, "Everyone, quiet. Watch the footage."
In the surveillance video, Charles was the one who struck first, but the boy who got beaten had provoked him first. He was huddled with a few other boys, wearing a smug expression as he said, "Charles is just useless, stupid as hell. The family business has already been taken over by that adopted son, and he's still standing there like an idiot. That adopted son doesn't look like anything good, either. Maybe he's some illegitimate child the Wilson family produced." Charles lifted his foot and kicked the boy down to his knees, then swung his fist straight into the boy's mouth. What followed was five full minutes of pure fighting. Charles kept his face tense and said nothing. His attacks were fast and ruthless, even when he took a punch to the corner of his mouth. He did not so much as blink. Only then were they finally pulled apart. One was sent to the infirmary, one was carried to the hospital. The teacher looked at both sets of guardians.
"What do you two think?" "What was there to think about? He had a filthy mouth. He deserved it. How can you talk like that?" The teacher had called us over to mediate, but the negotiation collapsed before it even began.
On the ride home, Charles kept secretly studying my expression. His eyes blinked and blinked until they reddened in a wide circle, like a little rabbit. "Brother, I was wrong." I had been young once, too. Who did not have a few people they wanted to hit at that age? It was just that I had never been in a fight. That person had clearly said those things because he saw Charles there. It was blatant provocation. I knew that family. Sometime ago, they had competed with the Wilson family over the same project and lost. At Charles's age, being called useless and stupid, of course he would be angry. It was normal that he had lashed out. I had watched the video and checked him over. There were only external injuries. Charles's skin was pale, so the bruise around the corner of his mouth looked especially obvious. I pretended to scare him. "Asterisk, what were you wrong about?" He pursed his lips. After a long while, he mumbled, "I I don't think I was wrong." I held back my laughter and looked at him with fan seriousness. He grew huffy. "He insulted you first. I won't allow anyone to insult you." I froze, so he had fought because that boy had insulted me. Charles was still talking. His mouth opened and closed. His expression vivid with anger and grievance. When he realized I had been staring at him, he changed back into that obedient little boy again. He hugged my arm and acted spoiled. "Brother, don't be mad. If anyone bullies you next time, I'll still fight." He raised his fist. His knuckles were red and swollen. My heart ached. I did not know whether it was because of what he had said or because of his wounds. I reached out and touched them lightly. "Does it hurt?" He blinked. "It hurts so much, brother. Blow on it."
As soon as we entered the house, Mom and Dad came rushing over. They passed right by me and grabbed Charles. "Baby, what happened? Your brother said you hit someone else. How did you get hurt, too? Did he take you to the hospital? Let Mommy see. It's all bruised. Are your teeth okay? No. Mommy's calling a doctor to give you a full checkup." Dad took out his phone to make the call. Charles snatched it away. "I'm fine. It doesn't hurt at all then." Looking extremely pleased with himself, he told them how badly he had beaten the other boy. It made Mom and Dad laugh. The three faces with such similar features, one glance, and anyone could tell they were a family. Charles had inherited all of our parents' best traits. His face was vivid and striking, the kind that made people unable to look away. With the bright energy unique to his age, he was as dazzling as the sun.
I turned my head and saw my own face reflected in the glass cabinet. A completely different kind of face, pale, gentle, understated. The longer I looked, the more bland it seemed. Someone once said that the Wilson family had two children. Charles was like the sun. I was like the moon. Once the sun came out, the moon lost its light. Where there was sun, no one would look for the moon. A tiny bit of loss began to grow inside me, so shameful that even I despised it. They were the real family. What right did I have to feel sad?
Mom brought me home because she had mistaken me for someone else. She thought I was Charles because of the dark mark on my arm. Mom rushed toward me, her beautiful dress stained with dust, and held me as she cried out, "Baby, Mommy's baby." I was brought back to the Wilson family. Mom bathed me, coaxed me to sleep, told me stories, fed me, and bought me new clothes again and again. She apologized to me. She said it was all her fault, that she had let the nanny steal me away. She had clearly paid the ransom as demanded. She had not called the police, but that person still never returned her baby to her. Mom's embrace was warm. Mom's tears were scalding. Mom's love was blazing. I called her, "Mom." Her whole body trembled, but the birthmark on my arm grew lighter and lighter. It was not a birthmark at all. It was only an ink stain. But mom refused to believe it. She said she had asked the doctor. And marks that children were born with could fade over time. It was normal. She refused to take me for a paternity test at first. It was because she was afraid I would be scared later. It was because she was scared. Day and night, she held me and called me baby until dad came home. He investigated where I had come from. I was not mom's baby. I was not the 4-year-old child mom thought I was. I was already over six. I had only grown up in an orphanage, which was why I was so small. The paternity test proved it.
When I woke up from my nap, mom was gone. I went outside and saw her crying. They were discussing finding another family to adopt me. But I no longer wanted to leave. I ran over and hugged her leg. "I'll be very good. I'll eat very little. I'll listen to everything you say. Can you please not throw me away?" I stumbled through the words, choking on sobs. I stayed. I became Sean. Dad and mom were very very good to me. But mom never called me baby again. She called me Sean. Dad was busy with the company. And mom set out on her search once more. I guarded my beautiful home and waited for them to come back. Only good children were worthy of being favored.
Charles fell asleep earlier than I did. By then, I had already started working for the Wilson family. And I was always reading reports. Late into the night, mom pushed the door open and came in to tuck Charles in. Her gaze lingered on his sleeping face, full of love. Then she bent down and kissed his forehead. I saw it, and my heart stirred. As if possessed, I went to bed early the next night. I waited as mom tucked Charles in and kissed his forehead. Then she turned in another direction and slowly walked to my bedside. Under the moonlight, I secretly looked at mom's face. It was as if there were a soft, holy glow around her. She tucked me in, too, covering the hands and feet I had deliberately left exposed. Then she turned and left.
"Dad, Mom, I'm going to the study to handle some work." Mom happened to be saying. "Their family bullied my baby. Let your father go bully their parents." Dad smiled and echoed her. When they heard me, neither of them turned around. They only answered, "All right." I had only taken a few steps when a voice called from behind me, "Brother."
"Don't work too hard." It was like a clear, translucent piece of candy dropping into sour lemon juice. Little by little, sweetness melted through it. Dad brought a plate of fruit into the study. Judging by the knife work, Charles had cut it. The cutting was well, a complete mess. I tasted a piece. It was very sweet. Dad listened to me talk about work for a while. He praised me a few times. Then he finally got to the point. "Charles, will you come to the company with me this weekend and learn the ropes? He listens to you. In families like ours, it's perfectly normal to start learning the business at 14 or 15. By 18, you can already tell whether someone has what it takes to be an heir. Look at him. He's 19 and still fooling around all day without a proper bone in his body." Dad was complaining, but his eyes and brows were full of indulgence. That was right. In families like ours, I had entered the company at 15, the year Charles came home. I had originally been about to be nominated as heir, but then he returned and the matter was set aside. Charles had excellent grades. Dad had tried many times to get him into the company, but Charles always avoided it by clinging to me. With him, Mom and Dad's indulgence had no conditions. I thought for a little too long. Dad's hand landed on my shoulder. "He can't always hide behind you and stay a child forever. You understand what Dad means. Can you help me?"
Light pouring in from outside the window, I could not see Dad's expression clearly. Suddenly, the words from the surveillance footage surfaced in my mind. "The family business has already been taken over by that adopted son." Did Mom and Dad know or have they seen the surveillance footage? Had they misunderstood something? Was this a test or a warning? But I had it. I had never thought of stealing the family business. I had never thought of taking anything from Charles. Even my envy was something I kept hidden away. I had always known that I was not this family's biological child. I only wanted to do well enough to earn just a little bit of praise. "I'll convince him."
As soon as I pushed the door open, Charles was waiting for me in the room. He was holding medicine for his wound. "Brother. Put medicine on me." I took the tube of ointment from him. "Didn't mom put it on for you?" That seemed unlikely. Charles leaned closer. "I don't want mom to do it. I want brother to. Do it." I gently spread the transparent ointment over the bruise at the corner of his mouth. He opened his eyes wide and looked at me, his thick lashes trembling. His eyes were very bright, filled with dependence. "All done." He acted spoiled. "It's not done. It still hurts. Brother, blow on it." I blew lightly on his wound, coaxing him. "Better now?" His gaze lowered as he looked into my eyes and a faint blush rose across his cheeks. "Be better. Then take off your shirt." He looked up in shock, the bridge of his nose brushing against mine. "I want to check whether you're hurt anywhere else." Oh, he slowly rolled up his white t-shirt. The skin he revealed was just as fair, like a whole piece of white jade. My gaze swept over him inch by inch. I saw no wounds. I let out a small breath of relief. A blush spread over his pale body. Charles folded his hands in front of him, his voice carrying a slight hoarseness. "Brother, are you done yet?" Was he shy? "I'm done. I'm done." I picked up his shirt and put it back over him.
Only then did I suddenly realize that Charles had grown so much taller. When he had first come home, he had looked much smaller than others his age and he had been short, skin and bones. After coming home, he had eaten nutritional meals for a long time. Later, he fell in love with basketball, hiking, skiing, and MMA. Now, not only was he taller than me, but his proportions were excellent. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, long legs, and a thin layer of muscle over his body. He had already grown up. Then why did he still love play innocence so much? Before his shirt was even fully on, he hugged me tightly. His voice was pressed into the hollow of my neck. "Brother." I patted his back and took the opportunity to speak. "Charles, will you come to the company with me this weekend and learn?" Charles sprang up at once. "No. No. No. I already made plans to go racing with my friends this weekend." Then Monday, I have class on Monday. "You'll be on break next Monday." He dragged out the word in a pleading voice, "Brothier." The way he called me nearly made my heart soften, but I had a task to complete. "If you don't go, then starting tonight, you sleep by yourself. I'll have the maid make up a bed for you. No 19-year-old still slept with his brother. This was all the result of the family spoiling him. A child as old was still afraid to sleep alone because he had been frightened and beaten when he was younger. No matter how many times I heard that story, my heart would soften. So, I had always let him do as he wished. But this time, I could not give him the chance to tell that story. I pretended to walk out. He startled me by chasing after me. "I don't want to sleep by myself. Then I'll go to the company and learn. I don't want to sleep apart from brother." Success.
When I woke up in the morning, I was once again in Charles's arms, held tightly by him. Our two beds had been moved away by Charles on some day after he turned 18. They had been replaced with a brand new double bed. At first, I had thought he wanted to sleep in separate rooms. In the end, he said he had dreamed that a ghost came to catch him. He wanted to sleep with me so that I could protect him. A grown man like him was still afraid of ghost. He was far too clingy. I moved my arm. Charles woke up. He He kissed my forehead. "Good morning, brother. Your turn." The good morning kiss had been his idea, too. If I did not kiss him, even if I were already on a plane going abroad, he would skip class and chase after me to claim his good morning kiss. I leaned over and kissed his forehead. He jumped out of bed at once like a little honeybee. He helped me prepare my clothes, shirt, trousers, tie, watch, even socks, and an overcoat that most likely would not be used. After preparing all that, he ran to the bathroom. Then, wearing slippers, he opened and hurried outside. "Brother, there are little wontons you like this morning. I'll go see if they're ready." On the bed, my clothes were laid out neatly at my feet. The slippers were placed in perfect order. On the sink, the toothpaste had already been squeezed onto my toothbrush, and warm water had been poured into the cup. By the time I finished washing up and came out, the blanket had already been folded neatly. On the bedside table was the warm water I was used to drinking after waking up. I thought I probably would never find a younger brother more obedient than Charles. So, what if he was a little clingy? Being needed by him, being clung to by him, also gave me a sense of stability and happiness.
Charles obediently followed me to the company. Within a few days, he began finding excuses to run off. All day long, no one could find him. Catching him became part of my daily routine. Just before a meeting, Charles disappeared again. The meeting materials I had prepared for him were still on the desk. They looked brand new, as if no one had ever opened them. A pig's head had been drawn on the cover. Under dad's gaze, I made excuses for him. "Charles might have gone to the restroom. Actually, he's usually very hard-working, Sean. What exactly are you thinking? Did he come here to work or to play?" Everyone in the office area looked over. Dad took a deep breath. "Go find him. The files landed heavily on the desk. The neatly clipped papers scattered everywhere. If you can't find him, don't bother coming home today." Caught in the middle, I was at a loss because of work. I did not want to offend either side, but I ended up offending both. Charles wanted me to help him with his proposal. If I refused, he would make a fuss and say I did not love him anymore. He threatened to run away from home. If I helped him, no matter how much I tried to hide it, Dad would see through it immediately.
Behind the tightly shut doors of the president's office, Dad was so angry that he slapped the desk again and again. "Is this how you act as his older brother? If you indulge him like this, how are you supposed to teach him? How did I teach you back then?" If I was a little stricter with Charles, he would get angry with me, too. Now, he was not even answering my calls. He had never refused to answer my calls before. I was afraid something had happened to him, so I searched everywhere he usually liked to go. After looking for an entire day, I finally found him at a basketball court. He was with his friend. He tilted his head back and took a large gulp of water, then lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his mouth. "What's there to control? If he dares to control me, I'll run. I'll rebel. He's not my real brother. We're not even related by blood. Say that again and I'll get angry. Everything in the Wilson family belongs to me, all of it." The side of his face that I could see was full of irritation and coldness. The joyful shout that had risen to my throat got stuck there.
The places Charles liked to go were not easy to find. Many roads were inaccessible by car. In order to look for him, I drove myself and searched on foot. I ran through countless alleys. He liked going to a tall building to look at the view, but the elevator there had temporarily broken down. I was afraid that if he was up there, he might not be able to get down. So, I climbed more than 20 floors in one breath without stopping. When I pushed open the door, I dropped to my knees. On the way back down, I nearly fell. This basketball court was difficult to find, too. The path twisted and turned. I half ran, half walked for almost an hour, but he said, "What was there to control?" He said, "I was not his real brother. That we had no blood relation at all. That was true. What right did I have to control him? The Wilson family belonged to him." My legs began to weaken, soreness spreading rapidly through them. My heart, clenched tight with anxiety, was pounding wildly, aching from my ragged breaths. It felt as if a handful of sand had been shoved down my throat. My clothes clung stickily to my body. And when the hot wind blew over me, a chill seemed to seep from every body. I leaned against the wall of the basketball court and slowly crouched down. My mind was a complete mess. One moment, it was Dad questioning me in anger, "Are you helping him? Or hurting him?" The next, it was Dad patting my shoulder and praising me, "You handled this very well. You have my style from back then. As expected of the person I trained myself." Then it was Charles clinging to me, calling me brother, bustling around like a little honeybee. Clung to me with me. I like brother the most. Then it was the irritated side of his face. The words he had said, "If he dares to control me, I'll run. I'll rebel. I'll run away from home." I buried my face in my knees. "What am I supposed to do?"
When I returned home, the moment I saw Mom, I could not help calling out, "Mom." Mom cried out in alarm and ran toward me. My world turned into a dense flurry of snow. After the snow came a long, drawn-out film, and the main character was me. I saw tiny little me abandoned at the entrance of the orphanage. The blanket wrapped around me was worn and tattered. My little face red from the cold. My cries weak. I dreamed of tiny little me standing among a group of children waiting to be chosen. The child beside me found a father and mother. He left in joy and came back wailing. He left when the flowers were blooming. He came back before the flowers had even fallen. The aunties at the orphanage taught us how to behave when we went to adoptive families. If we were adopted, we had to be sensible and obedient. The Annie's expressions were full of pity. "You were born without the right to be loved. Things that others can receive so easily, you must work very hard to earn them." Those words were too profound. None of us understood. So, the Annie said, "You must be obedient. Otherwise, no one will want you." That sentence could be applied to many situations at the orphanage. When I picked up a broom taller than myself, the Annie's would praise me. When I stood on a stool and washed the plates clean, I would receive one extra piece of candy. When I was taken away, I thought I really was Charles. I had a mom who loved me, but I was not. Without the bond of blood, I did not possess the right to be loved. I tried to please Dad. I tried to please Mom. My grades were excellent. I was someone they could bring out without losing face. I tried to please Charles, even though I did not remember him. I still lied because I needed him to like me. I needed him to need me. But, what if no one needed me anymore? What if Dad began to be dissatisfied with me? What if Charles hated my interference? Would Mom still want me in the end? I was not their biological child. I was not his real brother. Would I be abandoned? If I was not his brother, then what else could I be? Could I still stay in this home? I was already past 18. I was no longer at an age where I needed a guardian.
I woke from my panic and met Charles' red-rimmed eyes. "Brother. Brother, you're awake. Dad. Mom. Brother's awake." The moment I moved, I tugged at the needle on the back of my hand, and a dull pain came from my vein. My parents, concern, Charles' apology. "I'm sorry, brother. I shouldn't have run off. I shouldn't have missed your calls. I didn't do it on purpose. My phone was on silent." Mom had cooked porridge for me and supported me as she fed me. Dad brought me medicine and handed me water. Charles carefully watched my IV drip, and after the needle was removed, he pressed down on the puncture mark for me. Everything was so beautiful it felt like a dream. Under the quilt, I pinched my own thigh. It was all real. The home was the familiar home. The room was the familiar room. My parents were the familiar parents. The younger brother hugging me and played innocent was my familiar younger brother. But something was still different, I know. Longer had to go to the company. Dad said I should rest at home even though I told him I had already recovered. Charles was personally kept by Dad's side now. He no longer needed me to manage him. They stayed in the study until very late. I was afraid Charles would not be able to handle it. So I wanted to go persuade them. Through the door that had not been fully shut, I saw the harmony of a family of three. Mom was feeding Charles fruit. Dad's hand rested on the proposal on the desk. Charles listened very seriously. Charles was different from me. I knew that from when I used to teach him math. He was very smart. With only a slight hint, he understood everything. While having excellent grades, he also had many hobbies and entertainments unlike me. For the sake of my grades, I had almost no leisure activities at all. Back then, Charles would always say I was amazing. Would he still think I was amazing in the future? Mom was arranging flowers. I went over to help, but she told me to go rest. Dad no longer talked to me about work at the breakfast table. Charles forgot to come ask me for his good morning kiss several times. I finally returned to the company. Everyone was discussing Charles's strong proposal for the new project. Dad took him out to socialize and told me to go home and rest. Most of the projects in my hands were transferred away. When it was time, my assistant would notify me. "Mr. Shawn Wilson, President Wilson asked me to remind you to go home when it's time." Charles was looking at a proposal. His brows furrowed in difficulty. I found an opportunity and leaned closer. "What are you looking at? Brother will help you." He immediately dodged away. "No need, brother. I'll go ask Dad." When Charles was 16, he would say I was amazing because I taught him three different ways to solve a math problem. Now Charles did not think I was amazing anymore. Charles went with Dad to socialize. He did not come back that night perhaps. It had gotten too late and Dad had arranged for him to stay somewhere nearby. In the morning, I saw him come out of his own room. When he saw me, guilt flashed across his face and he turned away. "Morning, brother." Perhaps he had grown up. Perhaps he was no longer afraid of ghosts. So he no longer needed to sleep with me. After all, Dad had told him, "You can't always rely on your brother."
A few friends came back and invited me to a bar. I drank another glass of wine, narrowed my eyes, and asked him, "Are you happy now?" He drained his glass in one go. "Happy? Yeah, not long ago in Seattle, I even had a beautiful love at first sight romance." I thought he was not happy. He seemed so lonely, but he had no choice. Maybe I would be the same soon. Once Charles no longer needed me, once Mom and Dad no longer needed me, once the Wilson family no longer needed me, it would be time for me to leave the stage, too. When I leave the Wilson family, I'll go traveling with you, too. Mom and Dad would probably give me a sum of money. Even if they did not, it did not matter. I had plenty of savings. I swallowed down the bitterness I could not put into words. Then I smiled. "Maybe I'll also meet someone I fall in love with at first sight and have a beautiful love story."
"Brother, where are you going? Who are you falling in love with at first sight? Who are you having a love story with?" My wrist was grabbed and the wine spilled. I saw Charles. He frowned as he pulled me. "Come home with me." Charles was angry. I stumbled and stood up with him. A few of my friends, all already quite drunk, stopped him. "Hey, don't leave. It's rare enough that Sean comes out with us. Who are you to tell him to go home?" Charles glanced at me. "The family." The word family burned against my heart. Before I could react, I saw Charles pick up his glass and quickly drink several cups. "I've finished them. Can we go now?" He held my hand. "Let's go home, brother." The world seemed to be spinning. I saw two Charleses. Both of them looked unhappy. Their faces were tense and their eyes were fixed on me. Their eyes were red. I reached out to touch his face, but he avoided me. He really did hate me now. I felt a little sad. I turned my face away and stopped looking at him. He had clearly said before that he liked brother the most. Liar, liar, liar.
Charles placed me on the bed and I covered my face with my arm. I did not want to move. The whole world was spinning. I was so miserable, so heartbroken. I did not want to wander through the world. I only wanted a home. Why couldn't things stay the same forever? If only Charles never grew up. If only he were still that boy of 15 or 16. The one who rushed past everyone the moment he entered the house and hugged me. The one whose clear voice called me brother. My arm was moved away and the light made my eyes ache. Charles spoke in a slight panic. "Brother, why are you crying?" He wiped my tears clumsily and mumbled something under his breath. I wasn't even crying. Why was he the one crying? He was the one who did not want me anymore. I refused to let him wipe my tears and turn my face away to hide. I hid so much that I grew dizzy and wanted to throw up. He helped me sit up and patted my back. The more he patted me, the more wrong I felt. "Charles, you're so annoying." His gaze sank as he looked into my eyes. "How am I annoying?" I counted on my fingers. "You wouldn't let me touch your face." He froze. Then he placed my hand on his face. "Touch it." Then after that, he started unbuttoning my clothes. "What are you doing?" My clothes were half undone, hanging loose on my body. "Be good, brother. I'm a little dizzy, too. So, I can't take you to bathe. I'll wipe you down and then we'll sleep early, okay?" I was not that easy to coax. "I still want to touch your face." He put my hand back on his face. I pinched his cheek. I was still so sad. "You forgot my good morning kiss several times lately. You forgot this morning, too." The place on my neck that had been wiped with warm water felt very comfortable. I leaned closer. "Make it up to me." Charles' pupils trembled. He was unwilling. Usually, even if he chased me from so far away and demanded I make it up to him. I would do it and I would even give him two. "If you won't make it up, forget it. I don't like you anymore." "I'll make it up, brother. Don't stop liking me." He leaned in and gave me the good morning kisses. I raised my hands and let him wipe my body and change my clothes. I thought he felt a little hot as if he had a fever and something kept pressing against me through the blanket. I reached out to touch it. He shouted at me, "Don't move." Fine, I wouldn't move. I turned my back to him and buried my face in the pillow. The heat in my eyes could not be stopped. Tiny, broken sobs kept spilling out. Charles had never shouted at me before. My face was fished out of the pillow. Charles' voice was on the verge of collapse. "Why are you crying again? You were thinking of leaving the Wilson family, abandoning me, traveling the world and even falling in love at first sight. I'm the one who should be crying." He pinched my face. "Brother, be honest with me. Who corrupted you? Which friend or did someone seduce you? Give me your phone. I'm checking it." He was furious. "I'm going to delete them all. A brother who wants to run around isn't good, either." After saying that, he even smacked me from behind. He had said so much and all of it was blaming me. He even hit me. Even though it did not hurt, you're the one who didn't want me. Clearly, he was the problem. "You said it yourself. You thought I was annoying. You hated me controlling you. If I controlled you, you'd run. You'd rebel. You even wanted to run away from home. If you disappeared, how was I supposed to explain it to Mom and Dad? What else could I do? Dad told me to find you, otherwise I didn't have to come home either. I looked for you for a long time, a very, very long time. Panicked and afraid, I know everything in the Wilson family belongs to you. I never wanted anything. I don't know what I did wrong, but you said I wasn't your real brother. I'm not your real brother, but I've always treated you as my real younger brother. Why can't I be your real brother? Why can't I? Did I do something wrong? Why don't you like me anymore? I can change. Can I keep being your brother? I'll agree to anything."
Charles looked at me with an unreadable expression. Sweat slid from his forehead down the bridge of his nose and fell onto my face. Our position was a little strange. He was braced above me while my hands clutched the front of his shirt. The smell of alcohol lingered around us. After breathing it in for too long, I felt a little hot. He remained silent for so long that the courage the alcohol had given me began to weaken again. "If you really can't accept it, I can leave, too." I tested carefully. "Can I still come back during holidays and on Mom's and Dad's birthdays? On your birthday, would you want to see me?" The lonely look in Charles's eyes flashed through my mind. In the future, I would become someone without a home, too. My head was flicked. Charles sighed. "What exactly are you thinking? If there's a problem, why didn't you ask me? I never thought you were annoying. You can control me. What I said that day was about Dad. I just didn't want to work at the company. I thought the company already had you and that was enough. I thought he didn't understand me. It was my fault that I missed your calls. Only after I couldn't find you today, did I understand how anxious you must have felt back then. No one dislikes you, brother. Do you know how exhausted you were? That's why we wanted you to rest properly. I dumped all the responsibility on you. I was too selfish and too willful. I forgot that you get tired, too. Dad scolded me. He said I couldn't always rely on you, or I'd wear you down. I won't run away from home. If I ever run away from home, I'll definitely take you with me. Only after I truly got busy did I realize how hard how truly hard things are for you. It was wrong of me to chase after you and make a fuss whenever you forgot my good morning kiss. But brother, you didn't ask anything, didn't say anything, and just decided you didn't want me anymore. I'm really angry and really hurt." Was that how it was? The hurt and anger in Charles's eyes were real. I had made him unhappy. Then, "Can I really not be your real brother?" Charles's Adam's apple bobbed, his gaze darkened slightly. "You want to be my real brother that badly?" I quickly nodded. "I do. I really do." A warm touch landed on my lips. Charles's face was too close to mine. I cannot focus my eyes, and everything blurred. His voice was indistinct. "If you want to be my real brother, then this is the only kind of real brother I can accept." Something in my mind snapped. Even the alcohol faded by half. Charles's breath was too close to me, and with the scent of alcohol, he no longer felt like himself. Not like the spoiled, obedient Charles from before. The Charles whose lips and teeth collided with mine had become aggressive brother. "Can't you tell? I like you." His warm kisses traveled downward from my neck to my collarbone. He buried his entire face against my collarbone. His damp, hot breath made my whole body tremble. My mind was filled with only that sentence. I like you. Charles said he liked me. The electric sensation at the corner of my mouth had not yet faded. This was the kind of real brother he wanted. It was too absurd. What was I supposed to do? Pain bloomed at my collarbone. The sensation of teeth grazing and sucking. The heat beneath the quilt pressed against my leg. His hand touched my waist. His fingers already slipping under the hem of my shirt. "No. No." How slow I was, I knew what he wanted to do. I pushed him away with more strength than I intended, and my raised palm stopped in midair beside his face. Breathing hard, he tilted his head and pressed his cheek into my hand. "Is brother going to hit me? Can you bear to?" He returned to that obedient look from before, lowering the ends of his eyes and gazing at me pitifully. I could not bring my hand down at all. I could not bear to. He licked my palm, and I quickly pulled my hand back. I gathered my clothes around myself and turned to get out of bed. "You're drunk. Calm down." Before I could even put on my shoes, he wrapped his arms around me from behind. "Brother, you're trying to run again. You said it yourself, as long as you can be my brother, you'll agree to anything. I'll give you the Wilson family. You give me yourself, brother." Some people become very strong after drinking. Some people become weak all over after drinking. When those two kinds of people appear in the same space, they happen to be him and me, and I was the one whose strength had been kissed away by him. "Brother, now that we've said everything clearly, I won't let you leave. If you run, I really will go crazy. I didn't dare stay in the same room with you after drinking. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to hold back. You were the one who provoked me, brother." My wrists were pinned above my head. He wound a tie around them, circling it tight, then used his teeth to knot it. His knee forced my legs apart. I was so anxious that tears fell uncontrollably. "Charles, calm down. You can't do this. Let me go. I won't run. I'll stay right here." He paused for a moment, and hope flared up inside me. Then he said, "I don't believe you. You're lying." My broken attempts to resist were crushed by him, and the pain at the corner of my mouth spread through my whole body. Charles, my mind was very clear, yet my soul seemed to float weightlessly upward, watching helplessly as my body was dragged.
Into wave after wave of something unspeakable. If I stayed close to him, I would be burned. If I moved away from him, I would fall. Until the last of my tears have been kissed away, he held me in his arms. The heat from our bare skin had not yet faded. He said, "Brother, I love you."
The soreness that made my whole body feel as if it had fallen apart, and the unspeakable pain in certain places all reminded me it was not a dream. It was real. Charles' face was flushed, and the curve of his lips carried a look of satisfaction. The thin quilt could not hide the scratch marks across his bare back. Our bed had never been this messy before. It was over. It was all over. Charles and I, we I carefully pushed him away.
The moment I got out of bed, my legs gave way and I fell to my knees. My knees, already red, became even redder. On my outstretched wrist was a ring of marks from being bound. The person on the bed gave a soft murmur. Brother, every hair on my body stood on end. I covered my mouth and did not dare move. After waiting for a while, he made no further sound. I hurriedly picked up my clothes, and before I even had time to straighten them, I rushed downstairs.
Fortunately, dawn had only just begun to lighten the sky, and the enormous villa was silent. I needed to calm down. I needed to find somewhere to calm down. The spiral staircase made every step difficult. I had only made it halfway down when a huge, panicked voice came from behind me. "Dad, Mom, my brother ran away. My brother is gone." Each shout was louder than the last. It nearly tore through the roof. Several bedroom doors opened at the same time. "Baby, where did you say Shawn went? Did he go out for a morning run?" "No, he ran! My brother ran away." I covered my mouth and slowly crawled downward. One step, two steps, three steps. Once I got downstairs, I could run outside and everything would be fine.
"Good morning, young master. What are you doing here?" The maid carrying groceries made my vision go dark. The footsteps behind me immediately closed in on my position. Several pairs of eyes met at once. Mom's gaze landed on me, and little by little it turned into shock. I knew I looked improper right now. My clothes were disheveled, the corner of my mouth was split, my eyes were slightly swollen, large patches of kiss marks extended from my neck to my collarbone, and there was a ring of binding marks around my wrist.
Mom turned to Charles. "You did this." Charles's eyes slowly reddened. He nodded. He had just opened his mouth when Mom slapped him across the face. "He is your brother. How could you?" A clear palm print appeared on Charles's face. He stiffened his neck. "He's not my real brother." And Mom was so angry that her chest rose and fell rapidly. She grabbed a decorative vine from the side and struck Charles hard with it. Creases appeared one after another in his silk clothes. "How dare you? You little—" Dad and I, finally reacting, hurried over and each pulled one of them away. Instinctively, I shielded Charles and a sharp pain exploded across my arm.
"Dad, Mom, I'm sorry." I hurriedly pulled Charles back to the room. Then I took out ointment for bruises and swelling. "Charles, does it hurt? Let brother see." Under his clothes, there were several swollen marks. I applied the medicine while blowing gently on them. "It won't hurt in a little while. And you two, why were you shouting so loudly? Don't you know how to dodge?" His choked voice sounded somewhat pitiful. "Brother, it hurts." "I know it hurts. But he held my hand and pressed it to his chest. "Brother, my heart hurts. I'm sorry, brother. I didn't mean to hurt you. I lost control. I didn't have any experience, either." His gaze swept over the marks exposed on my body. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Don't abandon me. I won't let you leave." He snatched the ointment away and began rubbing it gently over my body. Bit by bit, he did not even miss the injury on my arm. "Brother can't block things for me." Tears fell onto me as if they cost nothing. He cried so hard his whole body trembled. He had been frightened. I knew he had drunk too much last night, too. Neither of us was used to drinking, and the wine last night really had a strong aftereffect.
"All right, don't cry. I don't blame you." I still wanted to coax him a little more. Mom knocked on the door and came in. "Shawn, come out with me for a moment." "Where are you taking brother?" "I'm going to Charles. Kneel there. Try moving one step and see what happens." Charles was still reaching out to pull me back. I gave him a look. Then I pulled my hand from his. He obediently knelt down and looked up at me. "Brother, will you come back?" I did not know how to answer. Then he said, "Brother, I'll wait for you. I'll keep waiting."
I followed behind mom looking at her back. Mom must have been very angry. She loved Charles dearly and had never even been willing to raise her voice at him. But this time, she had hit him, scolded him, and punished him. Something like this had happened between her adopted son and biological son. Of course, she would be unable to accept it. Of course, she would be angry. Maybe she would send me away, send me abroad. Maybe she would no longer acknowledge me. Maybe she would feel disgusted whenever my name was mentioned. Maybe she would think I had ruined Charles, ruined this family. It felt as if I had messed everything up. I had not been a good older brother. I had not been a good son, either.
After the study door closed, I had just been about to kneel when mom pulled me into her arms. Her voice was thick with tears. "Mom knew it wasn't right. Mommy knew it wasn't right for Charles to cling to you like that. But because I couldn't bear to make him unhappy, I indulged him. I didn't know he had those kinds of feelings for you, or that he would do something like this to you. Mom knew it wasn't right." Mom lifted her face. It was covered in tears. Her expression was sincere and pleading. "Can mommy ask you for one thing?" What was coming had finally come. As long as it was something mom asked of me, I would agree. I had been raised by mom, after all. "Please don't report him to the police. If you report him, his whole life will be over. He's a bastard. I'll send him far away. Send him abroad. If you still aren't satisfied, I'll break his legs." Mom knew it wasn't right. "I know this is unfair to you. He's a shameless bastard. How could he dare to force?" Mom's hand gripped my arm. It hurt a little, but it felt very real.
"Mom isn't going to send me away. Mom looked astonished. "He's the one who did something wrong. Why would I send you away? You are both my sons. You think I would be that biased?" Mom suddenly raised her hand and gave my face a light slap. It was more like a caress. "I hit him, not you, didn't I? Do you think that just because you weren't born to me, I would abandon you without knowing right from wrong? When did you start thinking this way?" "Recently. Years ago. From the day Charles came back. Or from the moment you first entered this home." I pressed my lips together and did not dare speak. "Where's my stick? You kept things bottled up in your heart for so long. I think you deserve a beating, too."
"What did I tell you when I asked you to call me Mom?" Mom said, I knelt and hugged her waist. I pressed my face against her. "Mom said that from then on, I was your child. I was this family's child, Mom. I'm sorry. I really, really want to be your child. I really, really love this family." All the long years of suppressed feelings, the absurdity of last night, and the constant fear and anxiety. The warmth I held in my arms was like a cloud catching me as I fell from a cliff. I cried away all my insecurity. Those hands that had once brought me home, those warm hands, stroked the top of my head little by little. Then she helped me up and sat me down. Sitting across from me, she took my hand and rolled up my sleeve. Little by little, she blew on the wound I had received by accident. "It's Mom's fault. I made you feel insecure. I made you feel that things were unfair. I made you treat yourself like an outsider. Mom didn't do well enough. Mom was indeed biased. I did favor Charles a little more, but my favoritism was not because he was my biological son and you were not. In mom's eyes, both of you are my children. I favored him more because of my guilt, the guilt of having lost him. But that is my issue. You have never owed him anything and you do not need to make it up to him. After he did something like this, your father insisted on calling the police. When it comes to major matters, your father and I will not be biased. Everything in this family belongs to both of you equally. Your father and I have never treated you as an outsider. In this matter, I am selfishly asking something of you. But even if you insist on reporting him, mom will not blame you or resent you."
I shook my head desperately. "I don't want to report him." "Then we'll send him far away. We'll send him abroad." "Mom, not that either." Then I added, "And don't hit him. It hurts." Mom looked at me quietly for several seconds. "Then should I stay out of your business and let you to resolve it yourselves. You won't wrong yourself. You won't overthink." "I won't. We'll resolve it ourselves." I stood and walked toward the door. Mom's sounded behind me. "It means I hoped he would be able to move against the current. That after going through twist and turns, you would still remain resilient and never forget your true heart, Shawn. Mom only has one baby and mom only has one Shawn. No matter what decision you to make, your father and I will support and understand you. Mom didn't do well enough. Mom will change from now on. Don't wrong yourself."
Mom had done very well. I was the one who had not. But I would become better in the future. I would change. What happened between Charles and me could not be blamed entirely on him. My feelings toward him were complicated. They were not pure. Did I not know that it was abnormal for the grown men to sleep in each other's arms and have good morning kisses every day? I knew. Did I not know that it was abnormal for him to cling to me like that? I knew that, too. But I still never rejected him. As long as I looked into his eyes, I could not refuse him. When he tied me up, the alcohol had already cleared from my mind. It would not have been easy for me to subdue him, but it would not have been difficult for me to escape. When he kissed me, my heart beat faster. When he came close to me, I did not feel disgust. Perhaps I had never once imagined that we would separate. When other people began thinking about love, I was thinking about where to take him for a picnic. That weekend, when others spent lavishly on the person they loved, every large expense of mine was spent on something he liked. What pair of brothers would cling to each other like we did? Even after doing something intimate without preparation, when I woke in the morning, I still wanted to kiss his forehead. When I thought I was going to be sent away, the first thing that came to mind was his face. Would he be sad? Would he be hurt? Would he make a scene? Would he cry? He always needed me to coax him. Could Mom and Dad manage it? They probably could. Not if he could not find me. Would he be able to sleep at night? Would he still be afraid of ghosts? Would he eat properly? Would he listen to Mom and Dad? When I saw him being hit, my heart hurt. When I saw him cry, my heart hurt. When I saw him apologize, my heart still hurt. One person could make my heart feel so many things. Sourness, joy, confusion, heartache, sweetness. Was this not caring? Was this not love?
When I pushed the door open, Charles was still kneeling on the floor. His head was lowered, and he was crying. If he kept crying, the whole house would flood. Charles, I rarely called him by his full name. He abruptly lifted his head, his eyes full of terror. Were the things he said last night serious? Do you still remember them? He had said, "Brother, I will love you forever. I will only love you. I will only be good to you." He had said, "Brother, I want to be with you forever." He had said, "Brother, even even this is wrong, I can't turn back anymore," he had said. "Brother, I will never abandon you." More than forever loving me, what I wanted was the promise that he would never abandon me. Memory overlapped with his voice in reality. He said, "Brother, I remember. I remember everything. Everything I said was true." Charles and I had both stayed in orphanages. No matter how much we gained in this life, we could never fill the emptiness left behind by our childhood. Money, identity, status, none of it could fill the hollow in our sense of security. We wanted love that would never abandon us, a unique love, a love that belonged only to us. An eternal love. Perhaps it was not a very healthy love. I reached my hand toward him. "All right, get up. Stop crying. Brother is yours. Brother will never leave you."