Chapter 3

"He snapped my mom's wrist right in front of me, then branded her shoulder with a scorching hot iron. And that scar on her face will never fade," Alex said.

After he had finally managed to get Sierra to sleep, he joined me in the yard.

I was carefully wrapping a bandage around the wound on Alex's arm.

Just moments ago, Sierra didn't even recognize Alex. She had bitten into his arm, raw and real.

Blood soaked through the bandage almost instantly.

"Alex, does it hurt?" I asked softly, unable to hide my worry.

However, as soon as I said it, I instantly regretted letting the words slip.

How could it not hurt? What a stupid question.

"Nah. Compared to what my mom went through, it's no big deal," Alex said.

Alex dropped his head and forced a smile, and I saw tears running down his face.

"Everyone kept saying domestic violence was just common and that even if I called the cops, they'd just turn me away. Therefore, I spiked his drink and smashed his leg with a stick," Alex muttered.

He stared off into the distance, his hands clenched together.

He said, "That night, he nearly beat me to death. Mom was so terrified, and she collapsed in tears right there.

"She had already lost her mind from the beatings. She was trembling uncontrollably, but she still picked up a stick and struck him hard across the back.

"I almost died that night. It took that for the police to finally step in. For once, it wasn't brushed off as just a family issue."

Alex smiled.

He looked at me and smiled. His eyes shone so intensely they outshone the stars.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked softly.

I shook my head. "No, I'm not."

How could I be afraid of Alex? He was such a good guy. I knew he was.

Alex paused, a little surprised.

I placed my hand over his and said earnestly, "From now on, we'll protect Mrs. Carter together."

I meant every word.

Alex pulled his hand away with a playful roll of his eyes, then looked up at the sky.

He said, "Enough with the sentimental stuff. No matter how sweet you talk, you're still stuck with that housework, understand?"

I broke into a laugh. "Sure."

I knew Alex didn't mean it. He was just joking.

The next morning, I got up early and got ready to head out with Alex to the street fair.

"Do you even know how to sell things?" He shot me a sideways glance.

"Of course I do. You just gotta talk, right?" I protested, then puffed up and started shouting, "Fresh fruit here. Come and have a try."

I heard Alex chuckle behind me.

He gave me a light smack on the back of my head—not nearly as hard as yesterday, but it still made me jump.

"Forget it, you're just a kid. You don't even know how to do it properly. I'll send you off to school soon," he said.

"If you're not going to school, then I won't either. I'll stick with you, sell fruit, and help you look after Mrs. Carter," I said, pouting a little.

Alex's eyes went wide in disbelief at that.

"I'm not going to school. People there will laugh their heads off when they see me. It's Sunday, so I'll let it slide, but tomorrow, you're going to school whether you like it or not," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I glared stubbornly at Alex, but in the end, there was no way I could win against him.

He really meant it. No matter what I said, he was definitely dragging me to school.

Alex's fruit stand drew a crowd—everyone showed up for the fresh produce and the great prices.

Since Alex started selling fruit here, he kept prices fair in the whole area. People knew better than to mess with him, but his fruit was always the best, and nobody complained about what they paid.

The other vendors grumbled about him, but none of them had the guts to try anything.

One day, Laney, a chubby middle-aged woman, rolled up to buy fruit. The second she laid eyes on me, she started sniping with that sarcastic tone of hers.

She said, "Well, look who it is—the little freak, who caused her mother's death and got kicked out of the house. You're the one who bullied my son with Alex, aren't you? Looks like you got yourself a protector now.

"Why are you selling fruit? Aren't you supposed to be in the class? Oh, you just don't have the money, right?"

My grip on the bag tightened and then stopped.

She continued, "Look at this fruit—just like you and Alex. Pretty on the surface but rotten inside."