The day my brother, Ethan, got together with Chloe—the girl who bullied me in high school—my depression relapsed. He shielded Chloe behind his back, terrified I’d lose control and hurt her. But all I could think of was my freshman year, when Ethan sent me away to that boarding school. I remembered when Chloe was ripping my hair out, and I managed to call Ethan’s number. His annoyed voice echoed through the speaker. “What are you throwing a tantrum for now? Can’t you just grow up?” He hung up. Chloe laughed, stubbing her glowing cigarette right into the back of my hand. The pain was so agonizing I blacked out. When I woke up, Ethan was kneeling by my bedside. He was sobbing, begging for my forgiveness. I was diagnosed with severe depression. He dropped out of college and worked day and night to pay for my therapy. During my worst episodes, I’d hold a kitchen knife, my hands shaking violently. He would hug me, tears streaming down his face, choking out apologies. But now. Ethan stood in front of Chloe, looking at me with pure exhaustion. “It’s been two years, Maya. We’re all exhausted. How much longer are you going to torture me?” I hid my trembling hands behind my back. In my grip was an acceptance letter to a prestigious art exhibition in Paris. I had come here to share this incredible news with him. But now, there was no need.
Depression episode. I practically fled back to my art studio. This tiny studio was something Ethan had saved up for a whole year to rent for me. During my two years of recovery, this was the only place where I felt safe. I reached out to touch the dried watercolor on the canvas. The scar on the back of my hand caught my eye. Over the last two years, I had almost forgotten how badly it used to hurt. Ethan and I only had each other growing up. He raised me. During my freshman year of high school, he sent me to a boarding school. I was quiet, introverted, and hated socializing. Naturally, I became the perfect target for bullies. They poured water all over my bed. Since I couldn’t sleep there, I curled up in the corner, only to be dragged into the restrooms. I told the counselor. He just gave me a dismissive smile. “We don’t have students like that at our school. If you’re being picked on, maybe you should think about what you did to cause it.” Terrified, I called Ethan again and again. But Ethan was working multiple jobs to pay for his classes and support me. The third time I begged him to take me home, he snapped. “Maya, I told you! I have to work! I don’t have time to babysit you!” I swallowed my tears and endured it. But they only got worse. They threw bugs into my lunch. They dragged me to the rooftop, laughing hysterically at my pale, terrified face as they took turns slapping me. With their cruel laughter ringing in my ears, I dialed Ethan’s number with shaking fingers. “Ethan, please… please come take me home.” Ethan’s furious voice came through. “What are you throwing a tantrum for now? Can’t you just grow up?” The line went dead. Chloe caught up to me. She grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulling back hard. The stinging pain in my scalp was nothing compared to the sheer terror in my heart. I cried, begging her to stop. But she just laughed and slapped me across the face. They pinned me to the floor. Chloe held a lit cigarette, pressing the burning cherry directly into the back of my hand. “Still waiting for someone to save you?” I don’t know how long they kicked and beat me. I just curled into a ball, losing consciousness in the pouring rain. When I opened my eyes, Ethan was kneeling in front of me. He was crying so hard his entire body shook. “Maya, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” “I’m taking you home. Don’t be scared…” He cried desperately that day. I had never seen him cry like that before. He held my hand and swore he’d never let anyone hurt me again. But only two years later… He became the one hurting me. By the time I snapped out of my thoughts, the studio was pitch black. I didn’t know how long I had been sitting there. My phone lit up with a call from Ethan. I answered. “Maya, where are you? Stop acting out. Chloe made your favorite dinner. Come home and eat.” If I wasn’t at home, I was always at the studio. But he couldn’t even bother to walk over and look for me. Hearing him say Chloe’s name made my stomach turn. A wave of nausea hit me. I dry-heaved for a long time, but nothing came up.
The security guard, Marcus, heard me during his night patrol. Seeing my state, he panicked and reached for his phone to call Ethan. “Oh my god, Maya, is it happening again? Are you okay? I’ll call Ethan right now. Hang in there!” My fingers shook violently as I grabbed Marcus’s arm. “Don’t tell him.” A text from Ethan popped up on my screen. [Maya, I’m giving you ten minutes.] This was Ethan’s warning sign before he lost his temper. My mind drifted, suddenly remembering two years ago, during my first major depressive episode. Back then, I couldn’t eat anything. The moment I saw a stranger, I would reflexively start gagging. In just a month, I became skin and bones. Ethan would push my wheelchair out so I could get some sun, while I stared blankly at the birds in the distance. One night, Ethan came home from work to find me holding a kitchen knife. Paling with fright, he rushed forward to stop me. Triggered and terrified, I screamed and shrank back. “Stay away from me! Let me go, please let me go!” With bloodshot eyes, Ethan lunged forward and locked me in a hug. The knife left a long, deep gash on his arm. But he didn’t seem to feel the pain. He just held me, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry, Maya, I’m so sorry!” “It’s my fault. I didn’t take care of you…” With Ethan holding me, I slowly calmed down. That incident left a prominent scar on his arm. To keep me from feeling guilty, he always wore long sleeves, even in the dead of summer, to hide it. But today, when I went home, he was wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt. I stayed out all night. Ethan didn’t call me again. The next morning, he came to the studio. I had sat in front of the canvas all night. Black paint had completely bled through the entire fabric. Ethan looked at the painting, fell silent for a moment, then reached out to gently stroke my hair. “I’m sorry, Maya. I lost my temper yesterday. Can you forgive me?” My eyes stung with tears. But the next second. He knelt on one knee in front of me, looking into my eyes, practically begging. “Chloe has an art exhibition coming up soon. I want to let her use this studio for a while. You can paint at home during this time, okay?” I stared at his face. My mind went completely blank for several long seconds. I realized I couldn’t comprehend what Ethan was saying. This studio. It was the key to my recovery. I had painted so many of my breakthrough moments on these canvases. This place was my entire world. But now, Ethan wanted to hand this sanctuary over to the very person who had broken me. Ethan held my hands. “Chloe knows she was wrong. She’s been apologizing to me for the past two years.” I stared at him, numb. “She went abroad to study art for two years just to clear her head, and she came back specifically to apologize to you. It’s been two years, Maya. It’s time to let it go.” I didn’t understand. Does two years of time automatically erase someone else’s trauma? I stared blankly at Ethan’s lips moving. He was spitting out words that made absolutely no sense to me. In the end, a harsh truth dawned on me. Right. Out of the three of us. I was the only one who had actually been hurt. That was why Ethan could choose forgiveness so easily.
That night, my depression flared up again. With trembling hands, I choked down my pills. Tears streamed down my face, but my chest felt completely hollow and numb. I forgot that Ethan had already packed up all my things from the studio. When I walked in. Seeing Chloe sitting in my chair, holding my favorite paintbrush. My body suddenly stopped obeying me. My knees buckled. I slammed against the doorframe, a loud ringing filling my ears. Soft, upbeat music was playing in the studio. Chloe sat bathed in the warm sunlight, while Ethan stood beside her, watching her with a relaxed, tender smile. I hadn’t seen Ethan look like that in a very long time. Ever since I got sick, his youthful spark had been completely ground down by life. Whenever he looked at me, his eyes held nothing but worry and exhaustion. I went back to our apartment and sat before a blank canvas. I held a pencil so tightly the sharp edge sliced into my finger, but I felt absolutely nothing. From that day on, I stopped trying to see Ethan. But I could tell. Ethan’s mood was getting better by the day. Finally, one day, he looked at me hesitantly. “Maya, there’s an art exhibition nearby that you’d love. Want to go?” A tiny spark of light flickered in my long-dead eyes. I followed Ethan to the gallery, only to see Chloe there with her own featured pieces. Ethan closely watched my reaction. “Chloe has some art on display here. If you don’t want to see her, you can just look at the other artists.” As soon as he finished speaking, he hurried off to help Chloe set up. I stood there alone, quietly admiring the paintings I loved. During those countless suffocating nights, staring at these kinds of paintings was the only thing that gave me the will to live. The gallery curator recognized me. He walked over and struck up a conversation. Then, he asked out of curiosity. “We invited you to participate in this exhibition last month, but your representative said you didn’t have time. I didn’t think we’d see you here today.” I froze. “What?” The curator smiled and glanced over at Ethan. “Since you declined, we ended up choosing that artist over there.” “Though her work lacks a bit of soul, Ethan highly recommended her to us.” It felt like a bomb went off in my head. Last month, I had submitted an application for this exhibition. The coordinator told me I’d get a response in three days, but I waited a week and heard nothing. But now, the curator was telling me that *I* had declined the invitation. My laptop was in the studio. The only person besides me who had access to it was Ethan. My gaze drifted across the crowded gallery, finally landing on Ethan, who was standing right next to Chloe. While I was drowning in despair over not getting a reply… Ethan had declined the invitation on my behalf. And he had recommended Chloe instead. Clearly, Chloe had already become far more important to him than I was. My phone buzzed with an email notification. It was an official acceptance letter from an art agency in Paris. I looked up again, watching Ethan’s gentle smile in the distance. Then, I booked the earliest flight out of the country.
I slipped away from the exhibition without a sound. I walked back to my studio, which was now completely contaminated with Chloe’s presence. I stood there in silence for a few minutes. Then, grabbing a thick black marker. I drew a massive, aggressive ‘X’ right across her centerpiece painting. That night, Ethan stormed into the apartment, screaming at me in a fury. “Maya! When did you become so malicious? That was Chloe’s main exhibition piece! You ruined her painting! What is she supposed to do at the gallery tomorrow?!” I watched his outrage with dead eyes. “She got into that exhibition by stealing my spot, didn’t she?” Exposed, Ethan’s face flashed with panic. “Your mental state was unstable back then! That’s why I declined it for you. Chloe’s style is very similar to yours anyway. I only recommended her; she earned the spot herself!” Because of my ongoing treatment, Ethan had always managed my submissions. As my point of contact, all the gallery directors knew him well. If he recommended someone, they wouldn’t think twice. My hands shook. I grabbed everything within arm’s reach and hurled it at him in a frenzy. Ethan didn’t try to comfort me like he used to. Instead, he slammed the door and left. I sat in front of my canvas all night again. The next day, Ethan came back with my favorite pastries to apologize. He knelt before me, crying and begging for forgiveness, just like he did two years ago. A sharp ache pierced my chest, and my tears fell alongside his. It was true that Ethan had sacrificed so much for me over the years. He pulled me into his arms. Gently patting my back. I remembered when we were kids, having no parents, being bullied by other kids. I would hide in his arms and cry, and he would always comfort me like this. I finally sobbed out loud. But Ethan remained on his knees. His hands clenched into fists. After a long, tense silence, he looked up at me with red, pleading eyes. “Maya… can you do me a favor? Please.” By the time Ethan dragged me to the exhibition venue, I could barely feel my own body. I followed him inside like a mindless zombie. The moment we stepped through the doors, dozens of camera flashes blinded me. “Miss Maya, is it true that Miss Chloe bullied you two years ago?” “Your brother, Ethan, claims that your depression is cured and that you’ve forgiven Miss Chloe. Is that true?” Chloe’s art had gone viral online. But someone she had bullied in the past had exposed her on social media. The media dug deeper and eventually found me—her most traumatized victim. Ethan carefully guided me onto the stage. Facing the sea of flashing lights and probing eyes. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Ethan had begged me. He begged me to tell everyone that I had forgiven Chloe. He had tears streaming down his face, claiming that if I didn’t help, Chloe’s life would be ruined. My limbs went entirely numb. I could hear Ethan whispering frantically from the side, urging me to speak. Suddenly, the giant screen behind the stage flashed with my medical records from two years ago. Photos of my bruised, scarred body were displayed for everyone to see. Finally, the screen showed my official diagnosis of severe, clinical depression. I stared at the medical report. My vision began to blur. The weight of all those staring eyes was suffocating. Below the stage, Ethan was looking at me with desperation, pleading with his eyes for me to say the words—to tell everyone I forgave the person who had shattered my life. My vision went completely black, and I collapsed off the stage. When I woke up, the hospital room was empty. Ethan had left a note on the bedside table. [Chloe is in a really bad place right now. I have to go be with her.] I threw the note into the trash. With weak, trembling steps, I walked out of the hospital. Without packing any bags, I went straight to the airport. My body was physically exhausted, but my mind had never been clearer. Only one thought consumed me. I had to get out. Before powering off my phone. A call from Ethan flashed on the screen. He asked frantically, “Maya, where are you? The doctor said you aren’t cleared to leave the hospital yet—” I didn’t say a word. I just shut down the phone.
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