Chapter 2

Charlie's POV

I still couldn't feel my right hand. It was just as limp as before, entirely devoid of strength.

I simply thought that the dosage wasn't enough and that I needed to take more. I poured out a few more pills and shoved them into my mouth all at once, the rough tablets painfully scraping my throat as they went down.

I still couldn't feel anything in my legs and my right hand. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes as I emptied the entire bottle of pills into my mouth and forced them down. I felt the sharp pain scraping through my throat, but there was absolutely no change in my condition.

I pinched my thighs hard with my left hand, digging into them and striking them, but my legs still didn't feel a shred of pain. I merely thought that the effects of the medication just hadn't kicked in yet and that everything would be fine once I waited it out. It was definitely going to work.

Eventually, I gave up my struggle and lay flat on the floor, suddenly recalling the incident a month prior.

Mom was away on a business trip, so nobody was there to give me my injections for those few days.

I would wake up every morning, and the first thing I would do was to try to wiggle my toes. I tried it for three days straight, but I still couldn't feel anything. I told myself the medication probably hadn't worn off yet, but on the fourth day, when Mom returned, my legs remained completely unresponsive.

I told Mom that I would do the injections myself after that day. She looked at me and agreed. She had no idea that I was hiding the medication every day, replacing it with tap water and injecting that into myself instead.

I wanted to see if my legs would recover if I stopped the injections. But a month went by, and I still couldn't move my legs. I suddenly understood that the effects of the medication would never leave my system—my legs were permanently ruined.

I felt my eyes sting slightly as I lay on the floor, feeling a wave of dizziness come over me. I felt like vomiting, but I couldn't throw anything up. I simply shut my eyes, figuring that I would feel better after sleeping it off.

I found myself standing when I opened my eyes again.

My feet were firmly on the ground. I could move my toes, and my right hand could move freely as well. I was overjoyed—the sustained-release medication really did work, as my legs had recovered, and I could finally move.

I turned around in pleasant surprise, only to see someone lying on the floor. I noticed that the person was actually me.

When I stepped closer, I finally got a clear look at the person on the floor. His face was completely pale, and he had white froth lingering at the corner of his mouth, a look of sheer agony on his face.

I was the person on the floor. It turned out I hadn't gotten better. I had died.

Once I snapped out of my grief, I actually felt a sense of relief wash over me.

Being dead wasn't so bad. After all, I wouldn't need daily injections, I wouldn't wet my pants anymore, and I wouldn't make Mom angry again.

I was also relieved that Declan Jensen, my brother, would no longer be stuck in a wheelchair, pretending to be sick.

I had just settled on that thought when I heard footsteps coming from the hallway. I drifted out of the room and noticed that Mom and Declan had returned.

Mom pushed the clean wheelchair out of a corner in the hallway, while a look of pure reluctance crossed Declan's face. "How much longer do I have to fake it, Mom? I really don't want to sit in this wheelchair anymore."

Mom helped Declan into the wheelchair while reassuring him, saying, "You just have to bear with it for a little while longer, Declan. Charlie was acting up again this morning and refused his injection, so he clearly hasn't learned his lesson at all."

Declan said tentatively, "Charlie really didn't seem to be mocking me back then, Mom. Did you misunderstand the whole thing?"

Upon hearing that, Mom snapped, "You were so young back then! You wouldn't understand a thing! Charlie is a born sociopath! He's completely heartless! He intentionally limped around just to copy you when you only had a fracture and needed a wheelchair for a couple of months!

"He would have made your life a living hell if you were genuinely paralyzed, Declan! Charlie is deeply malicious and has no compassion whatsoever. He'll end up as a menace to society if I don't discipline him thoroughly now."

I drifted to the side, lowering my head as I listened to Mom berate and demean me.

It turned out that I was such a wicked person in Mom's eyes. But it didn't matter anymore, and she wouldn't have to worry about it.

I was already dead, so I wouldn't grow up to become a menace.