Dying To Escape My Sisters Toxic Devotion

New Year’s Eve. I chased after my sister, Delaney, who’d stormed out of our penthouse after a vicious fight, and ended up dragged into a forgotten alley by a crew of low-lifes. The violation was profound. They didn’t just break me; they inflicted a gut-wrenching, visceral trauma that consumed the next five years of my life. I was left with chronic Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Whenever I tried to end the pain—to cut myself free—Delaney would wrench the blade from my hand and plunge it into herself. I’d make one shallow slice, and she’d make two deep ones. Our blood would mix on the cold tile, and she’d hold me, sobbing against my neck: “Cas! I’m begging you, please, don’t do this to yourself again!” “I’m the reason you’re broken. I swear to you, I will fix this. I will make you whole.” After that night, the Delaney I knew—the reckless, fun-loving race car enthusiast—vanished. She set fire to her prized collection of high-performance bikes and started studying the books she used to scoff at. Five years later, she was Dr. Delaney Ford, a leading psychiatrist in the city. But just as the crushing fog of my illness finally seemed to be lifting, I overheard a conversation drifting from the hallway outside my room: “Miss Ford, you deserve an Oscar for this performance. If I hadn’t been in on it, I’d never guess you hired those guys back then.” “Though I have to ask—to punish your adopted brother for one fight, you’ve spent years using medication to precisely interfere with Young Master Caspian’s recovery, while simultaneously using that sisterly devotion to keep him clinging to life… Isn’t that a little… cruel?” Delaney let out a dismissive, chilling laugh. “Cruel? He deserved it. Who told him to try and hurt Toby like that? This is simply his repayment.” “I’ve got it handled, though. Cas is my brother. I’m just giving him a taste of his own medicine. I wouldn’t actually let him die. I’m not that heartless.” The world dissolved into a sheet of ice. I forgot how to breathe. It was all a performance. Every moment of sacrifice, every tear, every shared scar—it was all her elaborate, cold-blooded punishment. That night, I dragged my shattered body up to the rooftop. Delaney, this time, you won’t have to punish me yourself. … “CASPIAN!” The moment my weight shifted past the edge, a brutal force slammed into me, yanking me back. Delaney tackled me to the concrete, rolling until we were flat on the ground. Before I could even process the disorientation of the fall, a sharp, stinging crack echoed in the night air. Snap. My ear drum vibrated. I clapped a hand to my burning cheek and looked up, staring into my sister’s face. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. “Are you out of your mind?! Do you have any idea how close you were to falling?!” “This is all my fault, my failure! If you actually went over that ledge, I would end my life right here to pay you back!” Her chest was heaving; her hands trembled with what looked like genuine terror. My gaze fell on the fresh, bloody tear in the skin of her wrist. She’d gotten that wound just last week, wrestling a box-cutter out of my hand during a psychotic episode. But the words from the hallway echoed louder than her terror. It’s all an act. A sharp ache pierced my nose. I stared at her, the words leaving my lips in a stunned, empty whisper. “Delaney…” “I didn’t want to jump.” “I just wanted you to stay with me a little longer…” The words were out before I could stop them. The panic in her eyes evaporated instantly, replaced by something cold and calculating. A flicker of palpable annoyance crossed her face. After a long pause, she violently flung my wrist away. Her voice was flat and hard. “How many times, Caspian? How many times are we going to do this?” “You know it’s Toby’s birthday party tonight. You deliberately choose these moments to throw a tantrum, finding ways to draw me away. Are you trying to ruin everything for him?” Her grip had been too strong. Five years of trauma had hollowed me out, leaving me barely bone and skin. That violent shove sent me sprawling backward. As my body hit the concrete, the familiar, searing pain shot through my legs. God, it hurts. Tears streamed uncontrollably. I curled into a tight ball, clutching my already deformed, unusable legs. Five years ago, when those thugs were demanding my sister’s whereabouts, my refusal had enraged them. They had systematically crushed my legs, leaving them beyond repair. Memories rushed back, and the monumental injustice choked me. I lay on the ground, sobbing, my body shaking with uncontrollable tremors. Delaney flinched, then quickly reached out to help me up. She pressed her lips together, her tone softening with an uncomfortable forced tenderness. “Don’t cry, Cas. I didn’t mean that. It was just the panic talking.” “I was worried sick. Why else would I bolt the second the butler told me you weren’t in your room?” The lie died in her throat, cut off by the shrill ring of her phone. She glanced at the screen, her hand freezing on my arm, then quickly turned to answer. Toby’s cheerful, mocking voice chirped from the speaker. “Dee! They said you rushed back home just to get me a present? What’s taking so long! The main course is out, everyone’s waiting for you, and it’s my birthday, remember?” She hung up, a flush of embarrassment high on her cheeks. She looked at me, a flash of indecision in her eyes, but before she could speak, the phone rang again. Clutching the phone, she said softly, “Have the housekeeper bring you down later. Stay put. I’ll bring you something amazing from the party.” Then she whirled around, answering the ringing phone as she hurried away. I pushed up onto my elbows, slowly, agonizingly, inching toward the ledge of the roof. The thick, sticky echoes of that night—the jeering laughter, the tearing agony of my body—washed over me again. Five years. I have been trapped in the moment before I turned eighteen, five years ago. I looked at the back of the woman who was leaving without a second thought. I smiled faintly, the tears in my eyes scalding. “No need, Delaney.” The moment she heard my voice and turned, I pushed off the ledge and plummeted into the void. “CAS!!!” The last thing I remembered was her face, contorted in a scream of pure, tearing anguish, and the roar of the wind in my ears. My consciousness faded. I fell into a long, dark dream. In the dream, Delaney Ford was flighty, reckless, and always in trouble. Yet, when our parents died in that accident, this same sister shouldered a monumental burden without a word of complaint. She went from barely being able to boil water to managing a three-course dinner. She was once indifferent to everything, yet because I was frail and sickly, she once climbed a thousand steep steps, leaving her knees bloodied, to beg a reclusive spiritual teacher to bless my life. She learned to be a good sister, clumsy but determined, giving me every scrap of security and preference she had to offer. Even when my father’s illegitimate son, Toby, showed up, demanding a place in the house, she kept him out of fear that I would be lonely—despite the clear, simmering annoyance in her eyes. Toby was a viper. He would raise his hand and slap himself right before she walked into the room, then point at me, tears welling: “Cas hit me…” He would hide his expensive watch in my backpack, then “find it” later, crying about how I’d stolen from him. But even his most convincing act, even his tears accusing me of school bullying, only earned him a cold sneer from Delaney: “Stop acting, Toby.” Then came that New Year’s Eve. We were gathered for a family dinner when Toby suddenly collapsed. The private doctor found a thin, specialized silver needle embedded in the back of his neck. That was the first time Delaney had ever truly screamed at me: “Caspian Ford! I gave you this needle two days ago! What do you have to say for yourself?!” In the ensuing chaos, she overturned the table and bolted. I chased after her, desperate to explain, but that’s when I was dragged into the alley… I fought my way out of the suffocating darkness. My vision swam, but the first thing I heard was Delaney’s low, venomous snarl right by my ear. “Cas-pi-an Ford!” I turned my head, disoriented. Delaney stood by the bed, looking utterly ravaged. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her voice shook with an unnatural intensity. “You’ll go to any length to compete with Toby, won’t you? You knew that ledge had a platform underneath, that you couldn’t actually die! You jumped just to ruin Toby’s birthday, didn’t you?” “Toby is in the room next door, by the way. He heard you jumped and collapsed from shock! Are you satisfied now?” “Haven’t you caused enough trouble over the years?” “If you truly want to die, find a quiet corner. Don’t you dare inconvenience anyone in the process!” I stared at her mouth opening and closing, unable to form a single word. Into the sudden silence, Toby’s phone call came again. “Dee! Is my brother awake? Is he okay? When can we come home?” The moment his voice sounded, all the fury drained from Delaney’s face. “He’s fine. Just acting out, trying to scare us. I’ve had a word with him.” “I’ll throw you an even bigger party in a few days. I’m packing up now. We’re coming home.” She hung up. The warmth vanished from her face. She glared at me, her voice cutting. “You stay here and think about what you did.” “Pull another stunt, and you will never be allowed back in this house.” With a harsh movement, she adjusted my IV line. It was too fast. When she was satisfied, she dropped my arm and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. I strained my neck to look at the syringe of morphine on the counter. Just get the needle. I gently tugged the intravenous line from my hand. Blood spotted the pristine white sheet. I tried to stand but immediately plummeted back down. I could not stand. Footsteps echoed outside. A nurse, perhaps, had heard the thud. I held my breath. Instead, I heard Delaney’s impatient voice down the hall: “His ‘condition’ is fine. He’s just faking. He’s an attention-seeker. Leave him be. The more attention you give him, the worse he gets.” “Toby, the driver is at the door. Let’s go.” The footsteps receded. The door never opened. I stared at the knife on the counter. I stared for a long time, until my eyes were dry and aching. Delaney had grown careless. I knew, from the five years of self-harm, that she would never leave anything dangerous within my reach. I tried to use my arms to pull myself up again, but the fresh agony in my legs, combined with the pain deep inside my body, exploded. My arms buckled, and I crashed back to the floor. It hurt everywhere. If I die, the pain stops. That thought focused me. I scraped my fingers against the ground, inching toward the counter. Glass shards from the IV bottle dug into my palms and knees, leaving a trail of blood, but I felt nothing. Finally, I grasped the handle of the knife. Without a moment’s hesitation, I brought it down across my wrist. A fresh red line erupted across the old, interwoven scars. I suddenly remembered Delaney. She had just as many scars as I did. It must have been the Ford blood. I had never been docile. When I was thrown into that alley, when I was eighteen and on the verge of starting college, I broke. I screamed, I shattered everything, and I pointed the blade at myself again and again. She always took the knife and used it on her own body. Blood would pour out, yet she’d seem numb to the pain, using her clean hand to wipe the tears from my face. I wasn’t crying, but my face was wet with hers. That memory—the fear of her pain—was the only thing that had kept me from hurting myself again. I was afraid of her worry, her guilt, and her tears. I was terrified of her bleeding. It was all a lie. The thugs. The suffering. Even her path to becoming a psychiatrist—it was all a weapon, used to keep my illness a precisely controlled, agonizing loop. The strength left me with the blood. I leaned against the wall, laughing and weeping at the same time. People are usually sad when they’re dying, I suppose. “I didn’t stick the needle… it wasn’t me who stole his things… I wasn’t trying to ruin his party…” My voice faded. The whimpering stopped. I slumped into the pool of blood, my vision tunneling into darkness. Suddenly, the door was violently thrown open. Screams. Rushing footsteps. The pungent smell of antiseptics. I was surrounded by a sea of white. My wound was roughly stitched, and countless needles were jammed into my body, keeping me tethered to life. I heard fragmented pieces of conversation: “Miss Ford is unlucky. I heard she got into a car accident on the way home, and her brother’s condition immediately worsened.” “Don’t remind me. The doctor said he needs a bone marrow donation. Only she and the other brother were a match. But she fainted three times and refused to let the younger one go through it. She said he’s too weak and afraid of pain.” “But Young Master Toby’s condition looks much worse now…” The door burst open again. Someone stumbled toward my bed, and a hand covered my eyes. Delaney’s voice was hoarse with exhaustion. “Cas, don’t worry. This will be over soon.” “Toby is my brother, too. I can’t just watch him…” Before she could finish, a razor-sharp, searing pain erupted from my lower back. I thrashed violently, my lips turning blue. My already tenuous hold on consciousness shattered. I knew. Delaney had made her choice. Again. The doctor extracting the marrow looked at my ashen face and hesitated. “Miss Ford, you’re a doctor… we can’t take any more! The patient is past his limit, he could die!” Delaney was silent, a clear struggle on her face. Just then, a nurse rushed in, sobbing hysterically. “Emergency! Young Master Toby’s heart rate just plummeted! He’s crashing!” “The blood shipment is still twenty minutes out!” All hesitation vanished from Delaney’s face. She gritted her teeth, her voice absolute. “Keep drawing!” She turned to me, her gaze complicated. “Cas, when we get home, I’ll get you the best supplements to recover!” The doctor tried to protest, but she cut him off with a shout. “I said, keep drawing!” “I know Caspian’s body. This is clearly a performance. It’s just cheap theatrics. You focus on your work. Toby is the priority!” She turned abruptly and sprinted toward Toby’s room. … When it was all over, the doctors were immediately pulled away. All the equipment, all the people, all the care—it was poured into Toby’s bedside. No one noticed that I was already dead. Only when Toby’s condition stabilized did Delaney finally relax. She looked at the blood on her clothes. She knew Toby was terrified of blood. She carefully washed her hands, changed into a clean jacket, and then quietly walked into Toby’s room. She fed him, soothed him to sleep, and tucked him into bed. Outside, the night had turned completely dark. She seemed to suddenly remember something. She shot up, hurried down to the hospital cafeteria, grabbed a few random dishes, and rushed to the door of my room. “Cas, look what I brought you.” “All your favorites. Get up and eat, it’s going to get cold.” Silence. The smile froze on her face. She walked closer and placed the meal tray on the nightstand. “Cas?” Still no answer. Her patience snapped. She frowned. “Caspian Ford, it was just a little bone marrow. Are you still sulking and throwing a fit?” “Stop acting and get up!” She reached out and roughly grabbed my wrist—the one with the massive wound—to pull me up. The next second, her movement froze. Her eyes widened. Her face went instantly, devastatingly white.