The Laziest Girl Alive Chapter 10

The Laziest Girl Alive Chapter 10

“What’s wrong with that version of me?” I shot back, taking a sip of coffee.

“You… you’re not actually lazy, are you?” Ethan said.

“I am lazy.”

I answered with complete confidence.

“My brain is a top-tier precision instrument,” I said. “It runs under an extremely heavy load every single day. When it’s not working, it has to go into low-power standby and be forced to rest.

Otherwise, it crashes very easily.”

I explained it in the simplest way I knew he would understand.

Ethan went quiet for a very, very long time.

Then he lifted his hand like he wanted to ruffle my hair the way he always used to.

Halfway there, his hand froze in midair and finally dropped back down, useless.

He gave a bitter little laugh, his voice full of self-mockery.

“So everything I used to do for you,” he said, “cleaning your room, pushing you to walk around more, thinking I was being patient and taking care of you…”

“In your eyes, was it just some idiot lecturing a supercomputer on how to run?”

Right then, his phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID, his brows tightening, then hung up.

The caller was persistent and dialed again.

He drew in a long breath and picked up.

When he spoke, his voice came out cold and exhausted.

“Chloe, we need to talk.”

I didn’t know what she was saying on the other end.

He just listened, his face blank.

After about thirty seconds, he cut in calmly.

“You don’t have to explain,” he said. “I used to think we were from the same world. Now I’m

realizing I don’t even understand my own sister, so how could I ever have really understood you?

“We’re done.”

He ended the call in one clean motion and then powered his phone off entirely.

When he finished, he looked back at me.

The warmth that usually softened his eyes was gone, replaced by endless guilt and confusion.

He looked at me.

“Nora… then what can I do for you now?”

I studied him.

His lost and guilty expression made me think of a very large, very confused dog.

“What can you do for me?”

I repeated his question, thought it over seriously, and finally came to a conclusion.

“Pour me a glass of water,” I said. “Warm, please. Thanks.”

He froze for a second.

Then he turned on his heel, picked up my mug, washed it carefully, went to the dispenser, mixed half hot water with half cold, tested the temperature, and only then handed it to me.

The way he did it, every movement precise, made it look like he was carrying out some sacred

mission.

I took the mug, drank a sip, and nodded to myself.

“Perfect,” I said sincerely. “You’ve got a real talent for logistics.”

A strained smile had just started to tug at his lips when the internal phone in my apartment

suddenly rang.