𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙝 𝙙𝙞𝙚 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙙.

1

Despite her words, she decides not to turn herself into a Mexican pancake. Not that night, anyway.

So, eight flights of stairs later, she's knocking on the door of apartment 8B with a less than pleased expression on her pretty features.

It swings open not a second later and she's faced with the man she's known her whole life.

The bald-headed man stares down at the twenty-one year old, her figure practically emitting exhaustion.

The De la Cruz children had known Morgan Andrews their whole lives. He had been their father's best friend, as well as Clara-Grace's boxing trainer growing up. She had always had a mean left hook. So her father had decided to let his friend -basically brother- train her. And she absolutely loved every second of it.

Sadly, she had decided to quit after her father's death.

"I told you he could've stayed here."

"And I said, 'no, thank you', Shemar Moore." Gray retorts as he ushers her inside. "By the way, the damn elevator's out of fucking order. Again."

"You're kidding. And stop calling me Shemar Moore. Just because I'm black, doesn't mean I look like Shemar Moore." Morgan groans as the girl trudges to the couch, where her brother is lying, asleep. He watches as she drags a hand down her face, lips curled in annoyance. "He needs help."

"I know he needs help." She states through clenched teeth. "I just don't have the money. Between the bills for the house, and Sebby's medical bills—I just don't."

"I told you to let me help—"

"And I told that I don't need help." Gray snaps and immediately calms herself down with a couple of deep breaths, dropping down on the couch next to her brother's head. "I'm sorry. But I wouldn't be able to pay you back. Not on a 'broke college student, who's a bartender' salary."

Morgan watches her sympathetically before sitting down on the other side of Julian. "I would never ask you to pay me back."

"We're not charity cases, either."

"No, but you are my godchildren. Helping you is part of the job description."

"Yeah, and as your favourite godchild, I'm telling you that we don't need help." She states firmly.

"You are not my favourite godchild." He scoffs before his stern expression falters and he points a threatening finger at her. "Don't tell your brothers."

The corner of Gray's lip quirks up. "Pinky promise. Now help me get Julian to the car."

Morgan chuckles and ruffles her hair as he stands up. "Sure, kid."

*~*

"You can't keep doing this." Gray huffs as she drags her brother in through the front door of their house.

"Doing what?" Julian slurs, tripping over his own feet while Gray acts as his crutch. "I'm just leanin' on you."

"No, Julian. You can't keep going out and getting wasted." She tells him, dropping him down on the couch before going back to the door to shut and lock it. "It's been three fucking years. You need to get your shit together."

That seems to sober him up a little bit and he scoffs. "Oh, it's been three years. Does that mean I'm just supposed to get over it, huh? Because it's been three fucking years?"

"I didn't say that!" She argues, kicking her shoes off by the door before walking back over. "Dad's gone, Julian. He's dead. He's not fucking coming back, okay? You need to accept that. Do you think he'd want you running around like a fuckin' idiot and getting drunk every night?"

"I'm—"

"Shut up, I'm talking!" She snaps and he wisely shuts his mouth, shrinking back into the couch slightly. "You're twenty-five years old and I'm taking care of you. Me—your younger sister, is taking care of you. You live in this house, too. You should be helping me pay the bills. But you don't even have a fuckin' job! Do you think I pull money out of my ass or something? Huh?"

Julian starts muttering to himself as he watches his sister go into the kitchen before coming back with two bottles of water and aspirin.

"Drink one now." She hands him a bottle, placing the other one down on the coffee table along with the bottle of painkillers. "Drink the other one in the morning with two pills."

"I know." He groans out, gulping down the water.

"Of course you know. We go through this same bullshit every other day." Gray scoffs as she watches him from the corner of her eye. "How many times do we have to have this conversation before you get it through your head, Julian?"

"I'll—I'll get my shit together, okay?" He tells her frantically, following her through the house as she goes around, double checking to see if all the windows and doors are locked. He wobbles on his feet, using the walls to keep himself upright. "I'll find a job and—and I'll stop drinking!"

She shakes her head in defeat at his words, pulling him to his room by the arm and pushing him down on his bed. "No, you won't."

"Yes, I will!" He shouts after her when she leaves the room, returning a minute later with the water and aspirin, setting them on his bedside table. She takes his shoes off before pulling the duvet over his body. "I swear I will."

Clara-Grace stops in the doorway and smiles bitterly. "You always say that."

With that, she turns the light off and shuts his door, making her way to her own room.

She rubs her face with one hand as she grabs fresh clothes and underwear from her drawers with the other. With her feet dragging along the floor, she walks to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door. She turns the shower on to let the water heat up as she strips her clothes off and pulls the hair tie out of her black strands, the usual messy bun falling down into loose waves.

She stares at herself in the mirror for a moment. Brown skin, dark brown eyes—practically black. So dark that you can't even see where her pupils end, and iris' begin. She could no longer see the spark she used to have in said eyes, nor the toned body she had built from years of boxing and sport. No, now she was merely a bag of skin and bones, the brightness in her eye nowhere to be found.

'One more pill today can't hurt, can it?' She immediately shakes herself out of her thoughts. No. Absolutely not.

She steps into the shower cubicle, the scorching water sliding down her back not bothering her in the slightest, though she still changes the temperature so the water bill wouldn't be as high.

She lets the water soak her hair and body.

'Pathetic. You can't even get your own brother in check. I always knew you were useless.' Sour words in her mother's voice echo through her head.

Her lips tremble, the obnoxious words mixing with the stress she had already been enduring that night.

'About to cry? You really are pathetic.'

"Shut up." She whimpers, sliding down the shower wall. She pulls her knees up to her chest and places her chin on them, staring into nothingness. Her eyes are glassy, but the tears not quite spilling over.

'You have no reason to be crying. You're not the one in the hospital.' She thinks to herself, abruptly pulling herself back up to continue her shower, making sure to harshly rub any tears away from her eyes.