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I try to fight back another yawn, but it escapes my lips anyway.

"Did you have the dream again?" Jin asks me as we both clock out from our shift at the small restaurant we work at.

"Of course," I say in annoyance. "I can't remember a night that I haven't had it."

"You should definitely go to the doctor. Maybe they can prescribe something to help you sleep," he suggests as he holds the front door open for me.

"Like I could afford it," I groan.

Being 22 years old and still living in my father and step mother's house is not an accomplishment I like to brag about, but I'm far too financially unstable to be on my own. All of my money goes towards my father's health care since my step mother is far too incompetent to do anything productive to help her husband.

"I could knock you in the head with a brick every night. That'd help you sleep, I bet," Jin jokes, sensing my bad mood and using his equally bad sense of humor to try to cheer me up.

"My step mother would complain about the blood stains on my pillowcase," I joke back, not able to fight back my grin at my friend.

"Still giving you shit, huh?" he asks in a serious tone.

I roll my eyes at the thought of my step mother. If it were up to her, I would be out on the streets. I know the only reason I'm being kept around is that she needs my money. I could very easily take my money and move out, but I can't do that to my father. Not after everything we've been through together.

My mom abandoning us hit us both hard; I also know that a part of my father blames me for her leaving us, but I don't resent him for that. That woman was his first love, and she became too overwhelmed with taking care of a child, so she decided to pack up and leave.

I know my father still loves me; I have never doubted that, which is why I can't leave him now that he's sick and in the care of his new wife, also known as my step mother, who very obviously despises my existence.

Jin takes my silence as a cue to stop talking about my home life. It's complicated and it's nearly unbearable, but I just can't find it in me to change it.

What could I do, anyway? My father's insurance only covers a certain percentage of his medications, and he's too sick to work. So here I am, working myself to death to provide him with whatever I can afford while my step mother sucks the life out of us both.

"Have you talked to Jungkook recently?" he asks instead.

"He's busy with college," I say, smiling proudly at my childhood friend.

My grades were never the best, so I didn't receive any scholarships; besides, with my father being so sick, I decided to dedicate my adult life to taking care of him instead of going to college. He is my father, after all, and I have the rest of my life to attend college.

I don't know how long I will have with my father.

As Jin and I get to his car, I can tell he is going to offer to drive me home, as he tries to do every day.

"Do you want me to-"

"Jin, no. I tell you this every day. You live thirty minutes in the opposite direction from me. I can walk," I tell him.

"Violet, I hate the thought of you walking alone," he says, his eyes soft and solemn.

"I'll be fine, Jin. Please don't feel obligated to do anything for me," I say, sighing.

"You never put yourself first," he mumbles, more to himself than to me but I hear it anyway.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I say, smiling at him before continuing to walk down the sidewalk, careful not to give Jin a second glance that he may mistake as me silently asking him to take me home.

I know that I will regret not asking him; I regret it every day after I walk home. But no matter how many times he asks, I will always refuse. I am not one to let people help me; I don't rely on anyone. Once my mother left and my father distanced himself from me, I realized that I only have myself.

I cannot trust anyone; I cannot lean on anyone.

I am all alone.

I've made it about halfway home before my phone starts ringing, and when I check the caller ID, I smile at Jungkook's name.

"Hey stranger," I say, still smiling.

"Violet!" Jungkook slurs while giggling.

"You're drunk," I point out the obvious.

"College party," he says through the phone and I can hear a loud chatter in the background.

"Why'd you call if you're at a party?" I ask, warily watching my surroundings as I walk down the sidewalk.

"Jin texted me," he says as an explanation and I can't help the sigh that escapes my lips.

"I'm fine," I say nonchalantly.

"Liar," he replies instantly. "I've known you my whole life, Violet. I know how bad it is at your house. I still don't get why you don't just leave."

"You know why I can't," I say, exasperated. "We both know my step mother would easily let my father waste away, and I couldn't live with myself if I let that happen."

A chilling breeze blows through the air and I shiver before coughing a couple of times.

"Are you catching a cold? You'd better be wearing a jacket," Jungkook says in a drunken tone that has me laughing.

"Go home and sleep please," I say, smiling softly. "I miss you, Kookie."

"Gotta go! Beer pong time!" he exclaims before he abruptly hangs up.

I roll my eyes but can't stop the grin spreading across my lips.

Jungkook is happy where he is, and that eases my mind that at least one of us is getting the most out of life.

I remember our conversations about our future; how we'd go to college together and we'd always be that duo that everyone was jealous of.

After my mother left when I was 10 and Jungkook was 9, things started to change. He'd still talk excitedly about his plans while I worried whether or not my father was eating properly.

He talked about how excited he was that I was officially a teenager when I turned 13; I was too busy helping my father plan his wedding with my step mother.

He put in college applications when we were seniors in high school; I was putting in job applications because my father could no longer stand up and go to work.

But I'm glad one of us is happy.

And I'm reminded of just how unhappy I am once I unlock my front door and enter my house, immediately being slapped across the face by my step mother.

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