"At this point, I'll be grateful for your pieces."
*****
Jessica Franklin is at her wit ends, literally. With two sisters depending on her and a mountain of debts on her neck, she needs a way out before she breaks down...
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What would it feel like to give up?
A voice asks in my head as I wake up. I groan, grabbing my throbbing head with shaky hands. My blurry gaze takes a while to clear, and I realize that I'm on the ground. A frown forms on my lips as I try to sit up. Did I pass out here? A bitter chuckle escapes my lips as I contemplate my answer. Of course, I did. I could barely see my way home last night.
Standing up on my feet, I wipe the nosebleed that had trickled down to my lips and wash my face, trying to regain some semblance of control. With a heavy heart, I trudge to my sister's room and find her sleeping between her books. A new school year has begun, her final year of high school. My lips twitch, but they don't quite form a smile. Going to school only meant it would be a season of expenses. I walk to the side of her bed and gently wake her up. Her long lashes flutter open, and she squints at me, her gaze unfocused.
"Is it morning already?" she asks as she gazes down at me. I nod, too tired to speak.
"When did you arrive?"
"Sometime past midnight. I used my keys to get in," I tell her, and she relaxes on the bed.
I glance at her. "You need to prepare for school; you're finally a senior. Congratulations," I murmur.
Her eyes light up, and she grins. "Thanks," she mutters and drags herself out of bed. I watch her head into the bathroom before walking out of her room and into the kitchen. There, I see a pile of bills that are yet to be paid, and my stomach constricts. Anytime from now, they'll start knocking at my door. I have no money to give anyone. Ignoring it, I walk to the fridge and take out ingredients to make breakfast.
"Did Sophie call?" I call out as I turn on the stove, placing a pan on it.
"No!" Emma replies, her voice muffled.
That bitch. She's distancing herself from me again. I try not to remember our recent argument about me working too hard. I don't want to get a migraine. Mindlessly going through the motions of making breakfast for Emma, I place it on the counter before glancing through the pile of bills. Once again, I look away.
I catch my reflection in the mirror and freeze. I don't recognize the woman staring back at me. That's not supposed to be me. Is it? I'm only twenty-seven years old. Why do I look forty? "You look pathetic," the voice says again. I snicker. Thanks, I know.
It takes a while for Emma to step out of her room in faded jeans and a t-shirt. Her hair is still wet. She spots her meal on the kitchen counter and smiles, immediately coming down to sit. She mutters a short prayer and starts wolfing it down. I sit next to her, watching her as she eats. I'm hungry as well, but there's just enough food for one person.
"Oh, by the way," Emma speaks up as if remembering something. "This came in the mail." She says as she picks up a letter from the top of the fridge. Passing it to me, she goes back to sit down. Apprehensive, I tear it open, reading the contents. Though I try to keep my reactions controlled, it only takes my hands tightening on the paper for Emma to know something's wrong.
