's
ing. I reach over, slamming my hand down on it, but it's already too late. I am awak
ent is small, too small but it's mine, and that's something. It smells like coffee
ther set of responsibilities I can't escape from. My eyes flick to the clock on the wal
where I usually eat. Tyler's bedroom door is slightly cracked, and I don't knock. He doe
, but sometimes he looks younger than he is. The addiction has taken so much from him, and I can't stop it. I never could. It's like this invi
a reminder of what he's fighting against. He needs rest, and I need to ge
place is infused with the scent now. I make his breakfast, just scrambled eggs and toast, n
need to leave for work. I pour a cup of coffee for myself, but I'm not really
ing in his room. He groans, and then there's silence again. I sigh and s
the kitchen, looking disheveled. His hair is a mess, his eyes still heavy with
, trying to keep
ast I've made for him, then looks at me with that distant, blan
ask, hoping to spark s
lack of response sends a wave of frustration through me, but
remind him, my voice a little
t know why it bothers me so much. Maybe because I'm exhausted from constantly b
the corner of the kitchen. He seems to lose interest in me, in the
ot to s
ing. "You can't keep doing t
flash of something, anger mayb
says quietly.
w better.
ght, not this early. Instead, I focus on my own breakfast, the ritual o
he's retreating back to his room. I don't try to stop him.
t to leave, but I can't stay. I have a job, and I n
me. I don't mind the walk. I used to. It was long, tiring. But now it's just another part of my
as I step in. The place smells like beer and the faint scent of old wood. Hank,
e asks, glancing at t
are about the details of my life. Not really. As long as I am th
ing over. I move between tables, pulling glasses, mixing drinks, smiling a
else, even if just for a little while. I need this. I need the
the money I've been saving to help him. I don't think about the guilt that gnaws at me every n
r is, though.