𝚂𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙴𝚃:

I stiffen. My brain's flight or fight mode is kicking in, it's against my instincts to not immediately defend myself. Out of habit, I shift my weight onto my right leg and grasp my brother's forearm wrapped around my neck. 

"I wouldn't." John whispered removing his hand from my mouth, his voice a breathy whisper carrying tones of smugness and the beginning verses of a threat. 

Our breathing was the only thing to be heard in one of London's many dark alleys. I took in my surroundings, grimy dark walls surrounded us everywhere, the hum of cars was distant and I could here the rats scampering  below my boots. 

We were isolated from society. The chances of any outside help was thin. 

I forced my voice out of my throat. "You won't kill me."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his lips turn upward in a slow smile. "Wouldn't I?"

"I am your sister. Despite everything. We are blood."

John pushed me away, I found my balance before spinning around to face him. I didn't bother running, I knew I would be dead before I took a step. Keeping one wary eye to the gun pointed to my chest, I flicked a glance to my brother. 

I was surprised to see so much of myself reflected in his eyes. The same wary glance, of not trusting anyone and anything, cold, distant, cut-off from the world. Both of us and grown up in a world where we could only depend on ourselves. 

Azure. . . a pure color, Nana said.  Often associated with health, prosperity and tranquility. But also, here her voice would change to warning, for infidelity. People often mistake beauty, she would say, for purity. But you are not pure, child, the world will not let you be.

Nana was scary. 

And a little senile. 

And extremely right. 

"Some sister, " Josh was saying, "you would be fine letting me fall into ruin. Just because you are too weak.

"If I am so weak," I said sharply, "then why not carry out the deed yourself?"

Silence. Despite the fact that we both knew the answer. 

"It is because," I said, shaking, " my life means nothing to you. And it is less than nothing, when compared to your own."

"You are my sister," he says, lowering his gun, "as you said. I will protect you. With my life if necessary. All I ask--"

"That's just it." I hissed, stepping closer, "family, is the one love that is supposed to be unconditional. Where you don't ask for anything in return."

Somewhere in the distance, a car honked. "I love you, John. Despite everything. Despite the fact that sometimes I genuinely want to kill you. Despite me hating you. That's the love, families are supposed to have, we are supposed to have."

"Tha--"

"No, shut up for a moment," I stepped closer, picked up his limp wrist and pointed the gun to my chest.  "kill me, if you have the guts. Go on, pull the bloody trigger."

Sweat beaded his forehead, his brown beard damp. I scoffed. 

"You don't have the guts." 

"Like you do," he snarled, dropping his arm.

"I never said I did," I sneered. "But be it now or any other time you decide to kidnap me to kill me I want you to remember this," I turned my back on him, "you may hate our mother but she has condemned you to a worse fate-- she does not remember you. If you kill me, you will kill the only person who ever gave a damn about you."

With that I turned on my heel and walked out the alley, leaving my brother's raged breathing behind.  I've learnt long ago that either I should walk like a queen or I should walk like I don't care who the queen is. 

I've also realized that often the person you'd take a bullet for, is often behind the gun

I know the part of London where  I live like the back of my hand. It's almost automatic as I wave a bus down and wait to be dropped near an old record store; known for the records of great, handsigned posters of a few of them, and the most famous alley for drug dealing. 

The guys know me, they won't trouble me. They'll actually help if I need it. 

I give a nod to the conductor as I hope down the steps. My phone vibrates in my pocket, fishing it out- I silently beg God it isn't my brother. 

It's my mom. I frown, she hasn't needed to text me in--

well, too long. I've always been home to help. 

Mom: Where's the salt kept?

Me: Why?

Mom: Want to make a cake. 

Hard. Since, she never learnt how to use the oven. 

Me: I'll buy one for you

Me: Did you take the medicine?

Mom: No

Me: Mom

Me: Please take them

Me: You know they help

She doesn't answer. 

She never does answer that question. 

I push the door open, but before I go in I catch a familiar figure, following a leather jacket into the alley.

Marshall?