After brunch, I ask Dania about her schedule, reluctant to be at her house unless she's also there.

She's studying in her room. I have homework too, so we spend the evening just like old times.

On Monday, I ask Lisa, my manager, if there's a full-time opportunity available, because I'm considering putting college on 'hold' for 'personal' reasons.

She says no.

Not without an official bachelor's degree.

With my head down out of her office, I stop in my tracks when I see who is waiting at my desk.

Last week it was my mom's boyfriend. Today it's her.

I wish I didn't feel anything. I wish I was indifferent. But despite how little she cares, how unstable and unreliable she's been my entire life, I would still take a bullet for her.

As soon as she notices me, she cries.

The customers around her stiffen. My colleagues give me judgmental looks.

Of course. If my mom looked different, more put together, if she looked rich, they might have reacted differently. But she's poor. So they judge.

"Hi..." She smiles tearfully as I approach.

I gently point at the door. "Let's go outside."

Once we are away from others, I take a moment to observe her. She wants something. Maybe to convince me to give up my car, since Sergio failed.

"Why are you here, mom?"

"Why did you treat Sergio like that?"

I scowl. "What?"

"He told me that you threatened him. How could you do that? He was only looking out for me."

Her words sting. I remind myself she's not mentally healthy.

"I'm not giving my car. I need it."

"We crashed ours-"

"You're not helpless, mom. There are hundreds of ways. Take a bus. Quit drinking and save your money, then buy another used car. Get a second job. Get a third job. I work two jobs and I go to school. You barely work one job and you expect me to give my car to you?"

She squints with resentment. "What happened to you? You weren't like this when you were little."

"You mean, I was easier to manipulate? Sucks for you that I grew up then, huh? I'm so sorry."

"Aren't you ashamed? I'm your mother! How can you talk to me like that? I gave up my life to raise you!" She cries out, causing the security guard of the building to step closer.

Please, don't let my manage witness this.

"It's not my fault that you got pregnant," I say with a shaking voice. "I didn't ask to be born. So stop trying to guilt-trip me. It won't work anymore. If you don't want to get better, I can't force you. But I'm done ruining my life just so you can continue ruining yours."

"The only reason my life is ruined is because of you! You! You're the reason that I'm like this!" She yells, but I am no longer listening.

I turn around and walk back into the office, a cold shiver in every bone and nerve. All I wish is to take a minute in the bathroom to compose myself, before-

"Can I see you in my office?" Lisa waves me over, not bothering to look in my direction.

This should be great.

"I'm sorry, Lisa," I say, walking back into her office. "I know that was unprofessional-"

"This is a bank. You're not paid to air your dirty laundry in front of our customers, Hazel. You're paid to represent us. How many times do we have to go over this?"

I swallow whatever is left of my dignity. "You're right, I'm sorry."

"So why does it keep happening? Last week, it was someone else. It's becoming a routine. Do you not have control over your personal life? Do we need to have another conversation with HR?"

With the performance reviews only a week away, her words are crystal clear. I won't be getting a raise or a promotion. In fact, with the way she is staring at me right now, I might have just lost my job.

Fuck her. Fuck everyone. Fuck this motherfucking, useless, meaningless life.

I spend the rest of the evening in a coffee shop, catching up on homework.

I always find peace in its structure. Even if classes are hard, I welcome their mental stimulation.

The only time my mind can relax is when it's focusing on a challenge. The only time I feel good about myself is when I solve that challenge. Then I'm off chasing the next one.

On Saturday, before I leave Dania's house to go to Hayden's, I overhear her parents.

"No. I understand they're best friends. I care for her, I do. But I'm not running a charity here! She's someone else's child. She's not my problem."

"But where is she supposed to go?" Dania's dad speaks quietly. "You know how her mom is."

"She's twenty-two. Let her figure it out. We're not her parents."

Harsh, but at least she doesn't underestimate me. Yes. I will figure it out.

So I go back to Dania's bedroom, collect my things, I tell her that I'm moving back in with my mom, and thank her for being there for me.

Then I email my academic counselor that I need to drop out of college.

And I text Harry that I'm interested in the full-time job that he's offering.

I'm back to living in my car. Three years of college down the drain. With a job where I have to interact with people who will remind me of my mom and everything she's put me through.

But at least I have that, and I'll be fine. I'll have to be.

Parking in Hayden's driveway, I stop in front of his door and text him as always to let me in.

But instead of opening it digitally, he welcomes me on the other side.

Welcome is a generous word. He looks half-dead and sways like a decaying tree.

His skin is pale yellow, coated in sweat. His eyes are droopy, like he can't even keep them open.

"What's wrong with you?" I wrinkle my nose.

His response is a weak groan. Then he turns away and drags his bare feet to his bedroom. I'm so confused by this version of him, that I don't even care he's wearing gray slutty sweatpants.

"Are you sick?" I follow him.

He sounds like an old chipmunk. "Yeah."

I watch as he flops his 6'5 frame on crumpled bed sheets, slamming his cheek on a pillow.

"Hayden? You okay?"

"Uh-huh."

"You don't look okay..."

His eyes remain closed.

Now I'm starting to panic.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" I sit beside him and touch his soaking forehead. "Jesus, if I crack an egg on you right now, I could have breakfast in a minute."

When he doesn't respond, I tentatively pull his soft hair back, grazing my nails across his scalp.

He makes a low purring sound, like a sad puppy.

"Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?" I ask. "I can take you."

He clicks his tongue. Oh, wow. A sliver of sass resurrected.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"No."

"Have you taken any medicine?"

"No."

"Wow, you're so smart." I play with his hair again. He seems to like it. "Okay. Well...since I'm the only one with a working brain cell here, I'm going to bring you food, then medicine, so you don't die." No answer. "Great talk. I'm glad we're on the same page."

He lifts the covers over his head as if I'm ruining his beauty sleep.

Scoffing, I leave and pick fresh oranges from the backyard (I say hi to Milo). Then I slice them and threaten Hayden to eat, before I drive to the grocery store to buy ingredients for a chicken noodle soup.

My dad's mom taught me the recipe. She passed away two years ago. My dad and I aren't close. He lives in a different country with his third wife and four kids. But I always had a special connection with his mom. The few recipes I know are thanks to her. Whenever I make this soup, it reminds me that I was loved, and that always makes me feel better.

Hayden is asleep when I bring the bowl to his bedroom. There are countless used tissues everywhere, along with empty electrolyte drinks.

"It's soup time." I announce.

He snores, lying on his back with one hand on his chest.

"Wakey, wakey."

It's so unexpected to see this side of him. So...imperfect. Human. Vulnerable.

"Hayden? Hey." I lean closer, touching his arm. "Hey. Please, wake up? I made you soup."

He flinches awake like he completely forgot that I was here. "W-what?"

"Come on, sit up. I made you soup. It's time to eat, so you can get better." I raise the steamy, delicious, nourishing bowl and wait for his reaction.

He rests against the headboard and winces. "What's that?"

"I just told you. I made you soup." For the millionth fucking time.

He frowns like I'm speaking gibberish.

"It's soup." I snap, placing it on his lap. "Have you never seen a soup before? It's a chicken noodle soup. And it's getting cold. So can you please just eat and get it over with?"

"You made this?" he asks in a low, hoarse voice.

"I promise, it tastes good." I roll my eyes.

"You didn't have to do that..."

"It's no big deal."

Hesitantly, he raises a spoonful to his mouth and tastes it.

I hold my breath.

"Mmh. Wow..." He reaches for more, now with more enthusiasm.

The tightness in my chest eases, bringing a soft smile to my face. Relief.

A/N
Sorry for the triggering beginning, but hopefully the ending made up for it <3