He didn't utter a single, reproachful word and I gingerly stepped in, fully expecting him to shout the moment the door would close. But he walked in a daze to the once beige coloured couch and collapsed. I was puzzled at the lack of authority he exhibited or rather care since he didn't even meet my eyes. His coal-black eyes like two bottomless pits were averted to the floor.

There was a lone paper lying down beside him and mustering some confidence, I picked it up and inspected it.

"Fuck," I swore loudly and he visibly flinched. "You have to shut down your company immediately or else you'll be facing legal action by your former company for exploiting the agreement and trade secrets? For stealing their clients?" I scoffed, shaking my head. "I knew this project was doomed, I fucking knew it."

I knew that this project wouldn't come to fruition, but I also hoped for the opposite to occur. I could see that he had possessed a sizeable amount of hope in him which was all sucked out, resembling a deflated balloon. I wanted him to speak, tell me about some back-up plan which didn't involve starving on the streets.

"Did you use all your savings?" That question was met with defeated silence. "What are we to do now?" The same silence which made my own hands tremble. I agitatedly threw the paper on his lap and paced around the apartment. "I'm calling abuela now, she's the only one who can help us." 

"Mariana, no . . . " he finally opened his mouth, his voice raspy.

There was that augmented pride of not letting his mother see the failure that he had become and it maddened me further.

"The fuck, papá? You don't get another chance to fuck up both our lives!" I yelled as I fiercely typed my grandmother's number on my phone. "I'm getting all the help that we can get." The call went straight to voicemail multiple times, but I didn't stop. However, on my last attempt, the call cut and I looked incredulously at the device in my hand. "There must be a mistake . . . The call got cut . . . "

"She won't help us again," my dad said in a small, shameful voice.

"Again?"

His eyes flickered guiltily to me, then settled on the letter. "I had borrowed money from her for the company."

If it was possible to actually have a jaw-drop moment in real life, then this was it.

I sat down stunned beside him, my legs unable to carry out its function. "Why couldn't you find a normal job? Why couldn't you see this shitty idea was bound for failure?"

I buried my head in my hands, all my disconcerting thoughts trapped inside a drum and my father beating them uncontrollably with drum sticks. The image made me giggle hysterically. I felt a hand on my shoulder and my laughter ceased.

"I'll find a job, Mariana," he said in a low voice and I swiftly got up from the couch.

"You have been for past how many months- I lost count---" I paused, inhaling sharply. "I'm going to sleep, do whatever you want like you have been anyway."

In spite of what I had told him, I barely slept a wink the entire night, tossing and turning as the beating of the drums grew louder and louder.

Stop it, papá.

*

"You seem down these days," Isaac said quietly as he absently swirled the Miranda in his can. We were sitting on the sidewalk outside Bailey's Nuts. Our shift was over.

I took a long sip, the fizzy liquid melting the lump in my throat, making it easier for me to lie, "Nothing really. I have just been thinking of the dead baby. I'll be fine."

I had no time to think of the dead baby or my mother from whom I couldn't ask for help either because it would be heartless of me to extort money out of her after the miscarriage. Besides, my father wouldn't accept it. His pride was stupidly still intact and the sadistic part of me wanted to see him crumble down like biscuits. The unfortunate part of him crumbling down was that I would crumble with him since I was the biscuit from the same, nasty packet as him.

I furtively glanced at Isaac who was watching the cars pass by on the tree-lined avenue. The worst part of being bankrupt was that the shame left a bigger hole than the money lost. I couldn't tell him, he probably did think the worst of me with my capricious behaviour. 

And for the first time in my wretched life, I cared what a person thought of me.

"It's a good evening, isn't it?" I said feigning liveliness, gazing up at the blue sky. The clouds had an orange glow like cotton being soaked in Mirinda and left around to float. I told Isaac what I thought of the clouds and he laughed lightly.

"Very true." His eyes were now glued to the clouds with wonder. We placidly watched the colours of the clouds drain from them, become a lifeless grey. I placed my empty can under my feet and crushed it, some drops of Mirinda spilling on concrete.

I got up and stretched myself, my top riding up a little and Isaac saw my exposed flesh because his eyes quickly averted to the ground.

"I'll go home. Have fun mopping the floors," I teased and he groaned, but with a small smile.

I was prepared for the same routine as I went back to the apartment- avoiding. Neither my dad nor I cooked or cleaned anymore. We avoided any occasion of conversing with each other. My dad stepped out early in the morning and returned home late. Sometimes, when I wouldn't be able to sleep properly, I would secretly check him. He would be slumped on the couch, staring endlessly at the floor.

In the square compound of my apartment building, I spotted Abel.

"Hey." I jogged towards him. "The other day you were telling me about this agency you worked at . . . "

He smugly smiled. "Take my card. Come here this weekend at five, is that convenient for you?"

I held the card in my hand and scrutinised it. "Yeah, that's cool. Do I have to bring anything?"

"No, no, you're a natural. We'll do a few photoshoots before and if the manager likes you, then we can proceed with the contracts."

The payment was right on the tip of my tongue, but I didn't want to show him how desperate I was. "Perfect, I'll be there!"

I mentally noted to google how much local agencies paid for their models when I saw Sam slouching on the dark stairs, a joint in between his fingers. I shoved the card in my pocket and sat next to him. He silently offered the joint like he normally did and this time, I fleetingly considered taking it.