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Before

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Emma

“Sam! Careful.” My whole body tightened as my sister harshly dropped the box onto the kitchen table. She twitched as she brushed her brown hair out of her face, glaring at me.

“Oh, my god.” She rolled her eyes as I flew across the room, ripping the tape off the cardboard to check the contents. “It’s like you don’t even want my help.”

I audibly exhaled as I saw my camera equipment and laptop were still intact. “Of course I do. But these are easily broken. That’s why I put the ‘fragile’ sticker on the side.”

“I can’t believe you’re still messing around with that hobby.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. We might be sisters, but we looked nothing alike. I had round hips, where hers were straight and thin. My face was heart-shaped, where her cheeks were hollow.

She was still beautiful though, like those heroin chic models from the nineties. “You’ll never make any money doing it.”

I swallowed down my annoyance. Eating the snappy reply that wanted to leave my lips, but getting into a fight right now wouldn’t help either of us. I lifted the box, putting it in the bedroom. I told myself it was because we needed the space out here to unpack the kitchen items. Or was it because I was worried about Sam taking it? Pawning my camera to get a fix.

I wished I could say it was the first time, but it was the whole reason I was here. Back in a state I swore I’d never live in again.

“There should be another box of equipment around here; just let me know when you find it.” I rubbed my temple as I stared at the half-empty boxes scattered around me.

“Why are you so worried about it?” I cringed as Sam kicked aside another box on her way to stack dishes in the cupboards. I told myself it wasn’t intentional, just her usual carelessness.

“That equipment is my whole livelihood,” I answered as I checked another stack in the living room. “Not to mention it’s expensive.”

I didn’t have the best camera, but I’d saved months to buy everything I needed for my business. My stomach dipped when I thought about all the work it would take to rebuild my business here. But it was too late; the decision was made.

“Speaking of money, I need to borrow some.” She said it so casually, like it was expected that I would give it to her.

“How much do you need?” I grunted as I lifted the other box of equipment, carrying it through the tiny apartment to put it away.

“I don’t know, like $2,000.”

I almost dropped the box in shock before setting it down and rushing back to her. “$2,000? I don’t have that kind of extra money lying around right now. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m in the middle of moving.”

“You promised you would help!” My head throbbed as my sister yelled, the sound echoed in the tiny apartment. Guilt was a thick slime heavy in my gut.

“I said I’d be here to support you through detox.” I took a deep breath bringing forward the calm and control I was always expected to have. Sam was the crazy sister. The angry one, so I couldn’t be. “It took the last of my savings to move here and get this apartment.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I know you have money. You’re theresponsiblesister.” Not because I was born to be or wanted to be, but because I had to be. I didn’t have a choice.

There was no one else to drag her from the bottom. To rip her from the claws of her addiction. Certainly not our mother, who’d abandoned us when we were two. Or our father, who’d died with a needle in his vein. It was just me and Sam. Us against the world.

Except more and more these days, it felt like me holding the world back. It was my job to ensure she didn’t end up like our father. My guilt that made me give up my life and come running to her.

“I—I have to think about it.” Maybe if I picked up a few more freelance jobs, I could make it work.

My chest tightened as I heard her sniffle. Tears pooled on her lashes, making her brown eyes look bigger. And sad.

“I won’t make my rent without that money. No one wants to hire a recovering addict. You don’t understand how hard it is. You’ve never had to live like this.”

How did she forget that I was there too growing up? I remembered the dirty mattress on the floor we shared. The garbage that was an inch thick on every surface. The endless stream of crack addicts visiting our father.

I remembered the smell of the pipe as he blew it in our faces. The sound of his laugh as we choked on the harsh chemicals. The stench of dirt and death that always seemed to cling to the old house we lived in.

It was me who kept us locked safe in a room. Me who’d gotten a job at fourteen to feed everyone. Me who protected us, so we made it out of that house intact.

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