The Love Receipt (English)

Chapter 1

Honestly, if there was an award for the worst day ever, today I'd win it.

My mom is dead, and my brother, who's suddenly turned into an alcoholic, is crashing at my place for two months until university resumes. He wasn't always a fan of the bottle (or maybe yes, but I didn't know), but today, as I launched into my kitchen searching for my precious Jack Daniel's, I discovered a cabinet full of empty promises.

Yep, the bottles are there, but they're about as full as my patience right now.

"Liam, did you drink my Jack Daniel's?" No answer from him. I'll take that as a resounding yes.

I get it, today was rough for him. It sucked for me too. Funerals, grief, all things death-related – I don't like them. I always pictured mom being around forever. I guess Liam did too, but he's got this guilt-trip thing going on. He was never the 'Son of the Year,' often saying shitty things I'm sure he didn't mean. But that's Liam, he doesn't really care that much about things. I do.

Seriously, how am I going to survive these two months? Just the two of us, stuck in my house. It's like a recipe for disaster. I've got to keep an eye on Liam, make sure he doesn't drown himself in booze or guilt.

"Liam, did you find your room?" I ask, trying to start a conversation, hoping for any kind of response.

Silence. Again.

"LIAM, get yourself down here, now!" A bit of authority never hurts, right?

I hear his footsteps on the stairs, and a minute later, there he is, standing in the doorway.

Liam's only 23, but good damn, he looks like he's carrying a decade more on his shoulders right now. We share the same curly blonde hair, though his is a lot more shorter. We both have brown eyes, just like Dad, who we're not fans of. Liam probably hates him more because he looks a lot like him. There were times Mom couldn't even look Liam in the eye...he reminded her so much of Dad. But I know he's different. He's a good guy. Better than Dad, for sure.

"What do you want?" Liam's a piece of work sometimes, I swear.

"I asked you something."

"So?" He's staring at me, arms crossed like he's the boss.

"Did you drink my Jack Daniel's?" I mean, it's obvious. He's the only soul who's been around here today. And just yesterday, that whiskey bottle wasn't empty. I made sure of that .

"I didn't," he slurs, swaying slightly. Yeah, as sober as a judge, this one.

"Yes, you did! Don't lie. You're practically hugging the floor."

"I didn't."

"Liam, just..."

"Shut it, Jes. I'm tired. Stop trying to be Mom," he snaps, making 'Mom' sound like a dirty word.

Well, I'm not Mom. Mom's gone. Mom's dead. She won't be coming home every weekend, won't be there to dance the macarena while we drink white wine (our favorite type of wine). No more goodnight texts, or 'good morning, sunshine' messages.

But Liam doesn't get it. He acted like he hated Mom. No, that can't be right. He couldn't really hate her. She was everything to us, all we had.

I want to say something, but he's already left the room. Maybe it's for the best. I don't want him to see me cry.

And now here I am, crying alone in my kitchen, out of whiskey.

So yeah, this is the worst day of my life.