UNRAVELING AMAYA.

15

A week had passed in a blur of hospital visits, running errands for Rhonda, and sleepless nights. Adrian was finally home, but his recovery was slow and painful. My apartment had become a makeshift care center, with medical supplies strewn about and the constant laughter coming from the sitcom Martin. Every day was a new struggle—balancing work, taking care of Adrian, and trying to keep my sanity intact, all while grieving 'What could've been'.

The past week had been a test of my endurance. Adrian had good days and bad days. Sometimes he was lucid and even cracked a joke, but other times the pain was too much, and he could barely move. I had to assist him with the most basic tasks—like getting out of bed and eating. Our once lighthearted sibling dynamic was strained under the weight of his head injury and my fucking exhaustion. Our parents had proven just how useless they were—our father didn't want to deal with the burden of Adrian's consequences and my mother had two young children she'd decided were worthy of raising, along with a man she'd married whilst Adrian and I were left motherless.

One morning, as I helped him sit up in bed, he winced, clutching his head. "My-My, can you grab me some water?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"Yeah," I said, trying to keep my tone cheerful. I poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand and handed it to him. "Here you go."

Adrian took a sip, his hands trembling. "Thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you, forreal."

"You're my brother. I'd do anything for you," I replied, gently squeezing his shoulder. I tried to hide my worry, but I knew he could see it in my eyes.

He looked at me for a long moment. "You should be out there living your life instead of takin' care of me. This shit is all fucked up 'cause I tried to make a dumbass play."

"Don't say that. I'm exactly where I need to be," I said firmly. "You're not a burden. We're family."

Adrian's eyes softened. "I know, but I got my li'l sister in here takin' care of my beat up and bruised ass. It's not right."

I shook my head. "Don't worry about that. Just focus on getting better, okay? Your head is still healing." I didn't have the guts to tell him that they'd beat him into a seizure and that was why I was waiting on him hand and foot.

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'll try."

I went through my daily routine which mainly consisted of calling Ryan, hoping for a reconciliation. Per usual, my calls went straight to voicemail, and my texts remained unanswered. The silent treatment was fucking unbearable. In a moment of desperation, I decided to visit his studio, hoping to catch him in person.

I dressed carefully, wanting to appear composed despite the turmoil inside me. I settled on a soft, oversized sweater in a muted shade of grey draped loosely over my frame, paired with a pair of Zara jeans that hugged my hips just right. I pulled my hair into a neat ponytail and applied a touch of makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lay ahead.

The drive to Ryan's studio felt longer than usual, each passing minute filled with a mixture of hope and dread. When I finally arrived, the studio was bustling with activity. People moved in and out, carrying equipment, adjusting lighting, and discussing upcoming shoots. It was a stark contrast to the quiet chaos of my apartment.

I walked up to the front desk, where Courtney sat, her eyes glued to her laptop. She looked up as I approached, her eyes narrowing.

"Amaya," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What brings you here?"

"I'm here to see Ryan," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "Is he around?"

Courtney leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. She wore a tight, black turtleneck and high-waisted jeans, her hair styled in a sleek asymmetrical bob. "He busy. And even if he wasn't, I doubt he'd want to see yo' ass."