unknown number (Ace x-reader)

the weak

Share your thoughts with me.
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New town, new house, and a new job, meaning new friends. She leans against the counter, piles of unopened boxes behind her. But first she needs to get a job.
"Why do you need to work?" the man had previously been leaning against the counter she now uses to support herself. "My job pays me more than well enough to provide for both of us. Just stay home and don't work."
She just looked away from him, it's not exactly like she could just tell him that she's proactive. If she doesn't do something with her life, doesn't get out of the house, she'll go stir crazy. She could, but it's not like he'd even listen to her if she tried. He then left, no extra words, no questioning.
She stares at the sink, thinking that it probably would be better if she didn't work. If she did, there's the risk of it this all happening again. She turns on the faucet, he looked so peaceful when he was asleep. Even if he was bruised and in pain, he seemed like he was sleeping well.
She can only hope that it lasts forever, that no matter what, he won't ever fear for his life. That he doesn't have to be looking over his shoulder for her. She just needs to pray that he doesn't have any nightmares.
The running water draws her attention, the sound almost soothing the chaos swirling inside, almost. Sometimes, it's hard to just go with the flow. Especially when you know where the flow is going to take you, straight down the drain.
Sometimes, going with the flow takes you to the ocean, such a beautiful sight. But other times, it takes you down, to where you're forced to close your eyes and pretend that everything is perfect. Though everyone knows that you're not. But no one cares enough to ask you a second time.
  She sticks her hands into the water, breaking up the line it has once formed. Even when you try to change the flow, all you're doing is changing the path. The end result is all the same. It's like fate.
  She turns off the faucet, drying her hands on her pants, before she turns around and pulls herself up onto the counter. A sigh escapes her lips, her head going into her hands, "Mom... dad... what am I doing with my life?"
  Tears start to form at the corners of her eyes, but she tries to hold them back. Failing, and once they started, she couldn't stop any of the rest. She can't help but feel like she's a disappointment. If her parents could see her now... if her brother saw her like this... all they would feel is disappointment. Because she's weak.
  They wouldn't be ashamed of her because she's weak. But they would be disappointed that she let something this small get to her. Something so small. Is this really something that small? God, maybe the real person she's disappointing is herself.
  But is being weak... actually weak?

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