Believe they said. And she did, until the day her father walked out the door, slamming it so hard, the echo ricocheted throughout the entire house. That was the same day her mother took to the bottles and drugs. Preferring to spend more time with her dealers than her actual children. She made a vow to herself that day, as her brother did.

"I will always protect you, my little Keva." Her brother told her every day, with so much love in his voice. She believed him, in just her seven years of life she thought nothing would ever happen to her brother. He made her believe in herself when she had to take the SATs when she finally admitted what she was feeling to Clara. He was with her for everything. He gave up his dreams for her. So, she could follow hers.

"Prescott, can you promise me something?" Little ten-year-old Keva asked.

"Anything my little Keva." He had said, a smile on his face.

"Promise me you won't ever leave like daddy did." A hard look flashed over Prescott's face.

"I promise my little darling Keva. I promise."

Keva

Standing above the newly dug hole, I throw a handful of dry dirt on top of the brown casket sitting on the bottom. Turning my head to the side, the wind whipping my hair behind my head, I see the family I never knew existed. Not once in my life. My father didn't show, but then no one expected him too. Or he doesn't know, which is another possibility.

The grandmother I never knew, is staring at me. Her cold eyes plastered on the tears sliding down my face as if they aren't supposed to be there. I turn back, the wind whipping my hair back into my face. The sobs consume me. Huge ugly ones just pour out. I sink to the ground, my arms going around my knees holding them close.

I feel a pair of arms tries to pull me up, but I shake them off. I take off my black heels, then, I run. I run until I'm far away from there until my legs feel like they're closing in on themselves. I crouch down onto the pavement, trying to regain the ability to breathe. It feels like forever before I feel like I can stand without toppling over. Looking around I realize where I am. Her house. She's the only one besides my brother who could make me feel things.

Going to the front door, I find the key, hidden beneath the floor mat. I always tell them to move it, because that's the first place anyone looks for it. My hands shake so much that it takes me a couple times to get the key to fit, but once I do I unlock the door before putting the key back on the welcome mat. Stepping in, I take a few seconds to collect myself before setting my heels down and walking up the winding staircase.

At the top, I call out, "Mom? Clara?"No one answers, but I didn't expect anyone too. I walk softly towards the pink and blue room at the end of the hall I open up the I crawl onto the mahogany bed with the soft purple comforter. I fall asleep within minutes.

The sound of the garage door jerks me awake, but I don't move. I don't hear anything until the door opens, along with a little scream.

"J**us, you scared me." Clara breathes out.

"Sorry," I say wincing at how weak and hoarse my voice sounds. Clara comes and sits, the bed dipping slightly her way. Her hand finds its way to the side of my thigh, running up and down in a soothing manner. It works. I calm down almost instantly.

"Keva, honey, what are you doing?"

"Sleeping." The sarcasm just coming out.

"Well, I can see that, but why here?" she says, "Not that I don't love when you're here, but why?"

"His funeral was today." New fresh hot tears pour out.

"Oh sweetie, why didn't you tell me, I would've gone with you."

"I didn't want you to be there." I quietly say turning my face into the pillow, "I didn't want it to be real."Clara says nothing, but her hand continues to move, speaking for her.

"I didn't want it to be real." My body begins to convulse with tears. I can't stop them either. They just keep coming. The bed shifts, the dip no on the other side. Her long fingers grab my head, push my hair away from my face, and sets my head on her lap. Her hands running soothingly over my head now. The tears keep coming, Clara attempts to brush them away, but it's no use.
I cry for what felt like hours until I can't cry anymore. Then we just sit in silence.

Clara

I hear the clicking sound of my mother on the floor before she opens the door. Knocking, while opening the door, she lets herself in.

"Clara, honey," Mom abruptly cuts off upon seeing Keva. I hold up my pointer finger, in a minute. Carefully sliding out from under Keva, I go into the dark hall.

"Is she okay?" Mom asks, with a hint of concern.

"She will be, eventually."

"Well, dinner's ready. So, waker her up, get her out of that hideous excuse for a dress, and come downstairs." Her concern gone from her voice. I nod.

Turning back, I walk into the same room I've had for nearly 15 years.

"Did mom really just call my dress hideous?" a voice says from the beneath the comforter. I laugh.

" Yeah, and I can't blame her. That dress is hideous. You think by now you'd have picked up a little something from mom." This time Keva laugh. Oh, it's so good to hear that.

"Hey." She shouts, laughs still tumbling out of her. I walk to my closet, searching before throwing clothes at Keva. She manages to catch the sweatshirt, but the sweatpants hit her square in the face.

"Ow!"

"Sorry," I say sarcastically. I turn to walk back into the now lighted hallway.

"Wait!"

"Yeah?" I say, turning back around.

"Can you unzip me?"

"Yeah." I walk over to her, as she grabs her long dirty blond hair, pulling it to the side. Reach my hands up, realizing just how shaky they've become. I manage to slowly move the zipper down, when the zipper reaches the bottom, my hands slide away.

"Thank you," Keva says, her voice deep.

"Your welcome. I'll be downstairs." I walk back through the doorway, I stop next to the doorframe, trying to stop the blush from creeping onto my face, so mom doesn't ask questions.

My mom is setting the table when I enter the dining room. The walls freshly painted a dark red, because mom read somewhere having a red kitchen helps you be more hungry or something.

"Anything I can do?" I ask. She jumps.

"Geez. Was that necessary?" she scolds.

"Sorry," I say timidly, aware of how soft my voice has become.

I walk to the cabinet pulling the forks from out of the drawer. I follow slowly mom around the table setting down the forks down symmetrically with the lines on the table.

"Is Jimmy coming tonight?" I question, lightly.

"I've told you not to say that." She says harshly.

"Dad?"

"At work."

"Again?" Mom doesn't say anything. I know she's thinking the same thing I am, that the pretty secretary he hired, maybe more than his secretary.

"Hey, momma," Keva said. Scaring both me and my mom.

"Keva, darling, how are you?" Mom says tentatively. Her eyes flicker to mine. I nod.

"Not good, but if you don't mind, I don't really want to talk about it. I just want to eat this amazing looking food you have prepared."

Mom nods, "Alright darling."

Mom made spaghetti, Keva's favorite. We sit in silence, the clicking of the forks on the ceramic plates.

"How's your mom Keva?" Mom asks pointedly. Keva freezes. She never did like when people asked about her mother.

"Drunk," Keva says, bluntly, "And high." Mom and I nod, we were expecting that answer.

"Where's dad?" Keva asks, looking back and forth between us.

"At work," I say quickly. Keva's eyes dart quickly to mine. We both know what's going to happen.

When the clanking of forks subside, Keva volunteers to do the dishes, even though we have a dishwasher.

"Keva you don't have to that." mom says.

"I want too," Keva says, as she grabs up the plates, walking through the swinging door into the hallway between the kitchen and dining room.