"Five thousand dollars?!" Sidney screeches loudly into her cell phone.

At that news, my face falls and I drop my head onto the newspaper scattered tabletop. Five thousand dollars for a three-month inpatient rehabilitation program. There's no way I can make that kind of money anytime soon.

Sidney hangs up the phone and slams it onto the table, angrily crossing her arms. "Those bitches have bumped their fucking heads. Who the hell can afford that?"

"Someone with insurance," Savannah chirps from beside me, noisily slurping on a milkshake.

I lift my head and snatch the open newspapers and phone books haphazardly strewn across the table before shooting her a pointed look. "Which none of us have," I remind her.

"This was stupid anyway," I mumble dejectedly, clambering from the booth. Feeling defeated, I toss the newspapers in the trash behind the counter, throw the phone books on the shelf underneath it, and brush my fingers through my messy hair.

I quickly scan the diner, making sure the few customers seated in my section are content and don't need anything. My shift ends in two hours, and then I have to scramble home, eat, shower, and clean, but if I'm lucky, I'll be able to squeeze in a decent nap before my shift at Vice.

"Maybe I could take out a loan or something?" I mumble as Sidney stands and rounds the corner, disappearing into the kitchen.

"But how would you pay it off?" Savannah pipes up again.

I lean against the counter and shoot her a glare, "Do you have a better idea, then? Or are we going to continue to live under the same roof as an alcoholic and potential junkie and risk CPS storming the block to take you away?"

Savannah shrinks under my harsh glare and looks away.

"Stop scaring her! Savannah," Sidney snaps, rounding the corner with a crate of clean glasses, "No one's taking you away. Aria is just under a lot of stress right now."

"I'm sorry," I groan. "I just want her gone. I've been cleaning out her room every night and somehow she's still getting her hands on booze. Dina hasn't even been around lately so I don't know how the fuck she's getting it."

"Maybe she has a new man," Savannah says.

Sidney smirks mischievously and says, "She wouldn't be the only one."

I roll my eyes and move around the counter to clear a now vacant booth as my sister and co-worker snicker and giggle like children.

"I want to officially meet him," Sid announces, "maybe Lincoln and I should check out Vice tonight, see what all the hype is about."

I frown. "That'd be weird. He's my boss, there's no reason to meet him."

Savannah snorts. "For now, maybe."

I swear to God, I'm not telling them anything anymore. Annoyed, I turn my back and wipe down the stained countertop, determined to distract myself from thoughts of Austin and his nice car and how it smells like cinnamon and... ugh.

I'm nervous to see him tonight. Nervous because my calm and collected attitude seems to crumble when he's around. Nervous because I don't know if he'll ask to drive me home again. Nervous because I don't know why the hell he'd even want to drive me home, but at the same time I kind of do. Nervous because I want to say yes, even though I definitely know I shouldn't.

This is why you shouldn't get involved with him, I think to myself, It will just complicate things.

But damn it. There's something about him.

——

Music blares through the walls of Vice, the bass thumping and vibrating the building. Sweat pours down my back and causes my already skin-tight black t-shirt to cling even closer to my body, and my feet hurt like hell and beg me to sit down.

Tonight seems to be even busier than usual, which I didn't think was possible. Bodies gyrate in a clustered mess across the packed dance floor, and every table and stool at the bar is filled.

As the night drags on into the early hours of the morning, I continue to place drink orders, serve said drink orders, and cash out customers. Although the tips stuffed in the pocket of my apron bring me a sense of relief and optimism, the exhaustion from working two shifts a day starts to creep in and take over.

I haven't seen Austin all night, but I've got to talk to him after this shift. I appreciate the kind gesture and the lengths he went to secure the extra hours for me, but it's killing me. Exhaustion from work, anger at my mother, worry for Savannah, and the hunt for a decently priced rehab center have an iron-clad hold on me. It's too much.

When the last few groups of overzealous partiers finally clear out, the strong smell of disinfectant and the clattering sound of bar stools being placed on empty tabletops fills the air. I help Kaia clean the bar while my other co-worker Erin counts out her tips for the night.

At 2:30, I clock out but stay behind. I ignore Kaia's curious gaze as she gathers her purse, and once she leaves through the side door, I make my way up the winding staircase.

Nerves take over and I find myself straightening my t-shirt and smoothing my clammy hands over my black jeans as I stand outside Austin's closed office door. Annoyed at myself for caring so much about my appearance, I take the plunge and finally knock.

A muffled "It's open," sounds through the wood, and I timidly push the door open and step forward. Unlike last time, Austin is seated at his desk. His head snaps up when he sees me, and if I'm being honest, he looks a little shocked to see me standing here.

"Hey," he says, "shit, did you need a ride? Give me a minute, and I can-"

"No," I cut him off, "uh, I wanted to talk to you about my hours. Again."

He raises an eyebrow and gestures for me to take a seat. I do, releasing a deep breath as I do so. My feet are killing me.

"Is everything okay?" he asks in concern.

Dammit.

"It's fine," I say automatically.

And then I freeze. And damn if I don't get a little choked up. Because fuck, everything is not fine. I can't remember a time when it was.

I duck my head and take a deep breath.

"Actually," I say, "Its not. I don't know. I appreciate you giving me all these hours, but I-"

My phone rings.

I don't even remember turning the damn ringer on.

I blush and lean forward, fumbling to pull my phone from my back pocket.

"Sorry," I gush, "Let me just-"

I freeze. Because I recognize this number. This same number called when I was nine to tell us that my father fell asleep behind the wheel, ran off the road, and hit a tree. This same number called when I was twelve to tell us that my father got shot in the leg during a drug deal that went wrong.

And this same number called five months ago to tell us that my mom had alcohol poisoning and needed to have her stomach pumped.

Memories flood my brain, and suddenly it's hard to breathe. Dread takes over my entire body, and I'm numb as I slide my thumb across the screen and answer the call.

Before I can even say "Hello," Savannah cuts me off.

"Aria?" she asks frantically, "Something happened. I need you to come to the hospital."

——