CHAPTER 9: SANDRA

I stared at my phone in disbelief. I lefted New York six weeks ago and now, only now, has my brother, Patrick, remembered me. This text message was the first time we've spoken since I came to Berkeley. Well, the first time he's spoken. I sent a text message when I got here to let him know I was safe, and then that was it. Until today.

I looked again at my phone. I didn't know why I expected any different from him. He would only get in contact if and when he wanted something. And like usual, it was money. I didn't want to know what he wanted it for, but judging by the fact he was asked for eight hundred dollars, I'd say it was rent. All because his arrogant, selfish ass couldn't hold down a job long enough to support our suicidal father.

I rubbed my forehead and tried to block out the memories, telling Patrick I'll call up the bank and wire the money to Dad's account. Not that it made a difference. he will use it on what he wants anyway, thinking of Dad second.

A wave of guilt crashed