Seven weeks.

It has been seven long, painful weeks since I have lost my job, and I am feeling more helpless with each passing day.

I have been to every restaurant and bar within walking distance, and it has become clear that I have become blacklisted.

Apparently, the pervert who tried to feel me up has some power around these parts, an investor of some sort who has helped most of the food industry in the neighborhood in some way. I only found out because a manager felt terrible for me and decided to put me out of my misery and explained why every food and drink establishment is suddenly not hiring.

Trying to stretch my last few dollars, Dom and I have been living off ramen, rice and beans, and grilled cheese for the past week. I need to find a job, and I need to find one now. I have run out of time because if we go another day, the funds will have officially run dry.

The only upside of me not working is that I get to spend more time with my brother, especially since he has been sick the past few days.

It started as a cough, but slowly grew to full-blown fever and not being able to keep food down. The cough has settled in his chest, and every time Dom opens his mouth, his whole body tenses before releasing a deep, raspy sound. I'm concerned that this is not your average cold, especially since this is the third day in a row he has missed school.

Having just gotten out of the shower, I peek into the mirror to take in my appearance. The large black bags under my caramel eyes are more extensive than I remember, and I wish I could afford some decent concealer to try and mask the unattractive darkness. Red raised blotches are breaking out across face, and my once olive glow has been replaced by pale sadness.

Pulling my plain gray sweatshirt over my head, it becomes apparent how much weight I have lost. We don't own a scale, but with the way my clothes are fitting, it is clear that weight loss can be added to the extensive list of how my appearance has changed over the past two months.

My attention is pulled from the mirror when I hear a soft knock through the door. "Gemma?"

I am greeted by Dom, who has a blanket wrapped around his frail form. "Can I have some more medicine? I think my fever is back."

"Yeah, give me a moment," I say as the weight of my foot causes the floor to squeak with each step, entering the bland white-walled hallway. "I will get you something to eat too."

Dom's nose scrunches in disgust. "I don't want to eat."

Reaching my arm around him, I gently rub small circles on his shoulder. "At least try."

Throwing his head back with a loud protesting groan, he pads his way back to the couch before plopping down.

I mock his childish antics, but quickly stop when I remember how lousy he feels.

Soon the soft carpet under my feet is replaced by the cold black and white kitchen tiles. Even during the warm spring weather, the coolness of the floor causes a shiver to roll over my body, and I quietly pray that I am not coming down with what has plagued my brother.

Placing a piece of bread in the toaster, I turn to the cabinet that holds most of our first aid essentials. Giving the bottle of medicine a quick shake, I realize how empty it feels. I silently curse, realizing I am going to have to go to the store for some more.

Well, this wasn't in the budget. Fuck.

Spilling the last few drops into the small measuring cup, I have just enough for one final dose. My mind is running a mile a minute as I try to figure out how I am going to scratch enough money together for a new bottle. I am thankful that at least I can offer Dom a few hours of relief.

The toast pops up, and I inspect the piece making it is not too burnt for my brother's liking. While I butter the bread, a small chuckle is released because despite how mature Dom is, he is still a child in the sense that his toast can not have any dark marks on it.

The chatter on the TV can be heard in the distance as I grab the last apple on the counter. Dom comes into view wrapped up in his solid blue blanket with only his face exposed.

Pure horror takes over his face when I place the apple and single piece of bread down on the coffee table. "I'm not eating that."

"Dude, you have to try to eat something." I hand Dom his medicine and his lip curls. "Plus, eating some bread will help get the taste of the medicine out of your mouth quicker."

Rolling his eyes, he throws back the red liquid down his throat, and he quickly reaches for the toast. Taking the smallest bite possible, he places it back on the plate, "There. All done."

My hands make their way to my hips, and I stare at him with wide eyes, not knowing how to approach his attitude.

Our eyes connect, and we hold each other's gaze until I give up. Scoffing at his immaturity, I throw my hands in the air and go to walk away, but not before I notice the triumphant grin plastered on my brother's face.

"I know you don't feel good, but you don't need to be such a jerk," I yell over my shoulder as I grab my purse and make my way to the front door. "I need to run out for a few things. I'll let Mrs. Markus know you are here."

"Yup," is the only thing he says, not taking his eyes off the tv.

Trying to calm my irritation, I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, but not before I silently flip my middle finger in Dom's direction.

Closing the heavy wood door behind me, I take a few short steps across the hall to talk to Mrs. Markus.

After only the second knock, she peeks her head through the crack of the door. "Hello, Dear."

Her soft voice instantly relaxes me, and a smile stretches across my face. "Good morning Mrs. Markus. I need to run out for a few moments. Dom is not feeling well, so I told him to come to you if he needs anything. I hope that is okay."

"Of course, Honey. Come in for a moment, will you?"

Opening her door, I walk into her apartment. The smell of cinnamon tickles my nose, and I can only assume she has something delicious baking in the oven.

I am not tall by any means, but Mrs. Markus makes me look like a giant. Her light hair is pulled back in a perfect bun, and she has an apron on with splotches of flour decorating the front.

"Please take a seat for a minute, I need to grab something," she requests as she points to her chestnut-colored couch.

The leather cushion squeaks in protest as I make myself comfortable, and my right leg crosses over the knee of my left while I wait for her to return.

Noticing she cleaned herself up and her black apron now removed, she walks towards me, holding out her hand. "It isn't much, but I want you to take this."

My legs uncross, and I reach for her hand, noticing she is holding out a ten-dollar bill.

All the things I need to buy start to race through my mind and those ten dollars would help, especially since I need to buy the medicine for Dom.

My shoulders fall, and my head begins to move side to side. "I can't take that."

"You can, and you will." She says as she opens my clenched fist, placing the crisp bill in my palm. "It is okay to ask for help now and then, Gemma. You don't need to do everything alone."

Biting on my bottom lip, I glance at the pictures decorating her wall as I try to avoid eye contact with the angel in front of me.

Her soft hand comes to my cheek, and her thumb gently rubs up and down, soothing my unease. "Gemma. Take the money."

A lone tear begins to fall from the corner of my eye, and Mrs. Markus is quick to wipe it away. "It's okay, Sweetheart. You don't always need to be strong."

My eyes finally meet her soft blue ones that sparkle in admiration when looking at me. "Take it, Gemma, go get what you need for Dom. We will figure this out, okay?"

The palm of my hands cup around my eyes and my legs give out, causing me to fall back on the couch. Mrs. Markus is right next to me, holding my body tightly against her while rubbing up and down my back with gentle strokes.

Once my sobs become soft whimpers, I pull away from the only motherly figure I have.

Using the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I pat away the moisture from my cheeks. "I'm sorry. "

Her usual ocean color eyes turn almost gray as she looks sternly in my direction. "Don't you ever say sorry for showing your emotions, Gemma. Ever! They make you the beautiful woman you are."

Nodding my head at her kind words, Mrs. Markus once again takes my hand into hers. "I will keep an eye on Dom. You go get some fresh air."

After one final hug, I stand and reach for my bag. "Thank you for the money. I'll be back soon."

Mrs. Markus brings her hand to her lips before blowing a kiss in my direction. "Take your time, Dear."

Walking to the market around the corner, it feels like a black cloud is following me around. Helplessness consumes my body, knowing that people are now giving me money.

My tired body pads down the aisle that holds the store's pharmacy items. I am unsure if it is the depression or the fact that I haven't had a decent meal in weeks, but my body is weak, and I fight to stay standing.

Finding what I need for Dom, I feel the bile rise from my stomach and settle in my mouth.

Eight dollars and ninety-nine cents.

I can't afford an almost nine dollar bottle of medicine. That would leave me with roughly four bucks for bread, cheese, and a few pieces of fruit.

My bottom lip starts to tremble as I think of how I can solve this problem that seems to have no solution. Trying to hide my tears from fellow shoppers, I cover my face and take deep breaths to calm my racing heart. With my brain starting to defog with each intake of air, it hits me. I know what I need to do, and I hate that my life has come to this- I need to steal.

Gemma the shoplifter, Dad would sure be proud.

I will pay for the medicine, and I make a silent promise that I will repay everything I take once I find a job.

I promise, on my life, that I will make this right.

My grip tightens around the medication as I make my way to where they keep the soups. Looking at the price for a can of Chicken Noodle soup, I take a deep breath and hold the tin out as I examine it. To others, it probably looks like I am looking at the ingredients, when in reality, I am just trying to figure out if I truly want to walk down this path.

I will do anything to keep us together.

With a nod of determination, I look to my left, then to my right to make sure no one is around. When the coast is clear, my heart begins to pound so intensely that I feel my shirt vibrating against my chest.

Holding my breath, I place the can in my purse, and I know I am selling my soul to the devil. This isn't me. I'm not a thief, but here we are.

It's just a loan. I will pay them back.

My mantra plays over and over in my mind until I reach the bread aisle. I will have to place the bag under my sweatshirt. It's big enough, and it shouldn't be a problem. I could not have been more wrong.

As soon as I lift my shirt, my body turns to stone when I hear a loud, booming voice behind me. "Miss. You're going to have to come with me."