She is afraid cuz you are dying,
But you have got your peace of mind.
There he was again, slumped over Charles' shoulder, reeking of alcohol and depression. Why did he do this to himself? Why? She furiously tried to keep the tears away from her face, stuck in her throat.
She knew he had a lot to deal with, but so did she. Why did nobody understand that? Just because she was younger doesn't mean she didn't understand what was going on, just because she'd never had the chance to properly get to know her parents doesn't mean she's never missed it or wanted to.
And now her brother, the best brother in the entire world, the one who'd stood by her like a rock through all of this - had crumbled, killing himself with alcohol, as if drowning in that sea would solve anything.
The disgust and pain mingled into concern. She wanted to slap him, to shake him up, to comfort him and say that everything would be alright. That no matter how bad things were, they'd always be there together. She wanted him to hug her, to tell her not to cry, to say that he'd take care of, that no matter what happened, he'd be there - they'd always be there for each other.
Charles had reached the front door.
Maybe she'd tell George to talk to Will. Thank God for George, the only one who listened to what she said, the only one who wouldn't say 'she was too young to trouble herself' or dismiss her with a 'what's my busiess is my business'.
George.
Quickly smudging the G&G she'd doodled on her notebook, she left the window and went to call Mrs. Reynolds to help Charles carry her brother upstairs.