Turning the keys in the ignition, the car shut off, and Marshall Mathers switched the light button, so the headlights shut off. Surrounded by a dark garage, Marshall opened his car door and reached towards the wall nearby, switching the light on and looking back into the car, grabbing an empty McDonalds bag, and the medium soda cup from the cupholder. He slammed the car door, juggling to hold his keys, the soda, his cell phone, and the bag, while he fiddled with the garage door lock.

The kitchen was dark when he entered, and he quickly switched on the light and put the things down on the counter. He would leave his keys there, until tommorow when he had to go back out. His cell phone, he would have to take upstairs to let it charge, it was almost out of battery. He was still holding the McDonalds cup, and bag in each hand, shoving the bag into the wastebasket by the doorway. He kicked his shoes off, as he sipped the last of the coke, through the straw, and threw that away when he got nothing but ice, and a slurpy sound at the bottom.

He grabbed his cell phone, and walked out of the kitchen, into the livingroom, across the room to the stairs, and ascended them quietly. It was late, almost midnight, Hailie would, no doubt, be in bed, sleeping, because she had school in the morning. He stifled a groan when he realized tommorow was his morning to drive Hailie to school, so he had to be up early. Kim and Marshall took turns, driving her and picking her up. Today, he picked her up, tommorow, he would drive her.

The carpet felt good on his socked feet, crushing beneath his steps. He reached the bedroom door, and turned the knob, entering the room and looking around. No sign of Kim. Where could she be? His mind wandered as he picked up his cell phone charger, and plugged his phone in, setting it on the windowsill, to charge.

Pulling his shirt over his head, he tossed it to the ground, barely caring that the next day Kim would be bitching about that, as he dragged his tired ass out of bed to drive his daughter to school. He reached the open bathroom door, the bathroom light on, spreading light on the floor in front of the doorway. He glanced in the bathroom, and raised both eyebrows when he saw Kim, sitting on the floor, next to the toilet.

Her hair was messy, he couldnt see her face, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, hair hanging in front of her as she bent her body over the toilet seat, gagging.

"Kim, you okay?" He asked, entering the room slowly, watching her the whole time.

She turned around, nodding, and wiped the side of her mouth on her arm. "I- Im... Im fine, Marshall, fine."

"Whats the matter?" He asked kneeling beside her and pushing some of her hair back.

"N-N-Not-Nothing." She stuttered, her eyes practically rolling back in her head as she said it. She pushed herself up with one arm, used her other to grab his shoulder and pull herself up to her feet, only to fall backwards, grabbing frantically for the wall behind her, and sliding back down, to sit on the floor. She wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them to her chest, and let her forehead fall to rest on the tops of her knees.

"Kim... are you, drunk?" Marshall asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No..." She said, staring at him blankly.

"You are," He blinked, looking her in the eye, rolling his eyes when she turned her face away from his, not making eye contact with him. "Kim... your fucking trashed."

"NO!" She yelled, cringing as soon as she heard her own voice. Her head was pounding, she could feel her veins throbbing in her forehead and she held back tears. Truth was, yes, she was completely, and totally, off her ass, drunk.

"Get up," Marshall said, not wanting to argue. He reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her up, helping her stand in front of him. "I cant fucking believe this. Your going to bed," He sighed and helped her walk towards the bedroom.

"Your not mad at me, are you?" She slurred her words together as she took each step very slowly and unsurely, as if it was her first time walking, and it was pitch black.

"Mad?" He shook his head. "No, Kim, Im not mad." He said shortly, and let go of her arm when she reached the bed, and crawled onto it, sprawled out, and closed her eyes.

"Because, Im sorry," Kim coughed when she finished the sentence, and Marshall scrunched up his nose, as she nearly threw up all over the bed.

"Yeah," He turned around, went into the bathroom, and came out a second later with a bucket, to put by the side of her bed, incase she had to puke in the night and wouldnt make it to the bathroom. "I know." He said, dropping the bucket beside the bed.

"I, just, needed to-" She stopped talking and laid back, not even remembering to finish her sentence.

"Get some sleep Kim," Marshall said coldly, tossing a blanket over her still clothed figure, and turning around, walking out of the room, shutting the light and the door as he went.

First door in the hallway, was Whitneys. Marshall opened the door quietly, not wanting to wake the sleeping child, and peeked into the dark room. He opened the door wider, after not hearing any sounds from the baby, and tip toed over to the side of the crib carefully.

Whitney was on her stomach, her face was turned, facing him, and one hand was curled around the top of her tiny blanket. Her tiny, bare feet, were sticking out of the end of the blanket, and Marshall smiled, pulling the blanket gently to cover her feet. He loved babys, He had to admit. He turned and left the room, shutting the door, almost all the way but deciding to leave it open a crack.

The next door down the hallway he opened, was his daughters. He slowly pushed the door open, and smiled, looking at the bed. Hailie was laying on her side, mouth open, hair falling in her face, eyes fluttering as she slept. He grinned and walked into the room, to put the covers on her and shut the open window near her bed. It was gonna be cold out tonight.

He pushed the top of the window down, closing it all the way, and turned around with a start when he heard, "Dad!" called out from behind him.

"Holy-," He thought twice before finishing that phrase. "Im sorry baby, I didnt wanna wake you up," He apologized walking towards the bed, reaching over and turning on the light on the table next to them, and looking down at his 9 year old daughter.

"Its okay." She yawned and looked up at him.

"Alright," Marshall said, pulling the covers up over her head, and grinning when she giggled and pushed them off her face, and snuggling into them, curling up in the fetal position, hugging the blankets around her shoulders. "Get some sleep, goodnight."

"Night daddy," He always thought his heart was going to burst when she said that. She sounded so small, so peaceful.

He shut the light off and closed the door, heading back down the hall to his and Kims bedroom. He left, went out to the studio for one, goddamn night, comes home, and his wife is completely trashed, and caring for 2 small children. It was ridiculous.

He went straight to the bathroom, back out into the bedroom, and over to his side of the bed. Kim was snoring, on her side, facing the bathroom door. He shook his head and laid down on his side of the bed, after shedding his pants so he was in his boxers. What the hell would possess her to drink, while she was home alone with Whitney and Hailie? What if Whitney had woke up crying? What if Hailie had needed something, he didnt want to think of how scared she would probably be. Her mother couldnt take care of her, and her baby sister. He didnt want Hailie to see Kim like that. She had in the past, and it took her a long time recover from it. What the hell was Kim thinking?

He closed his eyes, pulling the blankets around him. It was pretty bad when you cant even leave your kids with their mother for a few hours, without her getting trashed, alone. Thats one sign of an alcoholic. A very, big, flashing sign, of an alcoholic. Thats not who he wanted to be with. If she wanted to take herself down like that, then he wasnt going to stop her. It was her life. But he decided, right now, he was NOT going down with her. Thats not what he wanted. Maybe he had to much respect for himself.