She'd taken to wandering around his brothers room, now that he was gone.

Renaldo could find her there at least once a day, either sitting at his brothers desk flipping through one of his books, or staring blankly at his monitor, her once-tanned face now pale and drawn. Sometimes she would flip through the books and journals, her movements careful and slow. The movements of the elderly, or the addict. Her eyes were more often than not heavy-lidded from the medications she insisted on taking "For the pain, dear. For the pain" she would say to him, cupping his cheek in her palm before descending the stairs, her fingers cool upon his face.