Mia's never had a family.
Granted she had a mother, though the woman never acted like it, and she had an aunt who insisted on being called 'Madame' instead of 'auntie'.
Basically, she'd always been alone.
So when her mother died, and she found he...
" i think hell is something you carry around with you, not somewhere you go." - Neil Gaiman
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Winona Ryder as Rosalie LeBlanc
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She didn't want to leave her bed. Not when the nightmare was so fresh in her mind.
When Mia had left Alex' room early in the morning, he'd still be asleep. Thankfully, she hadn't woken him up with her sudden gasp of fright, nor with the sobs that'd begun pressing on her chest.
So she'd quickly snuck out, entering her own room, before locking the window and closing the blinds, climbing beneath the covers to cry.
She knew this day would come, and she'd suspected the memories would invade her mind even more than usual.
After all, when the anniversary of the day you found your mother's overdosed body arrives, nothing could keep you from sinking beneath a dark cloud.
As Mia huddled. In the dark, she sniffled, hand rubbing her chest aggressively, as though she could. Force her lungs to work right.
For once, the antidepressants weren't working. They weren't helping.
She could still feel it all.
———————
Amélia was walking back from school.
The twelve-year old was hungry, incredibly so. There had been no food in the apartment for the last two days, and though she'd managed to make her stash of toast last long enough, it had finally run out last night, as she'd given the last of it to her mother.
Rosalie had been tweaking, and with that came hunger pangs so bad, they would force the woman to curl up into a ball on their floor. If Mia had been cruel, she would have kept the bread to herself, admonishing the woman for never buying any food with the money she made, choosing to buy drugs instead.
Choosing to fill their house with needles, and putrid, black goo instead.
But she wasn't. For all her faults, Rosalie was all Mia had, and so, refusing to let her mother suffer, the little girl had crept out of her room, and placed the half-empty bag of white bread next to the sleeping figure, waking up the next morning to find it empty, and her mother gone.
