TW:
death
substance abuse
sickness
Born to a mother who knew nothing but love and a father who knew nothing but cruelty.
Born into a family with an older brother, with big hands, a rough voice and soft cheeks.
Grew up quickly, father leaving at the age of nine, to her brother and mother, she was now the responsibility.
For some, responsibility fades.
Her brother became her responsibility. Hiding drugs, throwing away empty bottles, begging herself to maintain his good image.
At least for their mother.
She was also her responsibility.
She was sick. To put it gently.
When her brother was sober, he cared. Of course he did.
Alex even, sort of, cared when he wasn't.
Then he died.
Her mom was asleep.
Instead of going to the party, she studied for her chemistry test.
But then there were bright lights through her window, a knock at her door.
"Your brother, Alexander Maldonado, is dead. I'm sorry."
That was all she remembered. The word dead rang through her ears.
She left the house that morning before she could see her mother.
How do you tell a woman her son is dead?
The funeral was small, almost empty.
He was known as a burnout, a loser.
Not to her.
He was the one who wrapped her in a blanket and sat her down in front of Jimmy Neutron.
The one who rescued her when she slipped through the ice at the local pond.
The one who taught her how to play guitar, even when she wasn't so good at it.
The one who was always there when she was cheering.
She saw him, standing at the side of the bleachers, smoking away the body of a cigarette.
She knew that his actions were what spoke.
Of course he cared.
She put away her guitar.
She sold his.
She told her mother she cleaned the room.
She sat inside and cried.
She took the sweatshirts that still smelled like him, clinging to whatever she still had.
She shut the door, and didn't walk back inside.
As time moved on, so did she.
She became head cheerleader.
A member of the glee club; shocking, but true.
A friend, and a good one.
A girlfriend, to a man who never ceased to make her smile.
Maybe it was the way his goofy grin lit up his face.
The way he ran his fingers through his fiery hair.
The way he kissed her, like nothing else mattered around them in a moment like that.
Then she lost him.
And that was fine, for a while.
She blew it off.
Easier to pretend something doesn't hurt than to admit how much it does.
And then her mom got sick.
Really sick.
She had lost her main confidant, her best friend.
Because she'd dated him.
And now, she had nowhere to turn.
The announcement was made in glee club, through bitter tears.
Fought with a battle of clenched jaws and gritted teeth.
"I no longer have the time for anything other than necessary academics. I'm sorry I let you all down."
Then the cheerios.
And maybe she didn't cry.
Maybe it meant something.
And then she worked after school, until late hours of the night.
Then, she would visit her mom: 9:30-10:30 pm.
Homework: 10:30 pm-however long it takes.
Work: 3-5 am.
School: 7 am-3pm.
Work (Job 2 & 3): 3:30-9:30 pm.
She gave up life.
Funny, then, that she should lose hers just a few months later.
Mrs. Maldonado never got better.
The financial situation only got worse.
But then she died.
A flatline monitor, a sobbing teenage girl clutching her mother's hand as she felt it go cold.
Helpless, powerless, yet again to the power of death.
Perhaps she should've called to ask for help.
All that time.
But that night.
When they, instead, found her tree wrapped around the large oak.
DOA.
