Work Text:
The sun had barely risen when the ringing of the telephone came vibrating through the house. Curly remembered it, the way Tim got out of bed grumbling loudly. It all seemed years away.
He had woken up to the sounds of his sister sobbing loudly, heartbroken cries that swallowed him whole.
“Tim, what’s goin’ on?” Curly asked, stepping out into the brightly lit living room. He saw the way Angela’s shoulder trembled as if she was in pain. He saw the way Tim held her close as if there wasn’t anything else he could do. It just wasn’t normal.
“Curls, sit down,” Tim ordered. His voice was gruff and strained and lacking its normal prideful song.
“Carlos,” he began again. “It’s mom. She-uh- she OD’d earlier this morning.” Tim shook his head solemnly.
It all seemed to slow down after that, like Curly was swimming in molasses. His thoughts sped through his mind like wildfire, questions galore.
If they had known it would end up like this, would they have loved a little longer? Would they have ate dinner as a family more often? Would they have hugged each other a little tighter?
“It was bound to happen sooner or later,” he huffed before walking back to his and Tim’s shared room. He was running away and he knew it. He didn’t care, not then anyway.
His mother had always been the strongest woman he ever knew. She handled life on the East side better than anyone he had ever known. She was vigorous and so so polite. He remembered the way her dark, silky curls would shine during the day. She had always smelled like the sun to him.
Curly walked back into his room, sitting on the edge of his bed quietly. He suddenly took notice of how different his house was compared to when he was a kid, although they hadn’t moved. There were dents in the walls. Not a single thing on his side of the room was clean. Old cigarettes sat in an ashtray on the table between his bed and Tim’s. Empty beer cans filled a trash can near the door. His mattress was old and his bed was creaky. ‘What a real great life,’ was all he could think.
A knock on the door brought him from his thoughts slowly. Dull eyes looked up to see Tim leaning against the doorframe. His eyebrows furrowed at his younger brother, lips pulled into a tight line.
“You okay?” Tim asked hesitantly. Curly nodded, humming quietly. It was pointless, though, and he knew it. Tim stepped forward, eyes scanning Curly.
“I ain’t gonna judge you for cryin’, y’know.”
But Curly didn’t want to cry. That’s how he knew. He had lost his mother a long time ago.
Tim sighed, sitting down next to Curly. Angela followed shyly, eyes red and glistening. She sniffled and took the seat next to him. A tense silence hung over the three.
Curly placed his hand on Angela’s knee silently and she laid her head on his shoulder. His jaw tensed at the feeling.
“There’s no escapin’ it, is there?”
Tim’s eyes flickered to Curly quickly.
“Escapin’ what?” He asked. Curly sighed.
“Is that how we’re gonna end up, too?”
Angela lifted her head up, shaking it slowly.
“No way,” she scoffed. “Not me, not you guys.”
Curly remembered the way Angela used to admire their mother. She always wanted to be exactly like her.
“Nah, we’ll be alright,” Tim smacked Curly’s back. “We’ve got each other.”
Angela nodded in agreement. She managed a grin.
Curly turned his head when he felt Tim’s strong hand rest on his shoulder. His older brother looked at him with sincere, genuine eyes.
“I’m here, kid. I ain’t goin anywhere.”
“I’m here too, Curls.”
Curly nodded slowly.
“Yeah, alright.”