She shouldn't be alive, she knew that. She shouldn't be as sane as she was, she knew that. She also knew her mother shouldn't leave her alone as often or as frequently as she did. She also knew that her stomach growling nearly constantly wasn't right either, but she couldn't do anything about it.
Her mother hadn't wanted her, that much was apparent in the way she spoke to her and treated her. She rarely remembered her name, most often calling her a variation of it. She was surprised she had made it as far into life as she had, since she was lucky to eat once a week. She knew from the whispers she had heard that her mother had fed her and cared for her for the first year of her life out of necessity only, and as soon as she was old enough to walk and talk had dumped her wherever she could so that she could run off and do whatever it was she did. She had vague memories of hazy smoke filled rooms, men much older than her mother touching her where she shouldn't be touched, and hiding from police more than once.
At age five she had been given the best gift ever, at least in her eyes. Her mother stopped dropping her off with "friends" and left her home alone. Granted, their dingy apartment was in one of the worst areas of Toontown, but it was still better than the drug and sex dens she had known her whole life. She took care of herself the best she could, eating whatever she could find that wasn't rotten, teaching herself to read and write, and even managing some Toon Theory from some of the few talented Toons she encountered.
It definitely wasn't ideal, nor happy, but she knew nothing else. By age six she had learned that when her mother did drop by, which was maybe once every week or two, that she'd better be nonexistent, because if she wasn't it would result in a few punches, kicks, or whatever else the woman deemed suitable punishment. She often wished she had a real family, one that loved her and took care of her, but she quickly learned dreams were worthless. She was born to be a punching bag, and to exist in the hell that was life.
Max sighed as she changed her baby brother's diaper. That life, while horrible, seemed like a faraway dream compared to her life now. When she had been twelve her mother had managed to get herself pregnant, resulting in her three year old baby sister. The same thing had happened when she was fifteen, which was why she was now changing her eleven month old baby brother. As she had expected, with each pregnancy her mother would inevitably have the kid and then disappear, leaving her to care for her younger siblings. It had been so much easier when she was an only child. At least then she wasn't responsible for two children, only herself, and she had been doing that for nearly ten years by the time her sister had arrived.
Not that she'd wish her siblings away, she loved them dearly, but she was still technically a child herself. She barely found enough to feed herself, and when her sister had been added to the mix she'd had to resort to stealing to make sure she could feed her. It had gotten even harder after her brother had joined them, and she'd eventually given up and gone to an animator. After a "special" payment, she had been redrawn enough so that when she so chose she could create milk to feed her infant brother. It had hurt, and it had cost her her innocence. But she didn't regret it. She'd done far worse to make sure her brother and sister had food and clothes.
It had almost been a blessing to gain employment at the Ink and Paint Club, a nightclub known for its all-Toon performers and, in the shadier circles, it's not-so-legal prostitution of female performers. By that point she would have done anything, including theft and assault, to ensure some form of income. She was snapped out of her thoughts by a small voice calling for her.
"Mama?" Mallie, her little sister, called.
Max sighed again, hanging her head. If she had a nickel for every time she'd told her sister she wasn't her mother they'd be rich.
"Sissy, Mallie, I'm Sissy," she automatically corrected, though she knew she was wasting her breath. "What's wrong?"
"I'm hungry."
"I know, sweetie," Max said, lifting her brother off the table, "but we can't get groceries until after work, okay?"
Unluckily for her, it wasn't one of the weeks their mother tried to play mommy and brought them some groceries, and her previous paycheck was well beyond spent.
"Mamamama," Marcus babbled, already picking up on his sister's name for Max.
"How much longer?" Mallie whined.
"Not long," Max promised, glancing at the clock and doing a double take when she noticed the time, her eyes doing the classic toon enlargement. "Shit," she swore under her breath. "Make that now. Come on, kiddo. Get your coat or I'm gonna be late for work."
Thoughts running a mile a minute, Max desperately tried to corral her siblings and simultaneously lock up their apartment. Head spinning as she chased her sister down the stairs and ignored her brother's tugging of her hair, she rushed off to work, praying that the night would go quickly.