When One Door Closes, Another Opens and All That Shit

A/N: This story will be told in 4 parts, each from a different perspective, followed by an epilogue.

Chapter 1: Mandy

Mandy woke up to the muffled sound of the Jeopardy theme song coming from the living room. She tried to lift her head up, but it was too heavy. Her brain rattled around in her skull, her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She sank back into her pillow, the faded smell of sweat and smoke filling her nostrils, as her energy seeped out of her pores and left her empty. Lately she didn't have the strength to do anything, not even that one, tiny thing. Her days had all tumbled into one to the point where she couldn't separate one day from the next and all she wanted to do was sleep again–fade into a world where her life was different–escaping to a place where she felt safe and happy. Mandy rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes a sliver. She blinked until her eyes could make out shapes in the darkness. The space beside her was still empty, cold and untouched. She let out a breath, weak and wheezy even to her own ears and her eyelids slid shut again, of their own accord.

"Please don't..." she whispered. Her voice was coarse from lack of use and her face was covered in a mixture of tears and caked on make-up. Her hair was a greasy, tangled mess and she couldn't remember the last time she'd showered. She scratched at the skin on her arm, blue veins looking dark against her skin, pale and cold. She wiped her nose against the heel of her hand and watched in horror from her side of the bed as Spencer tore the drawers open and threw his clothes into a black, oversized garbage bag, stray socks and underwear falling to the ground.

He looked up at her, his eyes cold and hard, and laughed with malice thick in his throat. Mandy flinched and cowered slightly into the mattress, trying to cover her face as his expression hardened.

"You're such a dumb fucking bitch," he spat, the bag gripped tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white as he pointed a finger at her, sharp and accusing. He inched closer to her face and Mandy couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out you used it all yourself?"

She tried to get up, tried to stop him from leaving, but she couldn't move. She tried to cry out to him and tell him that she was sorry and please, stay, but her mouth wouldn't move. Her limbs felt as heavy as boulders and her eyes felt too tired. The heroin was still in her system, coursing through her veins, and even though the euphoria had worn off an hour ago, she could still feel it–could feel the itching beneath her skin as her body began to crave it once again and she still didn't have the energy to leave the bed.

Spencer watched her struggle and shook his head at her, his top lip tugging into a sneer as he bit out the word "pathetic," under his breath, his teeth clenched.

She could feel tears on her face as she lay there, curled in on herself, but her mind was blank as she watched him finish bagging his things and leave the room. She heard him slam the front door of the Milkovich house and felt the vibrations shudder the walls around her. She lay there, unblinking, as the dark silhouette of her daughter peered into her bedroom from the hallway.

Ally slowly crept towards the bed, her tiny frame looking drowned under an old skull-and-crossbones t-shirt of Mickey's, and she sat beside Mandy. She put her little hand on Mandy's cheek and ran her thumb across Mandy's pimpled skin as she wiped away the tears that were still running.

"Don't cry, Mommy. I'll take care of you..."

Mandy opened her mouth and tried to form words, but none came out. Instead, she shut her eyes and willed the tears to stop.

Spencer had left over a month ago, but each time she woke up, she would tell herself it was just a dream–that he hadn't really left. She would open her eyes and really expect him to be right there, looking back at her with his big, hazel eyes, making her feel safe and loved and less alone. He had come into her life when she had needed him most–when she'd been lonely, struggling and broke. Spencer had provided her with everything she had ever needed, no matter what anyone else thought.

Mandy had been doing overnights at the club for four months before Spencer started working the door. Until then she had sought affection from where she could get it, but nobody had truly held her attention. It was raining the first night she saw him. He was standing at the entrance to the club and he had smiled at her when he saw her, his eyes friendly and his grin wide. Mandy's skirt was soaked through, clinging to her thighs, and her hair was a long tangle of wet locks. Even though her eyeliner had begun to smudge, she smiled at him as he waved her through the door and for the first time in a long time she felt butterflies as he ran his eyes over her. Spencer was like nobody she had ever seen before. She found herself searching for him on her breaks during the club, trying to catch a glimpse of him. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with olive skin that complemented his dark brown hair and muscles that threatened to stretch out his black 'Security' v-neck; she was instantly drawn to him. She hadn't dated anyone since Ally was born–she never had the time–but now that Mickey was back in the house, she felt like she finally had a touch of freedom.

That night she found herself taking cigarette breaks every hour, searching him out and making sure to stand where Spencer would have the perfect view of her ass in the tight, black mini-skirt that all of the girls were required to wear. By the time the sky darkened and the customers started to flow in, the rain had cleared up and the air was warm, which suited her just fine since all she had on was the skirt and a white tank-top, sans bra. He always smiled whenever he caught her eye and she found herself smiling back. His eyes would linger and Mandy did everything to keep his attention, bending down as seductively as she knew how, picking up the lighter that had conveniently 'dropped' to the ground. When she stood back up and looked over at Spencer, he was biting his lip, his eyes trailing up her body and she felt a smile pull at her lips and had to turn away from him as it grew wider, a warm, happy buzz spreading through her body.

"Damn, girl," he let out a low whistle and laid a hand over his stomach, bunching the fabric of his shirt between his fingers and Mandy looked back at him, grinning in what felt like triumph. Catcalls and whistles were something she usually found herself rolling her eyes at, thinking of construction workers on the street eyeballing her and making her skin prickle in disgust, but not with Spencer. Spencer's attention only made her feel great. As she walked by him to once again re-enter the club, she made sure to brush up against him, goose bumps forming on her skin as he brushed his hand over her hip.

In the nights that followed, Mandy found herself looking forward to work. Conversations with Spencer were kept short, asking for a light or asking for him to tuck in the tag of her jacket. Every time they touched–his hand cupping over hers to light her cigarette, his fingers ghosting over the skin of her neck, she felt herself smiling, electricity crackling under her skin. It wasn't long before Spencer began walking her to the El after closing, and inviting her home with him not much longer after that.

Being with Spencer was like nothing Mandy had ever experienced. He was always on the move, he had huge plans for his future and he would talk to her for hours. He treated her like no one else in her life ever had–he made Mandy feel like a princess–taking her out to dinner and introducing her to his friends, sometimes even picking her up for work. In the beginning, he didn't even mind that she had a daughter.

A couple of weeks after they got to know each other, Mandy went out for her hourly cigarette. She was worked up, frustrated from the old, rich guys of the North Side thinking it was okay to perv over her while looking down on her. The temperature had soared and Mandy's clothes were sticking uncomfortably to her skin, her hair matting to her forehead, slick with sweat.

She got to the doorway and Spencer was standing with another guy, their heads bent close, their shoulders hunched together. She called out his name and both men lifted their heads up, startled. The guy made a quick exit, pocketing a handful of money. Spencer's head whipped around to face her, eyes wide before his lips turned up into his most charming grin. His smile grew at the sight of the frustrated look on her face and Mandy felt her bad mood soothe at the sight of him.

"Babe, you look like you could use a pick-me-up."

Her eyebrows rose in confusion and Spencer ran his tongue over his bottom lip before grabbing her hand and pulling her into the bathroom. She laughed as he tugged her into one of the cubicles, slamming the door shut behind them. He pushed her against the stall door, enveloping her as he leant in and kissed her, his teeth raking over her lips. Mandy couldn't catch her breath as her heart beat wildly in her chest. Her fingers curled into his shirt and he ground his hips into hers before he pulled his head away. She leaned back in to kiss him, but he arched his neck away, still smiling at her, and that's when she noticed it: his pupils were blown; his smile was too bright. She smirked as she pulled him into her once again, her long fingers reaching into the pocket of his trousers, fishing out a small white baggie before she dangled it in front of him. His hand was on her hip, holding tight enough to leave a mark and he was grinning at her, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip.

"You going to join me up here?" he asked, dipping his head to her throat, biting down over the point of her pulse and her heart began to beat even harder in her chest. She looked at him, a sinking feeling in her stomach and she suddenly doubted everything, but then he smiled at her. That same smile that had drawn her in in the first place, the smile that made her feel like the only girl in the world and all doubts were shoved from her mind. She pulled open the baggie and scooped out some of the powder onto her pinky finger, hesitating for only a second before she brought it to her nose and sniffed.

Spencer kissed his way back up to her mouth and Mandy couldn't stop smiling. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything was great. The noise of the nightclub, the worries of bills and rent and raising a daughter all slipped away from her as she pulled Spencer in closer to her.

Her mind buzzed with the coke in her system and her skin tingled as Spencer's hand snaked higher up her skirt and Mandy felt, for the first time ever, like she could conquer the world.

The door to her bedroom creaked open and Mandy opened her eyes as Ally walked in with a plate and a glass of water. Mandy tried to sit up, to speak, to move, to do anything at all, but she couldn't bring herself to do anything. Ally knelt on the floor beside her and placed the glass on the bedside table, the sound too loud to Mandy's ears. She picked up the piece of toast and pressed it to Mandy's dry, cracked lips.

"Try to eat, Mommy," she urged. "You needa eat somethin' or you'll get sick again."

Mandy could smell the contents before Ally even brought it into her line of sight. She stench of the burnt bread combined with too much butter overwhelmed her and made her stomach churn. Mandy turned her head away from the food so that she was staring at the ceiling. The paint was peeling from years of water damage. She got lost in the brown, circular stains...

"You didn't eat anythin' today…" Ally whispered, persistent to a fault. "Please…?"

It was really late (or really early, depending on how you looked at it) when Mandy and Spencer walked into her house. Mickey was sitting on the couch watching TV, and since Mandy didn't see Ally around, she assumed that the girl was asleep in Mickey's bed again.

Mickey glared at Spencer as they walked past him and into her bedroom.

"I don't like the way your brother keeps lookin' at me–like he wants to start shit."

"That's how Mickey looks at everyone," she explained with a smile, pushing him down onto the bed. She kissed him, starting at his neck and moving down the rest of his body. Spencer's grievances with Mickey were forgotten for the time being.

"Jesus! Close the damn door!" Mickey said in disgust on his way to the bathroom. "Nobody wants to see that shit!"

In the heat of the moment, they'd forgotten that they weren't exactly alone in the house.

Spencer shoved Mandy off of him, voice escalating. "Mind your own fucking business or I will knock your teeth down your Goddamn throat."

"Baby, relax…" Mandy cooed in an effort to diffuse the situation. She reached for his hand but he batted her away.

"Don't tell me to fucking relax!" Shouting now, Spencer got up off the bed and moved towards Mickey, who'd stopped in his tracks once Mandy's boyfriend had threatened him. Mickey cracked his knuckles in anticipation.

They boys got in each other's space and stared each other down. The fact that Spencer towered over Mickey did nothing to lessen her brother's intimidating presence. Mandy wanted to intervene but she was stuck, mesmerized by the tension that had grown so suddenly to the point where she could feel it in the air. It reminded her of what it was like growing up in their house‒the same, endless tension had been ever-present back when Terry was living there, her family always on the verge of exploding into chaos.

A cry from Mickey's bedroom rang out like the clanging chimes of a bell in the silence. Their shouting had woken Ally up.

"Of course the fucking brat has to wake up. Just perfect," Spencer muttered. He grabbed his shirt off the bed and put it back on over his head. "I'm out." And he left.

"Nice choice there, Mands. Real classy."

She scowled at Mickey. "What the fuck is your problem? Why do you have to go and ruin everything for me?"

"Is that what you think I'm doing here? Ruining things?" He rubbed his bottom lip with the side of his thumb. "You know what? How 'bout you fucking take care of your own kid tonight?"

He walked out, leaving Mandy sitting alone on her bed.

A couple of minutes later, Ally walked in, favorite stuffed animal in tow. "Mommy's alone." She was perceptive for a three year-old. "No Spen-cer," she added, struggling to get his name right.

"No, baby. No Spencer."

"Ally sleep with Mommy," she said, climbing onto Mandy's bed. She snuggled up against Mandy and put the teddy bear between them. Mandy pulled the blanket over them and ran her fingers through Ally's straight, black hair until they both fell asleep.

Mandy managed to lift a hand and push Ally's offered toast away.

It took a lot of energy but she somehow got her voice to work. "Get out of here," she told Ally. Her voice cracked, breaking off into nothing more than a rasp. "You should be doing homework, not watching TV."

She didn't mean for it to sound cruel but that's how it came out. She didn't want her daughter to be a fuck-up like she was. She wanted her to have a future and an education, to be better than she ever was. That's what she had always wanted. Mandy cuddled into her pillow, clung to it as if it offered her comfort and tried not to think of all the ways that she had gone wrong.

She didn't start showing until she was five months along. She could handle the stares and the hushed gossip as she walked down the halls. She could deal with seeing "Mandy Skankovich" scribbled on the bathroom stalls. She could even cope with the girls she'd thought were her friends always getting quiet and ending their conversations when she entered the classroom. What she couldn't stand was the way everyone, including her teachers, looked down on her. Just because she was pregnant didn't mean she couldn't fucking learn like the rest of them. And who did they think they were? Fucking Gallaghers and Jacksons and Herkimers looking down on her? Judging her? Fuck that. She decided then that she would go back to school after Ally was born, no matter what. She would show them that she wasn't some stereotypical, poor, white-trash, pregnant teenager.

She would have a future.

She watched Ally exit the room with her head hung low, leaving the plate and the water behind.

She felt so alone. Everyone in her life had left her. Her friends, Spencer, her dad, her brothers, even Mickey. Especially Mickey.

She missed him so fucking much.

It was really easy in the beginning. All the baby did was eat, burp, shit and sleep. In fact, she was such a good baby that Mandy was able to go back to school while Mickey watched Ally during the day. It wasn't even expensive: they used Mandy's old baby clothes from the basement, breast-milk was free, and all the Milkoviches helped by stealing diapers, which Ally went through like there was no tomorrow.

That all changed one afternoon when Mandy came home and found Mickey's limp body slumped against the living room sofa. She could hear Ally crying from inside her bedroom, but ran to Mickey first to check if he was alive. His breaths were shallow and she fought to look at his face without gagging. He'd been beaten so badly that his eyes were swollen shut, purple hand-prints wrapped around his neck, and blood still seeping from open gashes along his brow, cheeks and lips.

"Mickey!" she shouted, pulling him up by his shoulders and shaking him to get his attention. "Mickey! Wake up!"

He started to stir.

"Oh, thank God! What the fuck happened?"

Mickey groaned out something unintelligible, and Mandy decided he was okay for the time being. She ran to her bedroom to soothe her screaming daughter. Ally was sitting up in the old, half-broken crib, banging her tiny little hands against the bars. Mandy picked up the little girl and cradled her in her arms. She reached into her shirt and popped out her boob.

"When was the last time you fed her?" she asked her brother accusingly once Ally had calmed down and latched on.

Mickey had stumbled to the bathroom was tentatively poking his face with the corner of a wet washcloth. He winced when he touched a particularly bloody cut.

"Dad came home 'round noon," he said, coughing. He spit blood and what Mandy was sure was a tooth into the sink.

"Fucking hell, Mickey. What'd you do to piss him off this time?"

Mickey glared at her but didn't answer her question. He went into his room and Mandy followed, still feeding Ally. Mickey dragged a duffel bag out from under his bed and started throwing random shit into it.

"What are you doing?"

He ignored her and continued packing clothes into the bag.

"Mickey, what the fuck are you doing?"

He sighed, let the bag go and finally looked her in the eye. "Mandy... I can't stay here anymore."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I would'a left months ago if it weren't for Ally anyway" he said. He reached out and touched the baby's head gently. She was only eight months old but her black hair was already long enough for Mandy to put little clips into it.

"Where the hell're you gonna go?"

He shook his head but she could tell he instantly regretted it by the way he grabbed his head and leaned against the dresser to regain his balance.

"I'll call you once I'm settled," he told her.

"Whatever..." she muttered as she stormed out of the room, the implications of his departure suddenly too much for her to deal with. If Mickey left, she would have to drop out...

She didn't wait to watch him leave. Ally needed a diaper change anyway. He left without saying goodbye.

She was alone again… but it hadn't always been that way.

She thought about the time right after Mickey left. Mandy had quickly learned the secret to keeping her dad from getting too plastered was keeping him happy with a steady supply of alcohol, that way, he wouldn't get angry enough to overdo it.

She would never forget how she had spent her days taking care of Ally and the rest of her family. She'd basically stepped into the role of being a "mom." She'd done everyone's laundry and had cooked their meals. Iggy and Joey were rarely home, opting to spend their nights with friends or girlfriends, respectively. She couldn't for the life of her believe that someone had actually wanted to date Joey, but she'd been glad that he was happy. If the only downside of Mickey leaving was that she didn't get to go to school, she'd told herself that she could survive. At least things at home had been decent‒she hadn't been completely alone: she still had Ally and her dad.

She recalled how everyone loved Ally: her brothers, her dad, even their neighbors and strangers at the store. She'd been such a good baby. She'd rarely cried and could keep herself more than entertained while Mandy cleaned the house or cooked. She had already been stringing words together before she turned one. She had been, and still was, brilliant when it came to using electronics; she could turn the TV on with her tiny, pudgy hands and change the channels until she found cartoons. All she had to do was watch Mandy do something once, and she would be able to do it on her own.

Mandy remembered how she'd gotten a call from Mickey on Ally's first birthday. He had refused to tell her where he was, but had said that he was safe and that he'd found a job that paid enough for rent, food and cigarettes, and that was all he needed. He'd given her his new cell number, and after many threats on Mandy's part, had promised to call her often… except he hadn't.

Around the time when Ally was eighteen months old, Terry had gotten caught violating his probation. He'd been unable to wriggle his way out of trouble with a false alibi or well-placed bribe and had been sent back to prison without a chance of parole. It hadn't taken long for Mandy to feel the affects of not having her dad home. The empty house was hard to get used to but it was secondary to the fact that the fridge and cupboards were quickly emptying.

Mandy grimaced at the memory of realizing that Terry had actually been useful for something, no matter how questionable the source of his income had been… Mandy had needed to get a job, but she couldn't do that with no one else at home to watch Ally. The silver lining to her dad being incarcerated yet again was that she'd called Mickey and pleaded with him to come back home.

He'd agreed, and Mandy would have been kidding herself if she'd thought for one minute that Mickey had returned for anyone other than Ally. He loved Ally more than he loved Snickers bars, beer and trashy daytime TV and that was saying a lot. Mickey had kept whatever job he'd gotten while he'd been away, but had watched Ally at nights so that Mandy could work too.

Mickey had stayed with them until Ally turned five‒the year she'd started using.

She missed her brothers. She missed Mickey. And sometimes, when she felt like this, alone and empty, she even missed Terry.

"Tell me who it is Mandy." Terry's voice came from outside her bedroom door, his words jumbled, blending together in his drunken state. His breathing was heavy enough that she could hear it from the other side of the door and her skin prickled at the sound. "Tell me and I'll pay him a visit with the boys." He hiccupped and she could hear the sound of a bottle clinking against her door. "Nobody messes wit' m'baby girl 'n gets away wi'it!" Terry slurred as he banged outside her bedroom door.

Mandy fought the urge to cry, a lump building like shards of glass in her throat; she didn't want her dad to see how much his words hurt. "I already told you who's baby this is," she said, hugging her knees tighter to her chest, her voice almost a whisper.

It wasn't the first time they were having this conversation, and it wouldn't be the last. Each time Terry got drunk enough to badger her about it, she would tell her dad the truth about the baby, but he wouldn't believe her. He would get furious and drink himself into such a stupor that he would forget again, the horror of what he'd done to his only daughter a lost memory in his alcohol-soaked brain.

She tried to sit up, her body sluggish as a pang of hunger struck her stomach. She managed to move upright, the collar of her sweater sliding down her shoulder, her eyes stinging as they adjusted to the light peeking in from her bedroom door where it had been left ajar. Her body physically ached and her stomach growled as she rooted through her purse. One last hit, she promised herself. It's just one time. She'd get clean tomorrow. It was her constant promise to herself, for her and for Ally. Always tomorrow.

"You can't keep fucking up and expect us to go on supporting you," Mickey griped for the hundredth time. "This coke shit has gotta stop." He waved the tiny bag he'd taken from her drawer in front of her face and pulled it away quickly when Mandy tried to snatch it back.

"You went through my things?" she shot back, outraged.

Disapproval was more than apparent on Mickey's face. "Don't change the fucking subject. We all agreed to ante up for the mortgage, and this is the third fucking time you've spent your share on this shit!" He tossed the baggie onto the ground in frustration and Mandy fell to her knees to grab it before Mickey could do any real damage.

She looked up at him once the bag was safely tucked into her pocket and felt a wave of guilt wash over her. "Okay!" she said, appeasingly. "Okay… Okay. I will. I'll stop tomorrow. I promise."

"Not fucking tomorrow, Mandy! Now! Today! You need to cut this shit out! I might have expected this from Iggy or Joey, but not from you…"

He sighed, making a visible effort to calm down. "I'm not dad and I'm not gonna tell you what to do. Fuck… We all use something or other once in a while... but ever since you started dating Spencer, it's like something's changed in you. You need to think about how what you do affects Ally!"

He continued talking and trying to reason with her but Mandy had lost it when he'd blamed Spencer. She hadn't heard anything else Mickey had said after that. The fight that followed was one of the worst ones she'd ever had with Mickey, and she would still see red every time she thought of it.

Emptying the contents of her purse onto the bed, she found nothing. Not even any pennies. She felt tears once again prick at her eyes as the pain in her stomach worsened. She pulled one knee to her chest and rocked gently, trying to ease it. She squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering as quietly as she could and tried to count down from ten; anything to distract herself.

She cried as she collapsed down onto the floor, rummaging through the stray clothes, half finished plates of food and tin foil wraps. She pulled out everything under her bed, yanked the drawers from the dresser, and she still came up with nothing. Not a penny. She dragged her hand over her face, wiping away snot and stray eyelashes still clumped together with mascara. She didn't even notice the mess she had made in her frantic search for cash. After all, she was a Milkovich: she was used to the constant disorder. It wasn't the best environment for a child, but fuck, the rest of them had survived, and so would Ally.

"I'm pregnant."

She hadn't planned on just spitting it out like that, but her brothers had been pressuring her to drink all night, and she was tired of coming up with excuses. Drinking while pregnant was definitely not something she was going to do. She wasn't going to fuck up her baby before it even had a chance in the world, despite the fact that it was going to be a Milkovich.

"What the fuck do you mean, 'you're pregnant'?" Mickey spat.

She avoided looking any of her brothers in the eye. "Exactly what it sounds like..."

"Who's the father?" Iggy shouted from the opposite side of the living room.

"That's none of your fucking business," Mandy shot back. It really wasn't anyone's business but hers, and she sure as hell wasn't going to tell her big-mouthed brothers anything they didn't need to know.

"You keepin' it?" The question came from Joey. She wasn't surprised that he'd ask her something like that. She glanced up at her brother and she could see the concern etched on his face, worries of having history repeating itself, worries of her fucking her kid up like their parents fucked them up. She folded her arms across her stomach and was silently thankful he hadn't put voice to his concern.

"You got six hundred bucks lying around?" That was how much Planned Parenthood had told her the abortion would cost when she'd called them a couple of days ago. Apparently the further along she was, the more expensive it got.

They were all quiet. She was fine with that. She had already decided to keep the baby.

"Better hide the guns now," Iggy teased, finally breaking the silence. "Don't want the kid getting all psycho on us too early!" He and Joey raised their beers in a quick toast before resuming their argument over which Ninja Turtle was the biggest bad-ass.

Mickey didn't join them in their debate. Instead, he carefully watched Mandy, deep in thought. She could tell he didn't think she'd be able to handle having a baby. She was going to prove him wrong. She would figure out a way to do it. She could do anything if she set her mind to it...

Mandy reached up onto the bed for her phone before she pulled herself up to sit with her back against the bed. Fingers shaking, she shut one eye as she tried to focus on the screen of her cell, the light too bright, too harsh, for her eyes that hadn't seen daylight in a while. She chewed on her lip, biting off some of the cracked skin between her teeth and she ran her long, skinny fingers over the outline of her face. Her cheekbones were more prominent than ever, the skin under her eyes felt paper thin and she could never seem to get warm anymore. She was always cold. The phone rang and rang in her ear and she only felt the lump in her throat loosen when he answered.

He cursed at her when she spoke, his voice gruff as if she'd woken him and for a moment she wondered what the time was, what the day was. She asked, pleaded, her voice weak and pathetic to her own ears, for him to come over and for a moment she thought she heard laughter in his voice as he told her he'd be there soon. But she didn't care. Because it was just one last time, she'd never have to deal with him after this. Just one more hit.

Mandy hung up, a cold, clammy sweat starting as she climbed back into her bed and sunk back into her mattress. The cramps clenched at her stomach and she tried taking several short breaths to ease them, but nothing worked. She rocked back and forth, back and forth, her fingers itching and a sinking feeling of uneasiness washing over her. Whimpering sounds were coming from somewhere and they sounded too loud in her ears. Her skin prickled and her clothes felt too heavy on her body. It took a while for her to realize that the whimpering sounds were coming from her.

As her moans of discomfort and her shaking became worse she thought she saw a small shadow in the doorway, wide, owlish eyes filled with worry blinking at her from behind her teddy bear.

"Go. Away," Mandy bit out and just before she buried her face to muffle her pained screams into the pillow she heard the pitter patter of footsteps as Ally ran back into the living room.

"Are you fucking crazy?" Spencer screamed into her face, spit hitting her cheeks as he grabbed hold of her by her thin, frail shoulders. He shook her as if to emphasize his point, but Mandy barely felt it, too lost in her thoughts. "What the fuck were you thinking letting your brothers go talk to Marcus?"

"I- I didn't know…" she could barely hear her own voice and Spencer looked at her with wide eyes, his eyebrows knitted together. His grip on her shoulders tightened.

"What?!" he screamed again, and Mandy tried not to flinch.

"I didn't know they were gonna go see him," Mandy said, voice a tiny fraction louder. She was still in shock, her mind numb. Still unable to process the entirety of what had just happened.

She had tried, she really had. She tried to stop using coke again, just like she had promised Mickey, but Spencer had come by the night before and put her struggles to waste. She had tried to resist, but her whole body itched for it, her head clouded with a desperate need for it and she had promised herself just one final blow out. She had promised herself it would all change tomorrow. She had gotten the call from Mickey just a few minutes before Spencer's arrival. She couldn't understand how he'd heard about it.

Mandy gaped at Spencer, eyes wide. "How… how did you know?"

Her brothers had tried to help her in the only way they knew how. Mickey and Iggy had gone to talk to Mandy's dealer behind her back, to try and reason with him. Mickey had told her that things had gone south, the dealers saw them as threats. Her brothers' presence had been mistaken for a power play by Terry and they weren't happy about it.

Iggy had been shot; it didn't look like he was going to make it.

Mandy looked up at Spencer, her eyes blank as Mickey's words still echoed in her ear. She wanted to cry, wanted to break down and just sob until everything bad went away. She wanted Iggy to be okay, she wanted Mickey to forgive her. She wanted a fix. Every nerve in her body trembled for a hit, her bones ached for it. An image of Iggy lying in a hospital bed filled her mind and she fought back a sob. Iggy was shot‒no, dying‒because of her… because they'd tried to fix her mistakes… because they'd tried to help her... Iggy had been shot because of her.

Her mouth fell open in realization, a strangled noise leaving her throat. The guilt hit her like a ten tonne truck and it was only Spencer's grip on her shoulders that stopped her from falling.

"Marcus just came by to see me. He was pissed, sayin' he had enough shit to deal with. Warned me that his dad didn't have time to waste on Milkovich trash."

He spat the words at her, his lips turned up in a sneer and she couldn't take it. Mandy fell to her knees, the guilt causing a physical ache in the pit of her stomach, the weight of what had happened finally weighing her down. Her body was shaking, the emotional pain expressing itself physically. She cried out but the scream was so deep that there was no sound. Iggy was dying. Spencer... she couldn't have him leave her too. She needed him. She reached out, tears blinding her vision, seeking help, searching for something or someone to fix it‒fix her. Her fingers met Spencer's leg and she practically clawed at it, straining for contact, pulling him closer, clinging to him. He was her liferaft in a tumultuous sea of pandemonium.

Spencer resisted, his muscles tensing beneath her hands and Mandy heard herself begging, pleading with him not to go, to stay, please. Her voice came out raw, choked out and thick with emotion. The guilt was drowning her and she needed him, needed Spencer to make her forget about all of it. He always helped her to forget. She felt him pull back from her and she sobbed, her hands reaching out for him. He knelt beside her and relief swam around in her brain, a harsh, happy feeling that she clung to in the same way a scared child clings to its mother, as the guilt threatened to take her under. He put a hand on her shoulder to let her feel that he was there, fingers stroking along the skin of her shoulder, sending energy that spread like electricity round her body from each spot his fingers made contact. That feeling was almost like a drug itself. She ran her hands along his shoulders, over the skin of his neck, anywhere she could reach and he pressed his fingers harder into her shoulder, murmuring promises to her, telling her it'll be okay, he'll make it okay. She tried to smile at him but she couldn't. She wiped away the tears and dug her fingers into the back of Spencer's neck as he tried to move; as if without him, without his physical presence, she would crumble. He shushed her comfortingly, stroking her hair as he pulled out of her grip.

"It's okay" he said quietly and she nodded, trying to calm her rapid breathing. She felt like a balloon was inflating in her chest, not leaving her with enough room to breathe, and she thought she finally understood what people meant when they talked about guilt eating away at you. She felt raw, as if she'd been ripped open, and all she wanted was for Spencer to sew her back together again. "I know what will help," he cooed softly into her ear, his fingers now tangled in her hair, scratching soothingly along the back of her scalp.

She sniffed, her eyes on him as he reached for something in his jacket pocket. He smiled at her, the charming smile that had won her over in the first place. The smile that made her think of stolen moments in bathroom cubicles and walks under the El. The smile that made her feel wanted, safe and protected from all the bad things in the world. He smiled and for a moment she felt like she could breathe again. Spencer pulled out what Mandy thought was a makeup bag, but as he unzipped it, she saw a long tube, metal spoon and lighter amongst its other contents.

She knew what it was that Spencer was offering her. She had grown up playing on floors littered with burnt spoons and used needles; she had spent days off of school playing the nurse to Mickey's injured patient; had performed pretend amputees with a long tube just like the one Spencer now held in his hands.

She knew what Spencer was offering her. Memories of her mother passed out on the couch formed in Mandy's mind, needle marks in her arm and looking more peaceful and happy than anyone had ever seen her, but Mandy was also struck with a gut-wrenching need to wash away her own guilt. She found herself begging Spencer to help her. "Yes baby, please…" she told him as he put the powder onto the spoon.

After a minute her stomach settled, became almost manageable and Mandy sobbed at how empty she suddenly felt. She cried out for her brother, her voice cracking as she punched her fist into the pillow. She missed him so fucking much. She missed all of them, but she knew that if they were here she would only send them away. She hated that anyone had to see her like this. Her body ached for a fix and all she could think of was her life before this.

Before drugs and before Spencer, when her house was a home filled with boys that smoked too much and made too much noise. It used to drive her crazy–the mess and the noise–but she wanted it now more than anything. She hated being alone, hated having nobody to wake up to, and she wished that Ally was enough. Ally should have been enough, but Mandy wasn't good at having somebody dependant on her. She needed looking after, she always had, and no one was around to do that anymore. Mandy had sent them all away and now she was all on her own.

As the pain and the cravings took ahold of her body it felt like it was ripping her from the inside out. Mandy hadn't had pains this intense since the day she gave birth on her bed all those years ago.

She didn't go to any check-ups or appointments. She told people that she wanted to do things the old fashioned way, like before they had all that fancy equipment. She told people It wasn't like they could afford a maternity ward room anyway... but the truth was she couldn't handle the constant questions about the father, the judgemental looks because of her age and people poking their noses into her business.

Her water broke when she got up to pee in the middle of the night, a twinge of pain spreading through her back like knives. None of the boys were home and her dad was still passed out on the couch. She tried to keep herself calm, focused on her breathing and trying to be quiet so that Terry wouldn't wake up. She whimpered through every contraction, leaning against the bathroom sink as she tried to breathe through them. She got a mop and wiped up the mess on the floor as best as she could, counting the minutes between her contractions like she had learned from a TV show on Bravo. She read online that it could be hours before the baby was ready to come, and that was no exaggeration. The next few hours were spent pacing around the house, leaning forward on whatever surface she could find and rocking back and forth whenever she felt a contraction coming.

Her hair was matted to her head and she was sweaty and flushed by the time Mickey came home. It was light out when he arrived and he had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept for weeks. Mickey freaked when he saw the state of Mandy holding herself up on the kitchen counter, her breathing erratic and her face contorted in pain. She yelled at him to help her and, stubbing his cigarette out on the wall, Mickey grabbed their shower curtain off its rod and set it on her bed, helping her walk over to it and then laying her down, making her as comfortable as he knew how.

With less than a minute between each contraction, Mickey held her hand, looking wild-eyed and scared as she gasped from the pain, her whole body seizing up every time another one hit. He practiced the quick breaths along with her and she cried out as the baby finally made her way into the world.

Everyone had told her that she would forget the pain of labor as soon as she held her baby in her arms. Whoever said that was a fucking liar. Mandy would never forget that feeling of her whole body seizing up during each contraction, one right after the other, barely having enough time to breathe before the next one hit. She would never forget that she actually felt herself tear open when the baby finally came out with one final push, or that she continued having contractions for the afterbirth even after Mickey had put the screaming, towel-wrapped, purple, sticky bundle on her chest.

Her pain eased as the baby–a girl, she realized–stretched, her mouth opening wide in a silent yawn.

"What are you gonna name her?" Mickey asked, after he came back from his room and covered her and the baby with his blanket. He'd already thrown away the filthy curtain and her dirty sheets and Mandy had never been more grateful to have him as her brother.

Mandy looked down at the now sleeping baby that was still nestled against her chest and she found herself smiling as exhaustion set in. She was physically and emotionally drained and tears escaped from her eyes as she stroked a finger against her daughter's cheek,

"Allison's a pretty name, don't you think? We can call her Ally."

As another wave of nausea and shakes passed, he finally arrived. Marcus Roselli. Mandy vaguely remembered meeting him when she was younger after helping her brothers steal a bunch of booze from where his dad Walter worked. The Roselli family owned a liquor distribution branch for all the local bars and–what the Milkovich brothers hadn't known at the time–they were a part of the mob. Mandy met him again through Spencer. He was a few years older than her and at first they had laughed over the memory of Mandy and her brothers being chucked out of the building by Marcus' dad, but when Mandy spiralled out of control and became more dependant on Spencer and drugs, their relationship changed.

He comforted her after Spencer left: gave her company when she needed it and drugs when she was feeling weak. Marcus knelt down beside her on the bed and he smiled at her as he stroked her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ears. She sat herself up, her whole body trembling and he smiled as he pulled up the sleeve of her sweater. "You're a mess, Mands."

Mandy nodded, her teeth clenched tightly as he wrapped the tube around her arm. She held her arm out for him, wrist limp and he perched on the edge of the bed as he cooked up her fix. "What are we going to do with you huh?"

She watched with a blank expression as Marcus loaded the needle. He flicked it and Mandy felt a drop of liquid fall onto her arm but she didn't have the energy to wipe it away.

"Ready?" he asked and Mandy nodded, scratching at her bare thigh, her feet twitching in anticipation. "Same payment as before?"

Mandy looked at him then, her eyes wide, and for a moment, just before he pushed the needle into her arm, she felt something like shame.

Mandy picked up the stick with shaking hands. Her period was more than a month late but she'd put off taking the test because she really believed something would change. She hoped beyond hope that this wasn't happening to her–that the embarrassment of being 15 and pregnant was going to be something she wouldn't actually have to experience–but as the timer rang and the two pink lines came into view, she closed her eyes and the tears slid down her face. She was pregnant.

As the drugs took effect, everything seemed to slow down around her. The heroin swam through her veins and Mandy felt her heart beat against her ribcage–felt the blood pump through her body, every sound amplified in her ears, but it didn't hurt like it did before. She felt alive! Like she could conquer the world; same as she felt all those years ago. Her limp frame slid down the headboard but she wasn't aware of anything other than the blissful feeling of the drugs taking over her body. When she was high like this, she felt closer to the Mandy she once was... the Mandy she had lost somewhere along the way. Every part of her felt on fire in the best possible way; euphoric. The cramps in her stomach gave way to butterflies–all the cobwebs and darkness inside of her being washed away. She felt light, clean and pure. She could see colours where she once saw just grey.

She sank further back into her mattress and felt a cold breeze on her stomach, replaced quickly by the feeling of warm, calloused hands that moved down her body, down her legs, stripping her of her clothes. She looked up at Marcus, barely seeing him, her eyes hooded. Her mouth opened and instead of words there was silence. Nothing came out no matter how hard she tried.

Euphoria took over her body completely, numbing her mind to everything around her. She could feel the weight of Marcus on top of her, but it was like he wasn't even there. In her mind she was 12 years old and running along the pier with her brothers, then she was five years old and sneaking into her mother's bedroom, being told fairy tales of princes and princesses and a life that she once believed she would have.

When she was high like this, she found it easy to tune out the noises around her, the grunts and moans above her, the lips on her neck and the fingers digging into her waist. Her head banged against the headboard, again and again as Marcus moved on top of her, panting and grabbing and Mandy just closed her eyes and shut down her brain, thinking of nothing at all. One last hit, she promised herself. One last hit.

She opened her eyes in time to see the bedroom door opening and somebody–Marcus, she thought–leaving through it. The feeling of happiness settled into her bones and she thought of Ally. Ally, her daughter, six years old and more beautiful than Mandy would ever be. Ally who smiled like the sun shone bright everyday, who held the universe inside of her and carried with her more forgiveness and more kindness than Mandy had ever seen in anybody. She thought of Ally in Mickey's old shirt that hung down to her knees, the sleeve chewed and ripped from Ally's teeth. Ally was a lot like her uncle Mickey, had grown up just like him: too tough and too smart too soon, but good. Ally was good. Mandy smiled at the thought as her eyes fell shut.

"Sure," she could hear Mickey saying, an echo of a conversation long ago. "We can call her Ally."