When it was time to pick colleges, I had my sights set on some outstanding out-of-state schools. However, Mom had other plans and kept me local.

She used to teach at the elementary school back home but quit to move near my college, all so my brother could go to a fancy high school.

They made me come home every weekend to clean and cook because he was boarding there.

Then, with him on a break, she had me coming back every day to cook.

On the weekends, my roommate was always buzzing with excitement, either hitting the town for some fun or catching extra sleep in our dorm. Whenever they were itching for a shopping spree, a little charm went a long way with their parents.

Me? I was juggling part-time gigs to scrape together cash for tuition and living expenses, and then I was back home playing nanny to my kid brother.

People who did not know any better thought I was the child my parents had been hoping for.

In reality, I know better—I was born Brian.

Mom, even the teacher, worried about the stigma of playing favorites with her kids, did not want to be caught giving boys the edge. So, she dubbed me Brianna.

Even before my younger brother was born, she always called me Brian. After Zane was born, she switched back to calling me by my full name.

Zane, with a name like Gene, a nod to our family's legacy.

The memory of today's prescription bill and the wince on Mom's face was still fresh in my mind.

Maybe, just maybe, my so-called 'adorable little brother' actually did me a solid at that time and helped me cut ties with that bloodsucking household for good.

Since my brother Zane bailed on school, he had been holed up at home, glued to video games.

Every day when I walked through the door, his gaming would blast through the house, peppered with shouts and curses that I would not believe could come from a 15-year-old.

I crank up the language lessons in my earbuds to block out the noise, pretending to be nothing more than a clock-punching worker bee.

Once the cooking and cleaning were done, it was a mad dash back to campus.

My roommates got the picture. They felt for me, but there was not much they could do. Still, my desk mysteriously collected little snacks and essentials, courtesy of their quiet support.

I made a mental note of every act of kindness, promising myself that when I finally broke free, I would pay it back double.

Mom, however, totally bought into the idea that her son was battling some heavy-duty depression.

She could not fathom that he might have been blinding her with lies. After all, why would her precious baby boy lash out with such toxic words if he were not truly ill?

"I'm at my wit's end, Mom! Do you even care if I'm alive, or are you actually my mom? What's the big deal with me playing games? It's the only thing I'm into right now. Do you want me to just stop caring about everything and give up on life?"

Every time Mom told Zane to take a break and get some fresh air, he lashed out with curse words and trashed the house like a tornado.

Mom blamed all of that on the medication not being good enough.

"Brianna, the doctor says it's bad, like really bad. Your brother needs this fancy imported medicine that's gonna set us back a hundred bucks a month. You have to pick up more shifts. From now on, his medicine is on you."

I had heard this spiel more times than I could count, in this life and the previous life.

Months of summer gigs and the college fund I hustled for got hijacked by Zane for his shiny new computer.

I had been busting my hump day and night, living on free white bread, just to scrape by with tuition. Meanwhile, Zane was relaxing with the air conditioner, gaming and guzzling Cola, while I was out there roasting in a mascot suit, handing out flyers, dreaming of a meal with more than two vegetables.

The sting of it all faded in seconds, and I steadied myself. That was the break I had been waiting for.

"Look, Mom, I've got classes all day and dinner's on me at night. I can't be working all the time. I'll clean on the weekends, but I'm going to snag a night job, try to rake in some extra cash for better meds for the kid. We have to get him back on his feet, right?"

"You're just trying to weasel out of chores, you lazy bum!" Mom snapped back, but she was stuck. Ever since she left her teaching gig back home, she's been scraping by as a supermarket cashier in the city, barely making 200 to 300 a month.

Zane's spending was like a black hole for my paycheck, and the only thing keeping us afloat was the settlement money from Dad's accident at work.

However, even though I was busting my tail at a part-time job to pay for Zane's meds, Mom played it super safe—she kept my ID card under lock and key.

Since I started college, she would only hand it over when necessary, then snatch it back like it was made of gold. She was terrified I would bolt, leave them to drown in their sea of troubles.

However, I was not going anywhere. I was just waiting for my shot, and it looked like it had finally arrived.