I woke up only to feel a nagging pain to my chest. Then I remember what had happened. Why am I not dead? Where am I? Where is Connor and Murphy? A diverse amount of questions where scattering through my head. I wanted to get up and get to a phone or to look around but every time I moved it felt like another bullet was being submerged into my chest. I wanted to cry but I didn't. I didn't want to feel weak. Now, more than ever, was not the time to feel weak. I felt angry more than anything. Angry and my father for what he did to his own daughter. I mean I was trying to kill him but without the agonizing pain. He was still my father and I still have a heart. Even after all the affliction he's caused me. I looked around only to see a cheap motel room. The wallpaper was starting to peel and mold, there was a small kitchen the size of a king-sized bed with only a coffee pot that most likely doesn't work. I tried to get up ignoring the pain that would slash at my chest. I kept walking trying to get to the fridge to see if there was any water. I open the fridge only to have a disintegrating smell hit my face. "That's fucking gross." I say as I look at all the food that was rotting in the inside of the fridge. I slam the door shut and walk to the sink. I turned it on and tried to bend town as much as possible to sip the water falling out of the faucet. Before I finished I heard the motel door slam open. I turn to see Murphy and an old man walk in. The same old man that has been trying to kill us. I jumped back in confusion. "Hey now love. You're okay." The old man says walking up to me. Connor walks out of the bathroom. "Fuck. We've got a lot of explaining to do aye. Freya this is our father." I looked up at him and was lost for words. "I'm glade you're awake though." He said. He gave me a sly kiss on the forehead and then grabbed some clothes, then he disappeared behind the bathroom door to change. "What? Then why the fuck was he trying to fucking kill us?" I scream. "That was all a misunderstanding." The old man says walking up to me. "I'm Il Duce." He says grabbing my hand and kissing it, very gentlemen like. "What the fuck are you even doin' up? Ya need rest lay the fuck down." Murph says walking up to me and playfully hitting me on the shoulder. "Fuck you don't tell me what to do." I say as I proceed to do exactly as he told me. I tried to lay down and go back to sleep but thought kept appearing in my head. About my father and my life before I get caught up with to Irish fuck tards. I started to get used to the thought of my father being dead and me running away with Connor and having the cliché happy ending. But the more I thought about the more I realized that's never going to work out. Especially now that we have their father back in the picture. Even if we did kill my father the happy ending I want won't be exactly happy or the end. I will have to live in fear and always be looking over my shoulder of what might come next in my life. Although I wanted to kill my father and end this and leave with Connor and never come back to Boston, that's never going to happen. Murphy would always be there, by his brother's side twenty-four seven. I'm not complaining, Murphy is like a brother to me, I wouldn't wish him to ever leave. Whenever I imagined myself with Connor I always see Murphy right next to us. Being the guy I have known to love. I looked at the time and realized I spent over an hour trapped inside my thoughts. I looked over and saw Connor had slipped in next to me and had already fallen asleep. I noticed Duce was sitting in a chair reading a book. He was very proper for a killer. Always seemed respectful and is constantly keeping good posture. "We will kill your father. For that is gods mission for us, and we shall never flounder gods mission. For that is our duty and we shall overcome it." He says getting up and shutting off the light. Once the room was dark and quiet it was easy for me to nod off.
*SORRY IF THIS CHAPTER WAS BAD OR HAS SOME STRUGGLES. I HAD TO REWRITE IT BECAUSE IT DELETED AND I WAS RUSHING. I TRIED MY BEST HOPE YOU ENJOYED!*
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Patron Saints //completed// #wattys2018
Fanfiction"Metaphors are dangerous. Love begins with a Metaphor. Which is to say, love begins at the point when a women enters her first word into our poetic memory." (A Boondock Saints fanfic)
