"Have you finished training, mija?" my mum asks as I walk into the living room where she and my father are sitting.
"Sì, mami," I chuckle, plopping onto the couch beside them. A normal assassin family, huh?
"Did you do well?" my father asks sternly. "She's been training all day, leave her alone," my mum whispers to him as if I can't hear.
"Alright, fine. Mija, your food is in the microwave. Come and join us," he says and a smile forms on my face after hearing his word.
I'm only sixteen and I train for hours. Sometimes I think he forgets that. He always sets high expectations for me. He wants straight A's but wants me to train 24/7? It doesn't make sense.
But with all of that, he loves me. He wants the best for me. He just doesn't know how to show it.
My smile falters when I see a red dot pointed at my mother's heart. Before I can warn her, a bullet goes through the window and hits her.
I scream and try to run to her but my father pulls me back and hides me behind the couch.
"You need to go," he whispers to me and I shake my head as tears roll down my cheeks. "I can't leave," I mumble.
"Yes, you can. Leave, mija," he assures me but I don't respond, just stare at my mother's lifeless body. "Now!"
My eye swung open and I immediately sit up on my bed after hearing my floorboard creak. A nightmare and an intruder? Yay.
I grab my gun that's strapped under my bedside table and stand up, tip-toeing out of my room.
Let's just hope this is Isiah, considering I'm in plaid pyjama pants and a blacktop. Oh, and the fact that I don't want to be killed.
I make a left turn in my hallway and I see a man standing there with a gun in his hands, aimed at me.
"You can just knock, you know that, right?" I ask, taking a step towards the stranger. "Oh, well," he shrugs, his Russian accent rolling off his tongue.
Without warning, we both shoot each other. I aim at his head, while he poorly aims at my shoulder. Fuck.
My red lights activate and an alarm starts to echo throughout the house. Now my house is under attack, great.
All of a sudden, I feel a hit on my lips, making me stumble and not even a second later, I'm being hovered by a stranger on the floor.
I turn my head to see that my gun is just out of my reach. "You're dead," the person chuckles, his hands tightly around my throat.
He has nice rings on- not the fucking time, Ivory, you're being choked. Kinky- again, not the time.
I struggle in his firm grip as I try to reach for my gun and once I'm able to grab it, I smash it beside his head, causing him to fall unconscious beside me.
I sit up, gasping for air. The Russians are here. Fuck. Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.
Despite the pain, I force myself up and I enter my room once again, and step into my closet. I grab my assault rifle and slowly slip out of my room.
An assault rifle and a pistol? I think I'll be good. Maybe. Eh, I'm a pessimist, I don't have much hope.
But as soon as I step out, a person pins me onto the wall. Really? Why is my luck this bad? I think I got the evil eye or something.
"Obsessed much?" I mutter out tiredly. His arm is on my collarbone, pressing right into my bullet wound. It hurts so fucking much. No shit. I need to shut up.
"I wouldn't say obsessed," the girl chuckles but before she can do anything, I bash my head onto hers and she stumbles back.
"Ouch," I mumble, rubbing my head, "how did that hurt you more than it hurt me?"
Ignoring my words, she lunges me but I duck. "Missed, loser." She tries again but having enough, I shoot her in the heart.
"She's up there!" I hear people yell as jog downstairs. Really? Just as I'm going down the stairs?
"How have you guys been," I laugh awkwardly, rubbing the back of my head. What am I meant to do? Offer them vodka and crumpets?
"You're cornered, Ivory," one smirks. No fucking shit, bro.
"Uh- adios, amigos," with that, I run back upstairs but one of them still manages to shoot me. Luckily, the bullet just skimmed my ankle.
Swiftly, I slip into my room, grab my Skyline car keys, and open the window. If I accidentally die while jumping off, at least the Russians can blame my death of suicide.
Ouch, dark humour at its finest. Kinda reminds me of that one scene in Home Alone.
Ignoring my annoying ass thoughts, I carefully step onto the window sill and look down at the high drop.
Maybe having high ceilings isn't a good thing considering I'm only on the second floor and the ground is far.
Carefully, I try my best to keep my body on the floor and my balance still so I don't fall to my bloody death as I move to the other side of the house.
I quickly stop once I hear their voices and look around the corner to see one of them sticking their head outside the window, trying to look for me. Not the best time to say this, but he looks stupid right now.
"She's fucking gone," he snaps, slamming the window close. Damn, you shot me twice, punched me, and you're gonna break my window?
I jump onto my greenhouse, smearing my blood all over the glass as get off, jumping onto the grass. I feel like I'm rapunzel or some shit.
I practically limp to my car and once I'm inside it, I immediately drive out of the driveway. Revs fill my ears and normally I would think that's a good thing, but they can hear it due to its loudness
Bloody hell. Why did I modify it to be that loud? And furthermore, to spit out flames? Okay, I can't lie, it's pretty nice though.
My eyelids slowly start to shut despite my efforts to keep them open. I need to go somewhere. But where?
***
I slow down in front of the giant gate, rolling down my windows. "Let her in," one of the guards say and the gates open.
Once I'm in, I badly park my car and immediately get out, knocking on the doors. Please be awake at three in the morning.
I knock again and the door finally swings open, revealing Kylian in just sweatpants.
"Ivory-" he starts but shuts himself up once he sees me practically covered in blood. "Am I still hot?" I force out a laugh and before I can fall, he catches me in his arms.
"I've got you, darling," he chuckles. "Don't drop me," I warn as my eyelids start to close. "I can't promise that," he jokes.
I feel him gently laying me down on a couch. "Stay awake, Rory," he mumbles and my eyes swing open. "Pfft- I'm awake." Yeah, that was a lie.
I watch tiredly as he kneels down beside me. "Take this," he hands me two pills and I swallow them. And without water? Damn, I'm cool.
"This is gonna hurt, love," he warns, holding up a needle with a string between it. Stitches, yay.
"I can handle it," I state it as if it's the obvious and he laughs quietly, sticking the needle through the gunshot wound in my shoulder.
"I can't feel anything but I can feel something, you know?" I slur out, looking down at him. "It's the drugs, Rory," he mutters, trying to concentrate.
"You gave me drugs," I gasp. "Meth? Coco?" I list, trying to think of all the drugs possible. What a bad friend. Giving me drugs 'n all. I can't believe him.
"I think you mean cocaine," he chuckles. "Uh, no. It's Coco," I scoff. "You're right," he agrees, "it is Coco." Hmm, what I thought. I'm always right.
"Now you're high on drugs," he sighs under his breath. What does he mean? I'm not high. I'm literally on the couch.
I wince just as he's down and he quickly backs away. "I thought you said it didn't hurt, Rory," he groans. "It doesn't," I grin. It's fun messing around with him.
"Where else did you get hurt?" he asks and I point to my ankle. "What are my injuries, Dr. Mbappé?" I question as he gently rolls my pants up enough to see my wound.
"Mbappé?" he furrows his eyebrows. "Mhm. Kylian Mbappé," I tell him, "You know, I thought you were just a footballer but turns out you're also a doctor. Woah."
"What happened, Rory?" he asks, going back to his serious state as he cleans my wound. Well, he's moody.
"It starts with me waking up from a horrifying nightmare," I say in a dramatic tone. "I hear a suspicious noise, so I grab my gun and go investigate."
"I see a guy, he sees me. Then boom, we both shoot each other. He's dead, I'm alive. Dun dun dun," I drag out the letter n, "To be continued."
"Ivory," he warns. "What?" I innocently ask. "What happens next?" he scoffs, clearly having enough of me.
"Ask Netflix," I shrug and he glances up at me with a concerned look. "I'm seriously questioning your sanity, Rory," he mumbles.
"Me too, Mbappé," I exaggeratedly sigh, "me too." At least I have a footballer as my doctor. Imagine how cool that is. I don't even have to imagine, a footballer is my doctor.
"I love you," I blurt out and his eyes widen at my words. Who doesn't love Kylian Mbappé? He's amazing.
"I love your best friend too. Can you hook me up with Neymar? Pretty please?" I look at him with hopeful eyes. I should ask Isiah to find out Neymar's number for me.
"No, I'm way better, duh," he rolls his eye playfully. "Have you seen my penalty kicks?"
"Rashford is the best though," I nod my head slowly and he laughs at my statement. "It used to be Ronaldo. But after that match? Rashy definitely."
"I think you should go to sleep now," he chuckles, wrapping a bandage around my ankle. "But it's devil's hour." Everyone knows you can't go to sleep on devils hour.
Does it look like I want to be possessed in my basement like that girl in the conjuring? She floated in the air and everything. And he says I'm high.
He leans in closer to me, brushing his thumb over the cut on my lip. "I think your lips are fine, just needs a butterfly plaster," he mutters.
"A kiss might make them better?" I offer and his eyes slowly widen at my suggestion. What? I thought it was a pretty good idea.
"You hate me, you don't know what you're saying," he says, clearing his throat as he stands up.
"Hmm, whatever, I'm tired now," I murmur, resting my forehead on his chest. He pulls me up on my feet and holds me still from falling.
"Let's get you to bed then, yeah?" Before I can reply, he grabs my hand and guides me upstairs, into a room.
"Okay," he says sternly, sitting me on the bed, "go to sleep now, you need rest." Pfft- no I don't. I bet I can stay awake for like... a week.
"Can you stay?" I ask and he furrows his eyebrows at my question. "There's probably a Russian hiding under the bed, you know?"
He stifles his laughter. "You're going to regret saying that when you remember everything in the morning."
"Eh, whatever," I mumble, getting under the covers. "Good night, Mbappé."
"Night, Rory," he holds back his smile as he walks out of the room, at last. I just met Kylian Mbappé and I didn't ask for a picture? Fuck.
she's acting so childish it's hilarious
bro 😭😭
anyway, thank you @fictionhoe for giving me this idea
ive been listing to the intro of Stan - Eminem for hours straight, im not kidding, my brother came in and was like "ur still listening to that? its been hours"
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