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Game Over
chapter forty nine
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TW:
mentions of attempted suicide.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE LEAVING?" Alan sighed heavily, his breath materializing between them in the cold air. She stared at him incredulously. "Monica just tried to fucking kill herself and you're leaving?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. After everything that happened, how could he just leave? "I have to," he tried to reason with her, attempting to take her hand into his own. She ripped her hand away with a scoff. "No, you don't. You can say no, you're just scared to!" Her voice shook with intensity. She hugged her arms around her torso, trying to fight off the cold air around them. "You know why." His eyes were pleading for her not to get mad. "Baby..." She turned away from him, kicking the loose gravel on the sidewalk. "Go, then," she told him. "Just go." He didn't want to. If he had a say, he'd stay until they were asked to leave. He'd much rather try to console everyone than abandon them in their time of need, but he couldn't stay. "I love you."
She fought back her tears. She had been so wound up the moment she saw Monica. She was so scared of what would happen when she unraveled. "Stay with them tonight, okay?" She waved him off. She knew that if she turned around and looked at him, she'd crumple and fall apart. "I'll text you." She listened to his departing footsteps. She stood there for a good while after he left. She tried to focus on the cold air around her, on her breathing, or on steadying her heartbeat. However, she was starting to unravel little by little. Her eyes snapped down at the red stain on her shirt and on her skin. The sight made her skin crawl. "Fuck," she gasped out, taking the shirt and digging her fingernails into the dried substance. The sound of footsteps approaching her dragged her out of her daze.
"What the fuck happened to you?" She looked up to find Lip standing there, ripping off the blue gown he wore over her clothes. "What are you doing here?" she asked him, confusion evident on her features. He tossed the gown into the trash along with the ripped video tape and crossed the small distance between them. Instantly, he grabbed her wrists to inspect her stained hands. "Are you hurt?" he asked. "Why the fuck are you standing outside? You don't even have a jacket!" He turned over her hands. They were ice cold. "It's not my blood," she told him with a shaky exhale. His brows pinched together, blue eyes peering at her with confusion. "Lip, I know you don't like Monica. She did some fucked up shit and I understand why you don't want to forgive her." He shook his head, blinking. "What does she have to do with this?" he asked, interrupting her.
"Monica tried to kill herself." She hadn't meant for it to come out so bluntly. She had wanted to ease him into the news. There was no telling how he'd react. "She what?" His voice grew small. His hands held hers tighter between his own. She took a small step forward, sighing to herself. "It's her blood," she whispered. His mind began to race with different thoughts. They were growing so loud, echoing in his skull, pounding in his ears. Slowly, he pulled her into him and wrapped her into his arms. She could feel his breath on the top of her head where he pressed his nose. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled against his shirt. "There was so much blood and everybody was in shock. I thought she was going to die. I didn't know what to do."
She buried her face into his chest, willing back her tears. It wasn't her mother. She should be the one consoling him, or any other one of his siblings. "Oh, God. I sound like an asshole." He squeezed her tighter, burying his face into her hair. "You helped her. That makes you a hero," he whispered, his hand running along the spanse of her back. She drew in the scent of sterilization off of him. It wasn't as comforting as she had thought. "What are you doin here?" she asked him, pulling away enough that their eyes could meet. His jaw tensed for a moment before he let out a soft sigh. "It wasn't mine," he answered. "The baby. It was Asian." Her eyebrows rose in surprise, a soft noise passing her parted lips.
"Damn," she sighed. Her reaction was enough to get a smile out of the boy regardless of how shitty he currently felt. "What are you going to do now?" The question felt loaded. What could he do? He had given up everything to be a proper father to the kid, even if he wasn't going to be the one taking care of the little guy. She now stood at his side, his arm still resting around her waist, her own snaked around his torso. They began to walk the sidewalk, leaving the hospital behind them. He heaved a big sigh, his breath materializing in front of him. "Wait," he began, changing the subject, "does this mean I won the game?" She looked over at him in disbelief. "No!" she exclaimed defensively. "Technically speaking, there was never a restriction for me. So, I won." She squeezed his side with a slight laugh. "That sounds very sexist. Only I was given restrictions. Hm."
He tugged her closer into his side, a bright smile on his features. "You fell in love with someone..." He cleared the tension from his throat. "Therefore, you were disqualified. You literally can't sleep with anyone else." She couldn't argue no matter how badly she wanted to. She knew he was right. "Fifty dollars, huh?" He nodded his head with a proud smirk, one that used to make her weak at the knees. She snorted in amusement. "You cheated," she announced. "I don't know how, but I know you did." He tugged her closer once more and pressed a big, wet kiss to her cheek. She let out a loud laugh, shocked by his act of affection.
"I can't believe you're getting married," he told her, his thumb hooking into one of her belt loops. She filled her cheeks with air, shaking her head with agreement. "Do you remember when we were younger and Ian, me, and you decided to just get our first kiss over with?" She felt her cheeks grow warm. "You were a terrible kisser," she admitted. "Ian at least didn't try to stick his tongue in my mouth." Lip grimaced at the memory. She had bitten his tongue the moment he tried to wiggle it into her mouth. He almost cried. "That's how they kissed in porn." She laughed in disbelief at the boy. "What? Don't act like you never watched it." Her eyes rolled skyward at his accusation. "I didn't need porn to help me get off, thank you. I had my J-14 posters."
"About the last time..." He looked down at the sidewalk under their feet. "I'm sorry. I let myself get carried away emotionally. You know, I'm not that big of an asshole. And I should've respected you more." Seeing him in this new light, hearing his apology, it made her heart flutter. She glanced over at him with soft eyes, her heart thrumming in her throat. "It's just that I don't want to lose you. And I know that once you're married... it'll be over for us." Her brows pinched curiously. She hurriedly shook her head, fingers tightening in his shirt. "What are you talking about? Why would it be over?" She didn't like how pessimistic he was being. He smiled sarcastically. His hands were itching to hold her closer. "I love you, you know? It took me a while to realize it, but– Fuck, Phoebe. Seeing you with him? It pisses me off. It pisses me off so bad that I want to punch the guy. But I know he makes you happy, so I don't."
"You– You actually love me?" She stopped walking, wide eyes looking up at him. She never thought she'd hear him say those words in the way she had wanted him to. He scoffed. "Of course I do," he told her. "You're the person I want to be with. Not Karen, not Mandy. I want you." He grabbed her cheeks. It was shocking to feel how cold her cheeks were compared to his palms. She immediately grabbed his wrists. "Does that even make a difference?" His voice grew softer, eyes sparkling with emotion. She drew in a shaky breath. Once again, she felt that familiar burn behind her eyes. Her thumbs caressed the inside of his wrists as she bit down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering. His heart broke at the sight.
"I love you," she croaked out. "I'll always love you, Lip..." He felt a familiar pang in his chest. "But?" She reached a hand behind his head and brought his head closer to hers. Their foreheads pressed together. "I can't," she whispered. "If we were meant to be together, we wouldn't have gone through all of the shit we did." He agreed to an extent. A part of him believed that it happened to help strengthen their relationship, though he figured that was just blind optimism. "You don't want to... to try at least?" Her tongue darted across her cracked lips to wet them. She shook her head, screwing her eyes closed to hide the tears that escaped. "We can't." He ran a thumb across her cheekbone, hoping his touch was comforting in any way. He wasn't going to argue with her. He was willing to do anything for her at that point. He just wanted her to be happy. "I'm so sorry," she cried. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. I'm sorry that I was so blind to it."
He shushed her, absorbing her into his arms. He let her cry. It was the least he could do. After all, she was his best friend.
—
A soft knock sounded at the door. Confused, she stood to her feet and approached her front door. After she twisted the deadbolt, she pulled open the door. Her eyes widened upon spotting the younger girl standing outside, covered in dried blood. "Phoebe? Oh, my God." The brunette stared back at the last person she thought she would go to. The composure she had been clutching onto began to dwindle the moment her mother looked at her with worry. "It's not mine," she explained shakily. Tears began to pelt down her cheeks, leaving behind crystal trails. Millie's heart had skipped a beat upon seeing her. Hurriedly, she ushered the young girl into her home. "You're freezing," she gasped. "Here, I've got the heater on. Let's get you in front of it."
"I'm sorry for just showing up," Phoebe croaked out. Millie shook her head, waving off the apology. "Just sit. I'm going to get you some warm tea and a blanket, okay?" The teen nodded her head, melting at the warmth that flooded her senses. She brought her knees up to her chest, ignoring the ugly, red stains there. "I have some pajamas that might fit you." Soon enough, a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders. "The kettle just has to heat up. Do you want a change of clothes?" Phoebe did want to get out of these clothes and throw away the reminder of what happened, but declined the offer with a shake of her head. Her eyes closed as the warmth hit her face, drying her tears.
Millie wasn't sure what to do in this situation. She had never been approached by someone covered in blood that they claimed wasn't their own. Had she killed someone? Was she in an accident? She stood a foot or so behind the girl, anxiously trying to figure out how to ask her about it. She wrung her hand out in front of her nervously. "Do you... Do you want to talk about it?" Her voice was gentle, surprising even herself. Phoebe hugged the blanket tighter around herself. How was she supposed to explain this all? It sounded crazy even to her and she was there to witness it happen. She felt how warm Monica's blood was on her hands. She felt the split in her skin under her palms. Her struggling breaths echoed in her head even hours after. She drew in her own shaky breath, pinching at the blanket around her shoulders.
"Monica Gallagher tried to kill herself," she whispered. "We were all eating. Frank was cutting the turkey when she slit both of her wrists. There was so much blood." Millie's stomach lurched. Slowly, she sunk down to the floor beside Phoebe, her eyes not once holding any emotion but sympathy. She ran a hand over the girl's back. "Everyone else was so shocked... So I tried to help. I tried to stop the bleeding, but the cuts were so deep. It was all over the floor, on my clothes. It was so warm and sticky." She didn't realize she had started rubbing her hands against her shirt again. The feeling remained long after she had wiped it away. "That must have been so scary," Millie stated lightly.
"I thought she was going to die," Phoebe whispered, voice tight. "I thought that she was going to die right there in front of me. She was just gasping for air, panicking, and I couldn't calm her down." She grimaced at the warm feeling behind her eyes. Her body felt as if it was full of static. "I felt so useless. I was freaking out instead of being calm. I probably did more harm than good." Millie frowned. She brushed back Phoebe's hair in an attempt at comforting her. "You jumped right into action. You probably saved her life, Phoebe." Her fingers scraped through the girl's hair with ease. "You did the right thing." Phoebe scratched at the dried blood on the knee of her jeans. It flaked off under her fingernails. Tears trickled down her cheeks involuntarily.
Monica's body was always there in her subconscious. She couldn't get the sight, the smell, the feel of it out of her head. She ran her hands over her face to rid herself of her tears. Suddenly, the kettle began to whistle from the kitchen. "I'll be right back," Millie whispered, smoothing down the girl's hair. Phoebe nodded her head silently. She ran her hands through her hair, scratching at her scalp with her fingertips."Fuck," she whispered to herself. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Millie filling her a mug with scalding water and a tea bag. She felt so selfish coming here rather than consoling the Gallagher's. She wasn't the one who saw her mother bleeding profusely on their kitchen floor, and yet she was seeking comfort from someone else.
"Hey, Mill," she called out, turning completely to face her mother in the kitchen. Her head snapped up at the nickname. "I think I might head out. I should probably see how they're doing. They're probably... I don't know." Her legs hurt as she stood. She felt so lightheaded. She peeled the blanket off of her and began to fold it. "Do you want to take a shower first, get a change of clothes?" Phoebe stumbled toward the couch. Her brain felt like it was vibrating against her skull. "No, no. I should go." She tossed the blanket back onto the couch with a heavy sigh. "Phoebe, you're really pale. I think you need to sit down."
She tried to blink away the black spots in her vision. "I can't," she sighed. She clutched at her aching chest with a grimace. Millie raced from the kitchen and grabbed her daughter by her elbow. Finally, Phoebe collapsed into her mother's side. Broken sobs echoed in the silent room. "They're probably so scared," she cried out. "I'm such a bad fucking friend." Millie helped her sit, holding her tightly to her side. "No," she argued. "No, you're not. They'll understand." She felt sick to her stomach. Why did life have to turn out this way?
from rumi . . .
y'all i know i keep repeating myself
but i really cannot believe how close
we are to finishing this book?? like i
am in absolute shock and am really
close to mourning. :)
how did you guys like the chapter?
what's your favorite part?
the beginning with lip. i mean, i
love anything that has to do with
them. but this felt like closure, like
they were finally at that point where
they know its not going to happen (im
trying not to cry tbh).
don't forget to vote + comment!