You do not have to read this first book to read this one! - There are a lot of dad/mafia series, so if this seems similar to yours then message me for credit.
Words: 3.3k
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This is a filler chapter! nothing important happens and it's not that well written. I apologize.
"I don't want to!" Rosie screamed, her voice hitting the four walls before bouncing straight back to smack you in the face- wet, red lips parting between yells. "No Mommy!"
She thrashed around, the brown bear in one hand as she tried to fight you off with the other. You weren't doing anything bad, merely trying to get the girl to get dressed and ready for the day but she had refused, wrapping the duvet around her waist and burying herself beneath your sheets.
"Roo, sweetheart, C'mon." You coaxed, trying to tug away the sheets only for her to grip them harder, little curls remaining covered by the cotton. "It's getting late."
You were always a firm believer in gentle parenting, never once raising your hand or your voice louder than necessary for that matter- maybe it was because you, yourself were afraid of loud noises and sudden physical contact so the thought of putting your daughter through the same thing was never a thought you had to think twice about.
So instead of blowing up at the defying child you sighed and swore that if your hair was out of the tight ponytail then you would've run a hand through it and tugged at the roots.
"I'm not going." She growls, voice muffled as she hugged the bear to her chest and without a second though you rip back the sheets, exposing the little girl.
The shirt she wore was one of yours- much too big for the four-year-old and made her look like a Christmas present, wrapped up from head to toe. She wore a pout to match, eyes hazy and almost teary as she stared up at you, toes peeking out of the shirt as she stretched.
"Why don't you want to go?" You sit down, your pajamas tightening as you do so and Rosie shuffles away, a hard glare on her features and you can't help but think about how much she acted like her father. She had his attitude, that was for sure.
"I don't like it there." She mumbles into the bear, sticking her tongue out of her mouth when she feels something fuzzy on her tongue. "Grandad's mean," Rosie whispers.
You knew your father was never able to connect with kids- he simply didn't know what they liked and once allowed Rosie to watch the purge much to your dismay instead of something kid friendly like Spongebob, Adventure time at most. It wasn't that he didn't like Rosie, he adored the girl but over time had forgotten how to look after a child and considering he'd sent you away for a period of your life- he had little experience in the first place.
She had nightmares for weeks after that, poking her head out between the curtains every day to check for people in masks- practically turning her room into a safe zone, toddler legs collecting stuffies and her favorite outfits and locking them away where the bad guys couldn't find them.
"He's not mean he's just... grumpy." You admit, reaching over to try and grab the little girl but she only moves way further, pretty much near the other side of the bed now and you swore that if she moved any further she'd fall right off. "What if I said we weren't going today?"
"What?" She perks up, the bear that she previously held in her hand now rolling off of the bed with a thud.
"What if I said that we have somewhere else to go." You hint, realizing that there wasn't going to be an easy way to get her in the car without telling a portion of the truth.
"Where?" Rosie's stubbornness was muffled by her thumb that she stuck between her teeth making you scowl but not say anything. She was in a bad enough mood and the tear streaks that stained her face were proof of it.
"It's a surprise."
You smile thinking about where you were planning to drag your girl too- a place she'd been begging you to take her too for months especially after seeing the advertisements on the television.
"Promise it's not grandads?" She sticks a little pinky out and you take it without hesitation, giving the pinky a little squeeze before pulling away. You try to ignore her saliva that touches your palm, remembering that you'd had worse in the past.
"Promise." You smile and Rosie crawls over- you almost let out a sigh of relief seeing the girl drift further away from the edge of the bed.
"Now," You start. Finally being able to reach her, you toy with the curls that sat on top of her head- some hanging freely and some tangled between others. "We need to sort out these curls."
"Cut them o-"
"No!"
-
The therapist stared the small girl down. Little brown curls littered her forehead like springs as she fiddled with the teddy bear in her hands. It was a little bit tattered at the edges, a certain spot of fur matted together but it was the little blue bear that she'd had since birth, the one that hid at the bottom of her junior school bag because she refused to go to school without it... some days. Some days she preferred the small, white and slightly creepy looking elephant.
Her hands. Red, raw, bloody. Your own daughter, falling apart right before your very eyes.
"Rosie?" The therapist asks, trying to come to eye level with your daughter but it was difficult. Despite her blabbering on about how independent (without actually using that word) and brave she is, she struggled to even look into the eyes of a stranger.
"Rose?" You whisper, bobbing your knee up and down to get the small girls attention. "Can you talk to the lady please?"
"I don't want to be here." She mumbles, bottom lip falling into a pout. "I wanna go home. Mom- I'd rather be at grandads." She grumbles the last sentance, eyes falling hard and sharp.
You take one of her hands in your own, thumb gently running over the little pink and white hello kitty band-aids. She doesn't seem to notice, looking at the pile of kids toys that sat in the corner of the room.
"Harper just wants to help you like she helps me." You try to prevent your voice from shaking and almost fail too if it weren't for a quick side eye from the therapist. "She's nice, sweetheart."
Your daughter was never difficult, on edge definitely and you partially blamed yourself. She'd been bought up seeing you hide in a shell both of your old self and one of pure fear and terror, merely smiling and sometimes not even leaving the bed. On those days your daughter would lay next to you, a rerun of teen titans or how to train your dragon on Netflix. She surely heard your screams in the very middle of the night and saw you freak out whenever she was too loud.
"No, mum." Your daughter looks up, her glassy eyes finally off of the teddy bear. She begins wriggling around in your arms, the small girl grunting as she fails down your lap. "I wanna play with the toys."
You were unsure but eventually sigh, letting her go. The four old jumps down, little legs making their way towards what children would call 'Heaven'. There were lego pieces and board games and the odd Rubix cube but your attention was directed towards her little hands, the size of a large tomato but that didn't worry you, what did was the fact that her hands were the color of one.
The therapist coughs gently, leaning forward in her seat. "So, from what you've shown me I definitely see signs."
You weren't surprised, not even batting an eyelash. "What can we do from here?" You ask, foot tapping gently against the carpeted floor, a nervous habit.
"There's nothing you really can do, neither can I considering her age. Rosie is young, this could easily just be a phase." She almost shrugs it off casually, black glasses slipping down her nose and she was quick to shove them up again, eyelashes hitting the frames.
"So you just want me to-" You begin, with no success.
"You can bandage them, give her toys to play with and keep her nails short but that's about it for now-"
"You want me to let my daughter keep doing this to herself? To sit back and watch?" You feel your eyes prickle and Rosie seems to ignore your sudden outburst. Either she was listening carefully as she often did, focusing despite your knowledge or she was completely oblivious, focusing purely on the game pieces.
A wave of anger washes over you, as well as fear and guilt. The system was screwed up, sure, but you didn't know how bad until then and there. Your hands trembled, afraid that you couldn't stop this, you couldn't be the mother Rosie needed.
"There is nothing I can do. I'm sorry, I know it must be hard but you can help, even just by talking to her about what she's doing." She pushes her glasses back up her nose once more, blue eyes boring into your own.
You grit your teeth, hands clenching around the arms of the chairs. If you gripped them any harder you fear the wood breaking off, snapping beneath your fingertips and causing a magnitude of splinters.
Rosie listens, wondering why the two adults were talking about her while she was in the room. The little girl was notorious for picking up things she shouldn't and at that moment she was trying to decipher what they were saying and why her mum looked like she was about to cry.
Her chubby fingers toy with a Rubix cube and while she had no idea what she was doing, she adored the bright colors. However, they clashed with the pink and white that decorated her hands. The hello kitty ones were her favorite, definitely better than the wiggles band-aids that'd been forced on her last week by the teachers at school.
What was wrong with her?
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You were filled with anger and on the drive, lip between your teeth as you chewed absentmindedly, thinking about just how screwed up everything was. Rosie sat in the back with a pot of half eaten yogurt in one hand, a lollipop placed firmly between her teeth as she tried to balance the two without a care in the world- her cheeks flushed red.
The little dress Rosie wore ended just below her knees, she wore a layer of purple cotton beneath a white, fluffy jersey that you'd admit was a little hard to get her into. It took great patience to get her into that- a mere tantrum on her side.
Maybe taking her to a therapist at four wasn't the best idea but you needed to know what was happening and why she was doing the things she was- but the results seemed almost hopeless.
"This isn't home?" she mutters, looking around the window with wide, beady eyes. You shake your head knowing that she probably wasn't watching you- but your ever so curious daughter was most likely trying to work out where you were. You bring the car to a halt, eight letters right in front of the vehicle and you wait for-
The little girl gasps, almost knocking the roof of the car as she jumped out of the car seat the moment the engine was turned off, earning a small telling off from you. The bobby pins you'd placed neatly in her hair now slipping causing strands to fall out and she kicked her legs back and forth, thuds audible as she hit the car.
Roo couldn't read yet, but she knew this place by heart now.
"Am I getting a puppy?" She practically bounced up and down in her seat, the tub of yogurt she'd previously been eating now close to becoming spilled all over the middle seat.
You choked on your coffee, placing the reusable flask into the cup holder and turning to the girl with wide eyes as you tried to cough the liquid that stung the back of your throat back up. It was the same question every time you pulled up but it still gave you a fright.
"Nope, no puppy- not today."
She grumbled, releasing a puff and you knew that today wasn't a good day for her, her moods seemed all over the place. One second Rosie was smiling from ear to ear and the next she was sulking in her car seat. You collected her from the booster seat, placing her on the concrete and telling her to stay still for a moment.
Rosie grabbed your hand before you were even able to lock the car, pulling you into the store with a grip unlike anything else and headed to the kittens- before racing to the rabbits not even giving the kittens a second glance as she saw a rabbit with jet black fur. Her eyes had watered, a little pout on her lips that you weren't falling for this time- You had to scoop her up in your arms, little giggles spewing from Rosie's lips and anyone could easily see that the little girl was in heaven.
"Fish!" She cheered, seeing the hundreds of fish ranging from big to small- orange to black and blue swimming laps around the tanks. "Mama I want a fish!"
Usually, you'd tell her that maybe next time you could look at getting a pet- that the house wasn't properly equipped for one or that you didn't know how to look after it but something had changed. Maybe it was the way she babbled on about how cute each and every one of them were, naming the hundreds of individuals in the tank or because of the fact that Tom was back and you were slowly caving in once again.
A part of you- a small part, hidden beneath false confidence was afraid that Tom coming back was purely a bad thing, that he was going to take her away from you. It was your way of smothering her, trying to hold on to what you could before it was taken away.
"Okay, okay." You mutter, asking yourself just how hard it must be to look after a goldfish. "We can get a fish."
"I want that one." Rosie presses a chubby finger against the glass making the fish scatter in fright but her eyes remain on the goldfish that swam to the very back of the tank, a white splotch on the back of its tale. "Mama, I want the one at the back."
You had seen the fish she was pointing at and admittedly the thing stuck out like a sore thumb considering it was one of the smallest in the tank. The fish zigzagged between others, never stopping once and Rosie's eyes stayed trained on it, as well as a pointed finger.
"Are you sure?" You ask, glancing at the tens of other options in that specific tank. "We need to get a tank and food too..." You think.
"I want to name him Peter." She smiles, little teeth peeking through her parted lips as the fish swam closer to her finger, poking around in the weeds. "He suits it" Her words came out slightly jumbled but you were still able to understand the four-year-old.
"Peter?" Rosie nods, curls bouncing in their hold. "Peter it is then."
Rosie's smile was easily infectious, it could cheer you up even on your worst of days.
The little girl walked out of the pet store that day with a plastic bag in hand, tightly blown and filled with cool water to keep the fish alive. She was careful not to walk too fast or shake the bag- not wanting to hurt her new friend whom of which she'd already named and demanded that he was a he.
You smiled, already seeing her connecting to the animal- already glad that you weren't the only person she spoke to outside of kindergarten. She babbled away, excited to make the goldfish a part of her room.
"-Coral's cool too." You buckle Rosie in, making sure the bag was situated between her legs, her little fingers grasping it correctly so it wouldn't spill whilst you drove. "He can be mean at first- but he's cool. You can sit on my drawers." She stops her babbling. "Mama?" Rosie looks up from the fish for a moment and you hum, taking another sip of your coffee that was now cold. "Can he stay in my room?"
You start the ignition, the vehicle beginning to buzz. "Maybe."
"Peter will be lonely at night otherwise. I don't want him to be lonely." She thinks.
Your heart swells at the words and for a moment you have to thank whoever's listening for the pure-hearted girl that sat behind you in a booster seat, holding the bag carefully so that the fish wouldn't get dizzy as you drove. She sneezed lightly- immediately checking to make sure that the fish was okay before looking back out of the window.
In your head, you already had a list of things to do and at the very top was to text Tom, no matter how much you wanted to avoid the topic and continue to pretend that he simply hadn't come back and wasn't a possible threat.
You wanted to pretend that he hadn't looked as good as he did in that outfit, arms bigger then they were five years ago practically hugging the suit and curls much more defined. You would've done anything to forget that his eyes didn't shine even in the ladies room- possibly going on for miles without end and that his voice didn't (somehow) seem deeper.
Maybe you were in denial about it all- after five years Rosie had become your daughter and technically she was yours, but she was also his and slowly, she was about to find that out.
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Toms' fists hit the bag again and again to the point where he saw his fists would be bleeding beneath the gloves, already bruised knuckles growing a deep shade of sickly blue and purple.
He was seeing red, but wasn't he always? Tom always thought that that was just a saying- something people said to try and describe the anger they felt but he swore that everywhere he looked he saw a deep, crimson red from the blood that stained his knuckles, the red wine he sipped vigorously at events hoping that if he drunk enough he'd zone out and they'd go faster to the walls in his office.
Tom preferred the walls the maroon shade to the old color. He found it more threatening. But now the punching bag too- the new one they had to put in after the last one tore.
Tom saw red everywhere he turned and while it was a rather sensual color, one he used to adore seeing you in especially when it came to lace garments and bright, hot rubies, Tom now found himself relating the shade to pain.
He ignored the sharp pains in his fists drawing all the way up to his shoulders, sweat long forming on his brow and curls hanging over his face and continued his brutal assault on the bag. For some, boxing was a release, it allowed them to let out their frustrations but not for Tom, exactly. With every punch he found himself growing angrier. He found himself pretending that the bag was Aiden- someone he was dying to get his hands on and quite frankly didn't know why he was waiting to do so.
He was trying to prevent himself from acting on impulse- from doing something stupid that'd push you further away and right now felt as if he was walking on glass, but glass that already had cracks and shards missing. He walked on his tippy toes, afraid that with the wrong step he could end up with a bloody foot or falling through at worse. It was all a metaphor for how he was feeling, of course, more so how things were with you.
Maybe it was jealousy that flooded his veins as well as a frustration that he'd been pushing to the back of his mind. It was a wild concoction of the two and everyone knows that jealousy and frustration don't go well together. Tom wasn't one to sit around and wait, taking the things he wanted with open arms but now he felt like a puppy that had been kicked into the very corner of the darkest room.
I don't want no one to know I'm vulnerable; why?
That makes me feel weak and so uncomfortable; why?
The mobster almost missed his phone ringing as his ears pounded, ringing with every hit. NF's 'Why' drowned out the sound of his covered fists against the bag and his anger drowning out anything else. But he felt it vibrate, the low buzz in his back pocket but only just.
He peeled off one of the gloves, sighing as his aching fist was released from it's confines and ignored the splotches of crimson red blood, pretty much used to it by now. He pulled his phone out with one hand, expecting it to be Sam or Harry, maybe even his mother.
Y/N: Tomorrow, 1pm. Sid's cafe.
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