Post by FIONA ELIZABETH DONOGHUE on Jun 24, 2013 12:51:12 GMT -8
| [atrb=style,width: 420px; background-color: efefef; background-image: url(http://24.media.tumblr.com/0478144b9f16c95a37367d1aca56b45c/tumblr_mkfax8tDxp1s97ldco1_500.png); padding: 5px, bTable] FIONA E. DONOGHUE TWENTY-FIVE | HETERO | PERSONAL TRAINER | VISITOR | MATHILDA BERNMARK THE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF. Denial. "Bennett," she said, her voice cracking. No response. "Bennett, please, get up. This isn't funny. Get. Up." She sat on the floor beside him, moving his head into her lap. Placing a hand on his arm, she shook him roughly. "Bennett, get up." Even in the dim light, she could see the mottled purple of the bruises blossoming up and down her arms. Everything ached. She shook him harder, frowning. "Bennett!" She was shouting now, her brows furrowed as she shoved him, watching him land back on the driveway with a thud. "Sorry," she whispered, waiting for him to move and yell at her for treating him so roughly. He didn't. Dread had long ago formed in the pit of her stomach, churning and twisting, threatening to make her sick if she thought about it for too long. The back of her throat prickled, and she dry heaved, the taste of bile mixing with the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. He was just knocked out cold, that was all. The knife hadn't hit anything major. Wincing, she stood and dragged him up the steps, across the porch, and through her house, only stopping once she came to a bathroom. With a wince, she crouched down, gathering him up in her arms. It wasn't an easy feat, considering he was twice her size. It took everything out of her just to lift him high enough to clear the edge of the tub before carefully lowering him down to rest on the porcelain bottom, her breathing ragged as she tried to ignore the feeling that every single muscle was on fire. As she went to grab a clean towel, she ignored the blood that was now on her arms. It was probably hers, anyway, and she just hadn't noticed it before. Fiona placed the towel on the back of the toilet, pulled off her brother's shoes, and turned on the shower. Cold water. After a minute of him being unresponsive, she carefully climbed in, hovering over him with the shower head in hand. "God damnit, Bennett! Get the fuck up!" She sprayed his face, but nothing. She slapped him, and still nothing. The water around them was turning light pink, but she ignored it. A figure appeared in the doorway, and she turned to see Niamh, looking like some kind of... zombie. Probably still intoxicated. "He's not getting up, Fi." She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She looked at the reflection of the two of them in the mirror. His body was positioned unnaturally, and she looked like a madman, her hair falling out of it's braid, eyes wild, covered in bruises and scrapes. "You... you don't say that to me." Turning away, she shook the motionless form once again, ignoring the swaying girl standing not five feet away from her. "He's dead." She ignored it, spraying him again. "Come on, come on," she muttered. Niamh walked over calmly, kneeling by the tub as she reached over to open his shirt, displaying the wounds. "He couldn't have survived that." "Stop, Miamh." "Stop what? Face the facts, Fiona. He's dead. Grow up." In one swift motion, Fiona turned the shower nozzle on her younger sister, drenching her in cold water. "You shut the fuck up," she shouted, feeling the tears shake loose. "I'm not giving up on him like you've given up on yourself, damnit. He isn't dead. He's... he's fine." Niamh rolled her eyes and turned, walking out of the bathroom before poking her head back in. "I'll get the living room straightened up. The neighbors have no doubt called the cops. Get yourself cleaned up, you're a wreck." Anger. Revenge. That was all that she wanted, all that she needed, all that she craved. Every waking second of every day. It hadn't been Bennett's time. For Christ's sake, he shouldn't have even been at her house that night. He was twenty-nine, single. He'd had so much potential. He was going to have made a great father one day, she was certain of that. And then... these men just came in and changed everything. Local thugs who thought they were hot shit, they acted like they owned the night, like they could do whatever they wanted without having to deal with repercussions. The minute Bennett had proved them wrong, they'd attacked. Things had gotten out of hand. Bennett had lost his life. She didn't plan to kill any of them, but if it came to that, Fiona knew she'd be doing them a favor. They had no futures, nothing to live for, no one to love. They were the kind of men that Niamh attracted, the kind that she herself had always hated. Entitled. Leaning against a wall, she waited, watching her breath come out in white puffs in the cool Boston air. His body had been sent home to their parents in Dublin last week, where he'd be buried in the family plot. Twenty-nine years before he'd been unfairly ripped from this earth. Shaking her head, she examined her fingernails, checking her watch. Two thirty in the morning and they were still in that same bar, doing God knows what, drinking with a Devil-may-care attitude. She hoped they enjoyed it. What she really wanted was a cigarette, something she hadn't thought to bring along for the wait. A cacophony arose from across the street; they were out. Pushing a hand through her hair, she left the wall, her hands in the pockets of her jacket. She didn't need to fight all of them. Hell, she didn't care what happened to half of them. She only had a bone to pick with one of them. It didn't take long for her to identify the man that had stuck a knife in her brother, and she approached him, a smile on her face. With all the alcohol he'd consumed that night, about a month ago, she doubted he would remember her face. Given the smile he greeted her with, she was correct. "Hey," she said, brushing a hand against his arm. "You guys go ahead, I'll catch up." He stayed behind with her, talking to her, asking her questions like what her name was, what she did for a living, what she was doing out this late. When he tried to kiss her, she let him, following his lead as he backed her against the wall just beside the back door he'd just exited from. After that, it was all rather quick. She pulled back, smiled at him, tipped her head back, and brought it forward. Hard. She heard the crack of their foreheads connecting and shoved him off of her, sliding her right hand into her pocket once again. "That was for Bennett." Confusion clouded his face. "Bitch, are you insane?" She smiled, shaking her head. Fiona knew she wasn't. He started to get up, but once he was on his knees, she drew her right hand from her pocket, balled into a fist with an old pair of brass knuckles lodged firmly on her fingers. One blow to the nose, solid and fast. "That one, though, that was just for fun." He fell back, hands trying to staunch the blood. "You have a nice night, now." Turning on her heel, she started the walk back to her house. Whoever said revenged solved nothing was a damn liar. Bargaining. The church had always been there when no one else was. Congregation had been dismissed long ago, which was the group she had tried to avoid. The pews were empty, aside from Fiona, who was kneeling with her head bowed, eyes closed, and hands clasped together in prayer. Niamh was, no doubt, still at home sleeping off her hangover for the day. The silence of the sanctuary was both good and bad for her state of mind. The longer she thought about everything that she had done, the more guilty she felt. Last night, after a few shots of whiskey, she'd reached the conclusion that it was her fault Bennett was dead. It should have been her to die, not him. She knew better than to go walking home alone. In the part of town where she lived, that was practically suicide. She had heard the group of young men shouting obscenities from a mile away, and that should have been her cue to get out of there, but she'd continued home none the less. She'd gotten to her gate at the same time they had. At that time, she had pretty much accepted her fate. It was hard to ignore what was most likely going to become of her, as they hassled her and whistled and laughed amongst themselves while she struggled to get the gate to her yard open, just in hopes that she might be able to make it to the door before they stumbled in. What she hadn't expected was for Bennett to be there. Fiona had thought he'd been caught up in New York, doing business that weekend. If there had been one time where she wasn't happy to be surprised by him, it was that night. Family, the Donoghues had been taught, was the most important thing on God's green earth. You don't get to choose your family, you don't have to love your family, but you will always be there to protect them and support them. That was all he'd been doing, was trying to protect her. When he'd come out, concerned by the noise, there was a look in his eyes. One of the men had grabbed her ass, and as a reflex, she'd hit him. Things escalated, and Bennett had wound up taking a blade to the stomach. Here she was, praying harder than she'd ever prayed before that when she opened her eyes, it would be that night, and she could trade places with her brother. He hadn't deserved to die. If it had been her, life would have been so much easier. When the police arrived, Bennett could have told them what happened, and the men would have gone to jail for a while, instead of what really happened. She hadn't been able to tell the police anything, for fear of an investigation leading them back to Bennett's affiliation with the Irish mafia. Fiona would not be the one responsible for that. Instead, she prayed. Prayed for a switch. Prayed for a second chance. Every time she opened her eyes, though, she was still on her knees in the church, and her brother was still dead. Depression. She'd heard a story of a man that found salvation in the bottom of a bottle, but all she found was misery. Once Fiona had realized that she was never going to come back, that he was gone, she went through a downward spiral, and she knew it. She couldn't seem to find it in her to pull herself together, though Niamh begged and pleaded with her, the most concern and emotion she'd probably seen from her sister in her entire life. It wasn't that simple, though. She picked her way through her bedroom, which she hadn't cleaned in what seemed like ages. Bennett's suitcase lay in one corner, the contents strewn about like a tornado had come through. She deserved to be able to do this, she thought. To be selfish for the first time in her life. Fuck anyone who said anything different. Her whole life, she'd been the strong one. Bennett had been the harsh one, Niamh had been the wild one. She had been the rock, the one that stayed alright through thick and thin. When her parents had decided that they didn't like America and left the two youngest in Bennett's care before heading back, she'd tried to pull everyone together. She'd succeeded. They had been a family. Niamh had remained careless and reckless, but between Fiona and Bennett, they'd handled it well. Collapsing onto her bed, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand, checking her messages. Eleven thirty at night. Three missed calls from her boss, five unread messages. She was screwed, and she knew it, but her boss would understand, wouldn't he? If he didn't, she could find another gym. She didn't care about it. Things would work out, just like they always did. She had earned this. Let someone else be the adult, for a change. She would drown her demons while they did. Acceptance. The car was silent as it zoomed down the highway, north-bound. Niamj had her headphones in, but that didn't bother Fiona in the least. She didn't really have any words for her at the moment, anyway. They had never been close as siblings, but after their brother's death, things had gone from bad to worse. They were like angry strangers stuck living together, at this point, but they were still family. That was why they were moving, though Niamh wasn't very happy about it. Bennett had struck a deal with the Irish mafia; he would work for them, and in return, they would keep their baby sister's records clean, so that maybe, just maybe, one day she would grow up and be able to have a decent future. One that wasn't riddled with public intoxication charges and other minor arrests that made her look like the ungrateful little brat she was. Now that he was gone, it was Fiona's turn to step up to the plate. She could do it, whatever they asked of her, because it was for family. The Donoghues stuck together, even if they hated each other. Niamh was stuck with her, whether she liked it or not. Just like when they'd been in grade school, and Fiona was always there to look out for her, keep her safe, help her with her school work, now she was here to protect her future. She'd come a long way since the drunken depression, made her way out of the black fog just for Niamh. Whether the girl appreciated it or not, it didn't matter. She had yet to give up the alcohol, but her sister didn't know that. No one did. She kept it under control, so what was the point of worrying anyone? A sign that they passed read 'Welcome to Maine'. She would have to Skype their parents tonight, she knew, to assure them that they were safe and happy here. She had new job as a personal trainer and a kick boxing instructor here, and she would settle in just fine. She was adaptable. Always had been. BEHIND THE MASK ADDIE | 5 | EST | LOL | SAV, ANNABEL, MONROE, CAT, DEV. I'M IN A STORE AND I'M SINGING |
