Leader Of The Mafia {h.s}

69

Bree Tyler

Finally, home at last.

"Good to be back." I heavenly sighed, I really liked Hawaii, but I love New York with all my heart.

It's my home.

"Mhm." Harry agreed right behind me, rubbing my tense shoulders from the stressful flight and kissing my cheek.

The house looked so oddly familiar. Everything behind the same as we left it. The sink still had three dirty pots in it, the clothes had still been in the dryer, and when I looked at the dried clothes I thought back to when I stole Harry's t-shirt. My eyes widened at the flashback of me taking it, stuffing it in my black lace bra, and cuddling up with it all those nights ago. I cringed at the thought, I was really desperate for him all that time ago and wouldn't admit it huh?

I grabbed my suitcase, looking around the house one last time before strolling up to my room and grabbing it by the readjustable handle. Bumped up the stairs with a rocky pace, glided smoothly down the hallway to the front door of my bedroom.

I walked in, setting the suitcase on my bed in desperate need to unpack and organize my room a little bit. Before we left, my room didn't seem that bad and messy looking in my eyes.. but now that I've seen the clean, Hawaiian, Airbnb rooms, I realized my bedroom is unorganized and gross looking compared to the expensive ones we used in Hawaii.

I unzipped the suitcase, and started talking all the lingerie, clothes, other things.. out of it and lazily throwing the articles onto my bed. But once I reached the bottom and all the contents had been empty, I couldn't fucking believe what I saw.

I jumped back, almost not believing what I was seeing. Was I actually seeing this? Was I still in my twisted dream? I shakily grabbed the polaroid photo that was sitting at the bottom of the suitcase, and held it close to my face in examination. How did I not notice this photo when I first started packing my suitcase?

There it was..

My mother with a huge smile on her face. And the devil himself, right under both my mother and the man, their names were written.

Maria Cline and Clinton Tyler.

                           3/7

My mother never told me much about my father. But, you know what she did tell me? His name.

And his name was Clinton Tyler.

So this is what he looks like, huh? Raggedy beard, high bloodshot eyes, red mohawk, five little slits in each of his eyebrows, a spiky choker, black eyeliner under his hazel eyes. His long pierced tongue was shot out and he was holding up concert tickets in one hand and expressing a "rock on" hand signal in the other.

His legs were spread apart far and my mother was crouching under him, she was having fun, too. It was obvious.

He sort of looked like me, except if he wasn't dressed up in the whole rock theme. We both had the same color eyes, the same slim and tall body frame, same nose, same exact facial structure.

I didn't take him for the Rock N' Roll type per say. I always thought he'd be a loser who sat on the side of the street and begged people for drug money. That's how my mother made him seem. He didn't seem like that at all, it was obvious he had at least some money in his bank account if he could afford concert tickets and red hair dye.