𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 ━━ Fezco (EDITING)

17

❝Suicide doesn't stop the pain, you're only moving it❞

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION, DEATH, TRAUMA AND NATE JACOBS

┌─────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────┐

The two Marchettis sat in their living room, their chairs were facing the fireplace.

The lights in the room were dim, wildly contrasting the lively Christmas decorations that lit up the room.

The festive decor made its way onto most surfaces.

No music was playing but the fire cracked loud enough for it to make its own melody, singing its way into their ears.

They both were sat watching the fire burn safely within the walls of the fireplace, watching as the flames danced and celebrated the holidays.

Their nightwear hung to their figures.

They each held a cigar in their hands, inhaling deeply after each drag, thinking about the tragedy that they called life.

Woody was curled up in his dog-like home, his eyes fluttered shut, content with the knowledge that his best friends were close to him.

"How often do you think about death on an average day?" Rory spoke up, not even glancing at her grandfather.

"About 50 times a day." He answered honestly.

Since his brief encounter with sleep's unfriendly cousin, death had plagued his mind like a virus.

He didn't ever want to feel those cold and malicious hands reach out and touch him again for a long time.

"I also think about how your parents died." Rory nodded sullenly, "I know it was a tragic accident but it doesn't stop me from replaying the events that led up to that day over and over again in my mind."

When he got the call from the police chief about his son and daughter in laws death, he stood still.

Frozen in time.

Motionless.

He felt like if he woke up from his stagnant state, the news would be real and he would have to come to terms with the fact that a part of him was now dead.

And how his little Rory would become an orphan.

But because he knew that time had to move on, regardless if he couldn't, he still had to.

So he moved on.

He took Rory into his care and treated her like how he treated Angelo; like his own child, that he would cherish until she let out her final breath.

"When I found out they died I don't know why but I blamed myself." She exhaled the smoke that filled up her lungs.

Luca shot her a pitiful look.

"Like if I told them to take their time and not race home for me, they would still be here."

She replayed the events of that day over and over again.

She might've been 6 years old but, within that moment she felt the loss of her parents.

"I guess that's why I feel like I need to help everyone around me, I don't think I want them to return the favour," he sat and listened closely, taking in her every word, "because if I get comfortable and let someone else take the reigns, they can and will let me down." She put the Cuban back to her lips.