𝗙𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗮 𝗨𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲.
𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐞
I am the judge, the jury, and the executioner.
Francesca "Frank" Monroe. One of the most successful criminal defense attorneys in the history of Illinois. The woman everyon...
"It's nothing that complicated, I just want to kill him."
- Masashi Kishimoto
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I couldn't fucking remember ever running this fast in my life. My lungs felt like they were tearing apart, my legs burned like hell, and my heart-fuck, my heart was somewhere in my stomach, twisting itself into a goddamn knot. Sweat slicked my hands as I clung to one desperate, vicious thought-Sawyer had to be alive. He had to be. Not him. Not like this. Not like everyone else.
Why is it that we only fucking realize how much someone matters when we're standing on the edge of losing them? I'd been furious with Sawyer, his betrayal had gutted me, but he was still mine-a piece of my sanity, one of the most important things tethering me to something real in this fucking nightmare of a world. If he died, that piece would die with him. And I wasn't sure I'd survive the loss.
I tore down the hospital hallway like a madwoman, barefoot, wild-eyed, shoving past anyone stupid enough to be in my way. The whispers, the stares-none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except finding out if Sawyer was still fighting.
"Doctor!" My voice cracked, desperate, as I spotted a white coat ahead. I nearly collapsed in front of him, gasping out Sawyer's name. "Sawyer Huxley-where the fuck is he? Is he... is he alive?"
The silence stretched too long, seconds turning into something endless, something fucking suffocating. The dread was eating me alive, punching at my ribs like a wild animal.
"He's still in surgery."
I exhaled hard, my breath ragged, my legs nearly giving out. He was alive. Alive. But then-
"It's critical."
Hope shattered, splintered into something fragile, something fucking useless. My breath hitched again, sharp, cold, cruel.
No. No, he was strong. Too fucking strong. Sawyer wouldn't fucking die. He couldn't.
"Frankie!" Papa's voice cut through the fog, yanking me back to reality.
I turned, saw him rushing toward me, my discarded heels clutched in his hands. We'd come here together, but when traffic became unbearable, I had snapped. I'd thrown open the car door and fucking ran, because waiting another second wasn't an option.
I crashed into him, shaking, gasping, tears finally spilling over.
"He might not make it, Papa!" My voice came out rough and broken.
I didn't give a single fuck who was watching. I was unraveling right here, in the middle of this goddamn hospital, and I couldn't stop it. I didn't want to stop it.
I was furious with Sawyer-for going after Luigi and his grandson without telling me. That reckless, arrogant bastard. But none of it mattered now. Because as much as I was angry at him, I was even more fucking furious with myself.
