“Please open the door and talk to me.” + hitman trio

lesbiancarisi:

“C’mon, doll, open the door.” Sonny jiggles the knob again like that’ll help him. “Please. Open the door and talk to me.”

You don’t answer at all, keeping your silence curled up on the tile of the bathroom. Sometimes it’s all just too much, and with everything that’s happened lately, you’re reaching your limit. Sonny’s new job. Nick’s melt down about it. Nick nearly dying and refusing to allow himself to recover. The arguing that’s sprung up over Nick’s new pass times and coping mechanisms. It’s too much for you and you’re starting to think that Sonny was  right all those years ago when he warned you that this life will break you. You used to wonder why they drank and got angry. Now you get it. All you want to do is break things and scream and make all the memories go away. It seems that they’ve both been too wrapped up in their own problems to see what’s been happening to you, Sonny especially.

They don’t notice what all the men who work for Sonny do and say to you behind closed doors. They don’t notice that you’ve been getting threats again. They don’t notice that you barely sleep. Sure they can tell that something’s wrong, but they don’t really ask. Nick has a couple of times while he was sleepy, but he was easy to redirect. Sonny just kisses you when you’re having a bad day, as if that’ll make it all better. It hasn’t, it doesn’t, it won’t. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes to staunch the tears.

“Let me help you, doll, please?”

Every time he tries, he winds up fixing the symptoms but not the problem. It always comes back. You sniffle and say, “Can you get Nicky?”

For a moment, silence.

“Yeah, I’ll go get him. Be right back.”