A/N: Hello. I know you haven't heard from me in a while, so here's a new chapter. A very nice someone PM'ed me and said she'd like to know more about some of the characters' background and that kind of stuff, so I plopped a lot of that in here, so that's basically what this chapter is about. With a new character from the third generation, too. Also, TRIGGER: This chapter contains domestic abuse so be aware of that. Also, there will be a part two to this chapter. And Tony's reasons for Emily so urgently wanting her to go into the film business shall be explained. Please review and tell me how it is, I appreciate any kind, positive or negative. And without further ado, this chapter will be dedicated to that someone who gave me a lot of feedback. You know who you are! Thanks!
Robert Fitch.
Emily had always been known as weak. In her house a monster lived. At first, his deep voice laced with his thick Scottish accent humming songs was comforting. Later, it meant danger. He used to mean the world to her until he got out of control. She wasn't daddy's little girl anymore, but rather his punching bag. Rob Fitch loved his kids with his heart and soul and thought he would never lay a finger on them. It was 1987 when he had stumbled through the dark city streets of Glasgow.
He knew he smelt of whiskey and fags, but it didn't bother him. He wiped his noise, afraid anyone might see the little white specks hiding in his nose hairs. Cocaine, it was new to him; he had only done it once. But it certainly wouldn't be his last. He was eighteen years old. He didn't give a fuck. His hair, clipped short, a lighter brown in the moon's stare, along with his blue and red oversized hoodie, dark jeans and expensive trainers showed he was rebellious. The scowl set on his face proved it. He kept his head down as he walked through the slick, wet streets on a dark and cold night.
He unknowingly bumped into another person. He looked up at her. Her eyes. A blue he'd never seen before. They were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
He hid in an alleyway and watched her walk away. There was something to her. He knew he had to have her.
A few days later, he had learned her name was Jenna. She's a dental assistant. He followed her into where she worked, but not too much so that she knew he was. He had stared at her from afar. Jenna. He licked his lips unconsciously and scratched at his stubble. He'd get her. He'd get her soon.
"Oops!" He bumped into her again. "Sorry," he apologized, kneeling down to grab her books off of the pavement. "I didn't mean to." He scratches his head. "Oh, it's quite alright, I-" She kneels down to grab them as well, picking up some of the papers that have spilled out of her bag.
"Here you go." He looks up into her eyes as he hands her back her belongings. Their fingertips touch, and his heart pounds in his chest. They lock eyes for a moment. "My name's Robert. Robert Fitch." He smiles stupidly at the paper she had dropped. They were quotes, scribbled in cursive in messy dark ink. "Shakespeare, eh?"
They hit it off. They had exchanged home phone numbers. They had even got to talking one day. He had seen her again at a park and started chatting with her. There was even a brief discussion on Shakespeare. They had been talking for so long, it was nearly dark, the afternoon they had started conversing in was long gone. "Would you like to me to walk you home?" He offered. "A lady such as yourself shouldn't be out alone."
She grins, with all of her white teeth showing. "Absolutely, Rob."
They have been talking for a little over a week now. He knows a lot about her. She's seventeen. She wants to become a dentist. She says she's not really a dental assistant, but more of an apprentice. She sits in the office all day after college and watches over the other dentists. She's also said she has permission to be in there because her father is good friends with the owner. She says it's fun, learning, and that she can't wait for university so she can study more dentistry. He knows her favourite colour, her pet peeves, what kind of music she likes. Anything she'll tell him. They're both in college.
It's been a few weeks he's known her. He's finally met her parents, specifically her father. He said he's glad his daughter has been enjoying the company of another bloke.
They've known each other months now. In fact, Rob is contemplating asking her out. But he never acts on his thoughts.
Two years into their friendship, they're always calling each other, going out, having fun. She knows almost everything about him. Almost everything but his drug use.
Two more years later, the both of them are twenty-two. Rob finally gathers up the courage to ask her out one night while she's studying. She says yes, and October 29th, 1991, Jenna finds out she's pregnant.
June 8th, 1992, Emily and Katherine Fitch are born. Jenna and Rob's parents have never been more proud. And neither has Rob. He cries at the sight of his bare children, pink with rage, as they throw back their crying heads in the doctor's and nurse's arms. As soon as they had been born, he had sworn to himself he would never drink, or do drugs again.
By the time he breaks his promise to himself, his two daughters are already three feet tall, with flowing brown hair and sparkling cocoa eyes, always wide with surprise. Jenna and he have had an argument while the girls were asleep and sound in their own rooms, lullaby music tinkling in the background. He was quick to lose his temper. He hadn't once raised his voice at Jenna; even throughout his withdraws, after the pain of secretively throwing up in bins while at work and hiding it. But today, he couldn't handle it.
It was only then that with the scruffiness of his beard and the redness of his eyes that she knew something was wrong. Then he left.
It was only once. The needle in his vein gave him a whole new outlook on life. The bottle of Jack in his other hand, tipping the glass down his throat, it added even more to the high. He was done for right now. After all, it was only once, wasn't it?
Then it became a lot.
Emily had always remembered her father as brave. She loved him with all her heart. Her sister wasn't there. Hell, she didn't even know her name. All she knew was that they had some kind of stunning relation. Or so she'd been told. She had been sent off to live with some family member. Brave, but also scary. Despite the coldness in England, she had plenty of long-sleeved shirts. Even in the blistering heat, which wasn't very often but did happen, she would wear those, too. And it was the perfect cover up. The long bruise on her arm from the night before, and the morning let her know she could never trust anyone.
A bed time story and a bruise was the routine. He had two other sides to him. Jenna knew, but she couldn't do anything. The man she fell in love with was not the same one who slept in her bed. Who kissed Emily's elbow when she had gotten a "scrapey-wapey" at just one year old.
Then was it when she found him going through the medicine cabinet searching for something he could take quickly that she had known it had gotten worse; that she should get him some help. It took ten long years for her to realize. Of course it didn't really take her that long to find out. She had just ignored it. Pushed it to the side. Emily knew something was wrong with her daddy when she saw him in the medicine cabinet swallowing everything he could find, along with the grownup juice.
At thirteen, she had had enough. The beatings, the bruises, the scars. Everything. It was too much. Why couldn't she wear short-sleeves like everyone else? She didn't mind not being able to wear skirts. She wasn't into that. But she still hadn't done anything about it.
At fourteen, a year later, she had done it. She had stood up for herself. Another boy, Craig Cowden had teased her. So she beat the shit out of him. She fucked him up good. And when she got suspended for five days, she didn't care, even when she found out he had to be admitted to the hospital; but her father was outraged. He slapped her. So she gathered up the courage like she did with Craig and gave him one square in the face. Him being six feet and her five feet three didn't really seem fair, but boy was she happy when she saw the blood coming out of his nose. Her mother pretended like it never happened. Like she had with everything.
A year later, she'd finally asked. "What're you doin' here? You're barely five feet. What do you want, girl?"
"I want to fight." She said head down.
He laughs and bends over, wiping a tear from his eye. He's laughing so hard, she thinks his throat will explode. The other boys are laughing as well. "Look here," He starts, "You can't. You're a girl. Not to mention you're a dwarf. And even if we would let ya, there ain't no other girls out here to fight. Now are there?" A blonde haired boy jogs up to the other and whispers something in his ear. He raises his eyebrow and shrugs. "Nevermind. You're in."
Crack. He's down. Five inches taller than her, he gets the shit knocked outta him. All the boys start running toward her, cheering and waving and screaming. "Barry!" One boy in particular calls out, with grey-blue eyes of stone, and with the shaggiest, lopsided haircut she's ever seen.
"My name's James. But you can call me Jamie." He says to her one day while they're on the swing set. And from those words on, they've been best friends since. James' compassion, companionship, humour and livelihood was enough for her. His loyalty and how he cheered her on at all the rest of her backyard matches made her want to hug him forever.
They became closer than ever. She had never really been over to his and him neither to hers. They kept it safe, at different locations. "You know," He started to say one day, while they were lying in the grass; "I reckon that you could be professional one day."
"Me?" She started to sit up. "How?" She rubbed the busted lip she had received a few days ago. "You know, do some real fighting."
"Isn't that what I've been doing? Have you seen my mouth?" She says, pointing at her lip.
"Yeah, I get that, but like, try to get noticed." He looks at her, scratching his chin.
"Now are you going to tell me you've got a great cousin who lives in York who knows 50 Cent who can get me into 'the business'?" She asked, making air quotes with her fingers.
He chuckles. "Nah, babe. I'll show ya later tonight, yeah?" She nods, and nuzzles her head into the crook of his shoulder.
They went to some bloke's dodgy basement that had a makeshift ring made out of several blankets tosses on a floor with some padding underneath and four cones around each point. The lighting was low and dim, with the occasional lights flickering. The music was startlingly loud and very few voices could be heard except for the occasional shouting of drunken boys and girls, and the sound was definitely wasted yelling.
Scattered across the floor were several beer bottles and cheap champagne. Emily never wore gloves, but her opponent it seemed, did. She was a taller girl, much older with a smart mouth and an eyebrow piercing; such a stupid thing to wear during a fight. She took her long black hair up in her hands and pulled it back. A few minutes later, that same girl was laid out on the floor. Emily spat onto the floor, and took off her gloves; wringing her sore hands. It went silent. She could see James standing by a trashy looking table with a bottle of presumably something alcoholic clutched in his hand, his knuckles white. "Kill the fucking music!" A tall boy said with brown-orange hair, cut neatly, but with a bit of badarsery. He was dressed neatly, weird attire for a scummy party like this. His arm was stretched out in the distance. He signaled to someone else in the dimly lit house by nodding his head upward; a signal to que the lights, as well.
Emily stood there breathing deeply, wondering what was going to come, not out of fear, of course, but out of the boy whom everyone seemed to stop and stare at, dare not say a word because of his superiority over everyone else in the room. The boy is a little tall, at least five feet eight. He lets his hand fall neatly over his thigh. He stares at her. He has freckles dotted around his face, tightly pursed pink lips. He is wearing leather loafers, a burgundy blazer and a green dress shirt, and a very expensive looking silver wristwatch on one wrist. He tilts his head to one side while Emily shifts a little bit uneasily. He starts to walk toward her slowly. She can see her shaggy headed friend behind the mysterious boy squinting his eyes. "Luke," a male voice calls out. He puts his palm up in the air, stopping abruptly, a sign for the person to just, well, not.
Luke, the bloke, smiles, stepping closer to Emily. Hushed whispers ring out in the room. "My name's Luke." He says to her, dropping his height a little bit so that they are eye to eye. She glances up toward Cook, who's not anywhere to be found, but her side. "What's up, Luke?" Cook asks, clenching his jaw. He stands up now, acknowledging his presence, eying him. He turns his attention back toward Emily, continuing where he left off. "I'd like a word with you." He says, grabbing her hand, leading her out to the back of the unknown person's house. "What do you want?" She asks him. He only shushes her and leads her to a small worn out swing set that is surprisingly, in whoever's backyard where they both sit. Emily rubs her hands up and down her arms, shivering from the cold. He takes off his blazer and wraps it around her. She raises her brows at him. He shrugs. "I like women like you. The ones that have fight in them. I could use a girl like you," he starts off. "What do you mean?" She asks, confused, starting her question off like the last one.
"It's good to let anger out on others. Especially when they've fucked you over. And there's definitely have got to be a reason why you can fight so well," he looks at her, stubbing his cigarette ash onto the ground. "So tell me. Who's fucked you over?"
A week later.
"Emily?" Jenna beckons calmly. She doesn't even bother to reply to her mother. She hates her. Why does she deserve a response after all the pain she's endured in this house?"
"Where's Dad?" She asks, using her question as a rebuttal.
"Who's this boy you've been seeing?" Jenna calls from the entrance to her room door.
"I've told you. Jamie and I aren't dating." She says, putting emphasis on her irritation.
"I'm not talking about him, love. I mean the one I've been hearing about." She says gently.
"Fuck off," she spits out, putting her hair up in a ponytail. "I have shit to do." She pushes past her mother.
She opens up the front door before slamming it hard and walking away. She pulls out her new cell phone that her mum had just bought for her under guilt. "Hey," she says huskily into the phone. "I miss you." He sighs into the phone. "Ready to go ape shit tonight?" He can hear her smile through the phone. She tells him he already knows she is.
They punch blokes in the face, smash cars, and Luke almost rips a boy's head off for nearly taking off her's. Their clothes are soiled and bloody. He kisses her on the cheek while on their way to clean themselves off in a stolen car. They're living the life. He has his boys sitting in the backseat, just in case they need to clear some things up while on their way. He drops himself and Emily off to his flat.
The next day, they do the same thing again. Luke pawns off some drugs at a worn out pub, in a secret room that he calls "the Back", and finds trouble soon, as well. They use cue sticks to smash over the enemy's heads, and glass alcohol bottles. They use their fists, their teeth, their arms, legs, and knees. After the fight Emily's name is practically Adrenaline. They run screaming to their cars, fighting off as many bastards as they can. Nonetheless, clothes will be torn. He grabs her and shakes her, excitedness flowing through her veins. "Where you from, killer? Where you from? Fuck everyone, yeah? Except me!"
"Fuck everyone!" She agrees. But James she thinks in her head, but she doesn't dare say it out loud.
He grabs Emily by the hand and pulls her into a bloody, busted lipped kiss.
She pulls back and rests her forehead on his, breathing deeply. Behind Luke, a man with a club comes up behind him, a failed attempt at striking him down, as one of the freckled boys' henchmen punches him right in the mouth.
Now they run.
Three weeks later.
"Why haven't you been coming round?" James asks her, stubbing out some of his cigarette ash on top of the arm rest of the bench.
"Who says I haven't?"
"I care about you. Fuck knows I do. But this prick is taking away all our time together, right?"
"Who? Luke?" She asks, appalled.
"Yeah, him. The piece of shit. He's stealin' you away from me. Can't you see it? Not to mention he's a criminal."
She stands up off the bench and pokes him in the chest, hard, right in his baby blue polo shirt, with the collar upturned all the way. "He's a criminal? You're one to fucking talk. You beat the shit out of people for a living." He stands up, too, a cheeky smile gracing his features. "True, babe. You know a hypocrite when you see one, don't you?"
"But I'm just telling you. He's no good. And you'll find out soon enough."
"If he's so bad, why have you been waiting so long to tell me?"
The brown haired boy shrugs his shoulders, his blue eyes looking into her brown ones. "You know what's fucking awesome, though?"
"What?"
"Spliff." He says, as he captures her hand with his.
"Yeah, it is, isn't it?"
Later at the Fitch residence.
"Mum?" Emily calls to her mother while she lays on the couch.
"Hm?" She replies.
"You ever wonder why Rob's always gone for so long? At weeks at a time like this?" She interrogates her, twirling her cigarette around in her small fingers.
"A business trip, of course." She fires back, putting on a fake smile and dusting a lampshade. Emily laughs at the absurdity of the lie her mother wants her to believe so much. "No," the twin interjects, getting up off the couch and closer to her mum, "he's on a drug binge." With that, the younger of the two of them leaves to upstairs without a word. Jenna holds her tears back until she hears the loud crack of the door being slammed. She breaks down on the living room floor; sobbing and crumbles even further more into the ground.
"How did my life get like this?" She asks herself, remembering her and Rob's wedding day, how he had denied any alcohol that was offered to him with a polite no thank you and a curt smile. She could not believe what she had done to herself. Her family. Her children, especially. One of them had even been taken away from her.
She had been on the phone for an awfully long time that night. She knew she had to leave him. She twirled the sparkling ring on her finger over the flesh. Over and over. Deciding whether or not to listen to her conscience.
Later that night, Rob stumbles in, slamming the mostly glass door a little too hard, his heavy footsteps making thunderous noises as they clap with every step he makes. He opens up the refrigerator and grabs the gallon of orange juice and swallows every last drop. He's parched, and it burns down his throat. His beard makes him look unrecognizable, but the soul bearing grey eyes don't. He thuds up stairs, clambering into bed, smelling of sick, fags, sweat, and alcohol.
And then the phone rings again, later in the morning.
"Hello?"
"Hello, ma'am. May I speak to the house owner?" She looks upstairs, toward where their bedroom is and clutches the phone tightly to her ear, prepared for the worst.
"Yes. Yes, this is her. What can I help you with?" She listens to the man talking on the other line. Something about their home being revoked and that they've gone bankrupt. She argues with the man, telling him that there must be some kind of a mistake.
"Ma'am, you've been informed on several different occasions." The dulled voice bloke says, not showing any emotion whatsoever.
"What are you talking about? I haven't received any notifications! Nothing!"
"There's been several letters sent to your address proposing foreclosure."
"That-that's just absurd!" She screams, rifling through drawers to find any letters and then suddenly stopping when she finds several letters stamped with red ink, crying out for attention underneath the sofa cushions. She drops the phone to the ground, ready to yell but there's nothing coming out.
A few hours later, he's out of the house, all his shit thrown out on the street. She just can't believe it. Can't believe the fact that the man she loves has drug and alcohol abuse problems. She can't believe she worked her arse off to provide and love this family, just to have everything taken away from her, like it never mattered.
A/N: Hey! I hope you enjoyed this. This kind of writing is a little bit new to me, so please review and tell me how you liked it. All mistakes are mine, and I'm sorry if there are any. Also, I'm really trying to step up and finish the next chapter for TEOC, and thanks for all the past reviews.