Sorry in advance for how dark this is going to get, this is not a particularly happy chapter. But it is important to the plot. Also if you're wondering 'Musa' is a legit first name and also the genus of plants that bananas belong to, and 'Garda' is the name of the police in the Republic of Ireland. Yep, Banana Guard. There is a reason I've been called the Duchess Of Dork.
A quick word to my reviewers, you guys are brilliant and I'm sorry this is going to make your hearts hurt. To the anon who seemed very surprised that Bonnie has panic attacks; yeah that's actually cannon established. It's not shown very often in the series but remember that time she literally screamed "NO I CAN'T I CAN'T" in German then hyperventilated and passed out? I forget what was happening in that episode but I read that as 'suffers panic attacks'. I figure someone under such a huge amount of social and political pressure is much more likely to be prone to that kinda thing anyway and also I used a little artistic licence because I hate fics where she's basically some kind of sweet and perfect female Jesus. Everyone has character flaws and Mary Sues are boring as hell to write/read about.
Content Warning: sadness, much sadness. Domestic violence, psychological abuse, a lot of swear words.
Bonnie,
I want to start this by telling you that none of this is your fault, at all, so please don't blame yourself. That weekend together up north was absolutely amazing and I am never going to stop being glad we did that. And I want you to know I'll never forget it either. You're wonderful and under different circumstances who knows how far we could have gone? I hope you understand why I couldn't tell you this face to face, it was just too much.
My Dad is back and you know what that means, it isn't safe for me to see you again. He's probably back for good. He got his conviction quashed somehow and the law as it stands means he can't be tried again for the same or similar offences; there's no chance of him going back inside any time soon unless some new evidence about the fire comes to light. My family already died because of him. I won't put you in danger by being around you. I can't let him even know that you exist because I've already told you what he's like and I don't want to be responsible for the terrible things he might do to you if he knew about us. You told me that you don't deal well with abandonment and I hate myself more than I can possibly tell you for having to end things like this. Please believe me when I tell you that this is harder for me than you can imagine and that I'm only trying to keep you safe. I never ever wanted to hurt you.
You're a wonderful person, Bon. I want you to be happy but more than anything else I want you to be safe. And you'll never be safe as long as we're involved. I can't see you again no matter how much I want to, I can't be responsible for your death. I'm damaged and I come with the sort of baggage that would leave you in an unmarked grave if they found out about us. Forgive me if you can, or hate me if it's easier. But don't blame yourself because none of this is your fault.
Please look after yourself, Bonnie. I care about you more than I know how to tell you. Thank you for an absolutely perfect weekend and a brief holiday in a normal life, it was better than I'd ever imagined it could be.
Marcy xxx
Finn struggled to make out some of the words of the letter, they'd been written in a hand that shook badly and tear stains were very evident on the paper. He wondered if it had been like that when it was delivered or if the tears were Bonnie's. Probably a bit of both, he decided.
"Bon..." he started, but he didn't know what to say so he just trailed off. Bonnie didn't reply except for a broken sob that came out muffled from where she'd burrowed herself under her duvet. "What's all this about? Why is she talking like she's in some cheesy movie?"
"Her Dad is a gangster." Bonnie replied eventually, though her voice was still thick with tears. "He murdered her Mum and her brother and he married into a famous gangster family and he's probably going to murder her too because he's viciously homophobic. So she's broken up with me because she thinks she's keeping me safe."
"Bullshit." Finn spat. "That's so much bullshit! You fell for that? Cause sorry, but that's a really messed up piece of crap to say to get someone into bed. Oh babe, I'm so sorry she tricked you like that. That's the lowest thing I ever heard."
He hugged the prone shape under the duvet hard but the region where Bonnie's voice had come from moved in a way that suggested she was shaking her head at him.
"No, that's what I thought at first. But I googled it and it's all true, every word. It was in the papers. She was just a little kid. Try it, you'll see."
Reluctantly Finn slid his phone out of his pocket.
"What am I googling?" he asked grudgingly.
"Her name. Or just, 'Petrikov', 'fire', 'murder', 'cocaine'."
He did and scanned the first news article that came up, swearing under his breath at the grim details. It was dated fifteen years earlier. Marceline would have been exactly the same age as the little girl in the article with the same first name.
EAST END GANGSTER IN FIRE DEATH PROBE
Renowned Columbia Road gangster Hunson Abadeer is tonight behind bars as police try to establish the cause of last week's house fire that killed three members of the suspect's immediate family. His wife, former glamour model Claudia Petrikova aged 34, their son Marshall Abadeer aged 13 and Abadeer's sister in law Betty Petrikova aged 45 all died in the blaze last Tuesday. It also left Abadeer's daughter Marceline Abadeer aged seven and another member of the family hospitalized with extensive burns.
Police inquiries are ongoing but it is believed that a large quantity of class A drugs have been found in the property which caught fire in the early evening. Police are treating the blaze as an arson attack and are urging any members of the public with information to come forwards.
Abadeer has been remanded in custody awaiting a trial date after being charged with several counts of drug possession, intent to supply and several other drug related offences. A spokesman for the Metropolitan Police said that investigations into the cause of the fire are ongoing. Detective Chief Inspector Musa Garda said house-to-house inquiries were being carried out in the area. He added; "Neighbours acted quickly when they became aware that people were trapped inside and called the emergency services who were tragically unable to rescue the family before the roof collapsed."
"We can confirm that two adults and a child were killed in the house fire on the evening of Tuesday the fourteenth of March and another adult and child were taken to hospital with serious but not life threatening injuries. Their condition has been upgraded from critical to serious and both are believed to be stable and out of immediate danger. The cause of the fire has yet to be established but it is thought to be a deliberate act of arson and the police and fire service are investigating. We would like to hear from anyone who was in the area at the time who may have seen something suspicious."
Finn let his eyes slide briefly over the rest of the article. It detailed the various other charges and criminal activity Marceline's father had been linked to during his extensive gangster career and her mother's short but successful modelling career before her marriage and retirement from public life at the age of just twenty.
"Maybe it's a coincidence, someone with a really similar name?" he tried, although even Finn knew then that he was grasping at straws. He just didn't want to believe it could be true. It was so bizarre to think that the pretty girl from the pub with the easy smile and warm eyes had been through something so dark when she was just a small child.
"She changed her surname when she was sixteen because she didn't want to have her Dad's name anymore. Try googling her mother. They look almost identical." Bonnie replied distantly.
He did, and sucked in an amazed breath. Staring back from the screen of Finn's phone was a woman who could have been Marceline's twin. They were far too alike not to be a close relatives; both had sweet bronze eyes and long jet black hair. She was pouting seductively from the cover of a magazine where she was stretched out on a beach in a tiny blue bikini, all long legs and heart stopping curves. He could have mistaken them for the exact same person except that the girl in the picture looked a little younger, a little darker in skin tone. She also had a slightly rounder face and she didn't have any obvious tattoos. The date on the magazine cover was nine years before the year her daughter was born. Finn did a quick mental calculation, Marceline's mother had only been eighteen in that picture and already her modelling career was almost over. Briefly he suffered a moment of completely inappropriate jealousy; if Marceline looked anything like the stunning model in the picture when she was undressed then Bonnie was one seriously lucky girl. He pushed that thought away and instead focussed on the fact of what it must all mean along with the newspaper article.
"Jesus." he murmured, convinced beyond all doubt. "Her Dad really did murder her Mum. That's so messed up. No wonder she wants to keep you a secret from him, no fucking wonder she's so messed up about her past. Bon, I had no idea. I'm so sorry."
The soft snuffling noises and trembling of the duvet told Finn that Bonnie was crying again. He stretched out and wrapped his arms around as much of her as he could manage, offering what little comfort an awkward hug from an ex could provide. He wanted to be angry at Marceline for hurting his friend. Wanted to hate her because watching Bonnie cry was all kinds of heart breaking for him. But mostly Finn just felt lost and sad for them both.
…
For a few hazy minutes Marcy lay awake in her bed staring blurrily at the cracks in the ceiling and trying to figure out why there was a heavy ache of dread and horror in her chest. Normally she woke up feeling pretty much alright. The years of intensive therapy and strong anti-depressant medication had gotten her more or less back to a normal functioning level although on occasion her PTSD still left her curled into a trembling ball of terror and anxiety for no real reason. She wondered distantly through the clearing mists of sleep why she felt like the old familiar leaden cloak of despair had fallen across her shoulders again. Then she heard a noise from the kitchen and she remembered everything with terrible clarity.
She rolled away, hiding her head under the pillow and squeezing her eyes shut again, willing it all to be some horrible nightmare that she could force herself to wake up from. But the clattering continued and a few minutes later her bedroom door was flung open. Simon had always knocked, always. He'd known how badly she hated having her privacy invaded.
"Good morning, Pumpkin! I made your breakfast, up you get!"
Hunson was wearing her apron over his suit and grinning at her manically across a plate of fried eggs on toast. For one heart stopping moment she thought he was going to throw them at her but he simply placed them on the night stand next to the bed and grinned again then strode out of the room whistling to himself cheerfully. Marcy reluctantly propped herself upright and prodded the eggs unenthusiastically with the fork. It had been years since she'd willingly eaten animal products and even looking at the plate full of slimy eggs made her feel nauseated.
"Not hungry, hm?" Hunson's voice asked from the doorway. He was staring at her suspiciously and blocking the only exit, something Marceline knew for a fact was not an accident.
"Just waking up, sorry Daddy." she mumbled, avoiding his searching gaze. When he still didn't leave Marceline had no choice but to scoop up a rubbery egg with her fork and shovel it unenthusiastically into her mouth. She tried to swallow it as whole as possible around her cringe so she wouldn't have to taste it too much. The bastard could force her to eat eggs again but she wasn't going to get used to it or enjoy it. She knew exactly the kind of pain the chickens went through to produce them and she had no desire to contribute to any living creature's suffering ever again. After she swallowed her second egg and had reluctantly started on the toast Hunson nodded his approval and disappeared back to the kitchen, returning a couple of minutes later with a milky cup of tea. The toast was dripping with real butter too. Marceline repressed a cringe at the sensation of it greasily leaking onto her fingers when she tore a chunk off. She knew Hunson was doing it deliberately. Somehow he'd found out she was vegan and he was testing her to see if she'd try to defy him or if she was submissive enough to force herself to eat it just to please him. She downed the tea as quickly as possible, trying not to show the way her shoulders twitched anxiously when it scalded her tongue a little.
"We need to decide what we're doing from now on, my girl." Hunson said when she put her empty mug to one side. "The family name lies in ruins and it falls to us to restore it."
Marcy stared at him weakly, very nearly speechless at the depth of his stupidity. Hunson hadn't changed at all from her childhood memories. He was still the monster she was scared might be lurking in the dark under her bed, still intimidatingly tall and gaunt with a severe angular face that sent chills down her spine. And now all her worst fears were coming true. He wanted to start up the business again and she was going to get dragged into it this time. He was finally going to destroy her with his lunacy.
"First things first. We need better digs. You can't just hang onto this mouldy old mausoleum, Marceline. Simon's gone fucking nuts. He isn't going to get better and he isn't coming home, he's not gonna need this dump again. You don't have to live in this godforsaken hole anymore. We'll build somewhere, custom design it. The cash has been ticking into my bank accounts for fifteen years more or less untouched so we can easily afford something better than this hovel."
She wanted to argue, to tell him this was the only place she'd ever been really happy. That Simon was the best thing that ever happened to her and her apartment was filled with their happy memories and reminders that for a while she'd had a real loving parent. But the words stuck in her throat and she hung her head again, too ashamed of herself to speak. Overnight she'd become her mother; too scared of Hunson to even think about challenging him. The eggs and butter and milk churned heavily in her stomach and the hot itching pain ached insistently between her shoulder blades. She didn't know how to even begin defying her father; the smallest thing might make him blow up without warning and lose what little self-control he had.
"Secondly." Hunson continued, oblivious to her internal anguish. "Work out our finances. The accounts here in the UK look healthy enough but that's the just the tip of the iceberg. The bulk of it's still offshore and it needs to be channelled back quietly. You've been lying low and that's good but now we need you to start up a shell business. Something believable, I'm thinking something with phones. You kids are all about smart phones these days, right? We'll start it in your name and run the cash from the real business through it. Just like old times, I know what I'm doing with that. Call up Starikof and his boys, get the pony trotting again. Yeah? Yeah, good."
She was going to be sick, she was sure of it. Start up a money laundering company in her name? Sure, why not? She might as well just get used to the idea that she was going to end up in jail. At least he couldn't ruin her life if she was locked up.
"Lastly, we're gonna go visit dear old Uncle Simon sometime soon. I've got a little bit of unfinished business with him, I owe him something for some coke."
He'd been using a manically enthusiastic voice until then but when he spoke her uncle's name Hunson dropped to a low growl filled with the promise of violence. Marceline's head whipped up to stare at him, wide eyed and horrified.
"Daddy, no! He's sick, just let him be!" she gasped unthinkingly.
Marceline didn't have time to even think about ducking before her father's hand connected heavily with her cheek and sent her reeling across the bed. The world spun and whirled around her and she slipped from the bed and down onto the floor with her arms wrapped around her head to fend off the blows she knew would follow.
"You don't fucking tell me what to do, girl! You fucking little bitch! You lounge around here like a fucking layabout and spend my money; that old bastard didn't train a speck of fucking gratitude into you did he? Well it stops now! All this, this hippie bullshit stops! You are a fucking Petrikova, yeah I know all about your stunt with your name! Start fucking acting worthy of being part of the family or deal with the consequences! You're my only heir now so you better start acting like it you little whore!"
With a sharp kick to her ribs to emphasize his point Hunson stepped over her crumpled form, picking up the empty tea mug and shattering it angrily against the wall.
"I'll be back later. Make sure you're dressed respectably and ready to meet some business associates. We are setting this up tonight." Hunson snarled as he stalked from the room. A couple of minutes later she heard the front door slam closed.
Marceline lay curled on the floor of her bedroom for a long time sobbing around the sharp sting in her cheek and the aching in her ribs before she forced herself to get up and take a very cold shower to ease the burning agony flaring along her scarred back. She had a lot to do too. She needed to make sure it was all ready before her father returned that evening and she didn't have time to let her post traumatic stress run its course.
…
He'd literally just unzipped and was about to let go of the full pressure on his bladder when a soft feminine voice spoke his name from the doorway. Mo nearly had a heart attack.
"MARCY!"
He stuffed himself back into his trousers and zipped up hurriedly before turning from the urinal to gape at her. He hadn't heard from her in days, not since he'd accidentally scared her, and suddenly she turned up in the school toilets to watch him piss? Covered in bruises too, he could just make out the shape of a hand print on her face under the unusually thick layer of makeup she was wearing.
"I need your help." she said quietly. "My Dad is out of prison. I don't know who else I can trust; I need you to do something for me."
"This is the boys' toilet! You cannot be in here!" Mo hissed, scanning the stalls for any sign that they were occupied. Nobody else was there at least.
"Mo, I very seriously need your help, could you stop worrying about where the other boys are gonna to take a dump or a sneaky lunchtime wank? Oh don't look at me like that, I went to this school and I knew more than one sixteen year old boy. I remember what you lot are like. That's not why I'm here! I need you to do something for me."
Mo stared harder at her.
"What do you mean, your Dad is out of prison?" he asked after a moment of tense silence.
"Exactly that. He's out of prison. He's seriously bad news; he went to prison when I was a kid so that's why I moved in with Simon. Didn't you ever wonder why I didn't live with my parents? You know my Mum died. Well my Dad murdered her. And now he's back, he hit me and he's going to hurt me again and probably a lot of other people too. I really need your help. You're the only person I can trust right now." Marceline replied in a rush, indicating her bruised cheek and red rimmed eyes.
"It is a sin to act against your father." Mo mumbled in confusion.
Her face, which had been so carefully neutral, crumpled into lines of abrupt rage.
"You want to talk about sins? It's a fucking sin to lock your wife and children in a house full of spilled petrol and push lit matches through the fucking letterbox!" she snarled back, suddenly furious. "Do you really want to know? You want to see what that bastard fucking did to me?"
Mo backed away as far as he could. The look that had flared in Marceline's eye wasn't entirely sane.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Mo stuttered when she whirled with her back to him and began to rake her shirt up and over her head. There was her gorgeous tattoo, although body modification was a sin too and his feelings were still very conflicted about it.
"Touch it." she commanded him in a tight voice. "Just gently run your fingers across the skin under the tattoo. Seriously, Mo! Touch my skin!"
Mo was not at all sure what was happening or why her father being out of jail required him to stroke her skin. He was suddenly very uncomfortable with the idea but he still hesitantly reached out and let his fingers brush the thorn bush that spread from her lower back up over the side of her ribs and all the way to her shoulders, covered on top in soft pink roses. He gasped, horrified.
"It's all weird and lumpy!"
"Scarred, Mo. It's a burn scar from the fire he started. The tattoo hides it because I couldn't stand seeing it every day. You and Bonnie are the only ones I've let touch it apart from Simon when I was a kid, my doctors and the tattoo artist."
He whipped his hand back angrily.
"Her? Why her? What is so special about her? A couple of weeks ago she did not even exist to you and now you are letting her touch your scars?" he all but growled in reply.
"Yeah, because she's special. If you must fucking know we spent the weekend together, we were together, briefly. Oh don't give me that look. She's not going to be coming around again, not now that Dad's back. He's violent and homophobic, he's not going to know about Bonnie. Ever. I won't let him kill her too. Mo, my own father gave me those scars. He locked me in the house and he tried to burn me to death. Don't you get it? I need your help!" Marcy finished breathlessly.
Mo let his gaze flicker over her as she stood there in just jeans and a thin sports bra, breathing heavily with messy hair and flushed cheeks. It was how he'd imagined her a hundred times in the past two years but somehow now that he'd seen it for real it wasn't erotic or romantic; she was just his friend and she was distressed and hurt and begging him to help her. He did the only thing he could think of.
She didn't resist his hug, even leaned into it. If a couple of stray tears found their way onto Mo's school blazer he didn't comment. She was more grateful for that than she knew how to tell him. They stood like that for several long minutes before a quiet gasp in the doorway made Mo look up. Marcy didn't even move, just made a quiet noise that let him know her tears hadn't quite subsided yet.
"Get out, Baxter. I'm fucking busy in here. Go take a sneaky lunchtime wank someplace else." Mo snarled at the horse-faced boy staring at him from the door. He was ridiculously proud of how much like Marcy he sounded, how he didn't stutter over the swears. She was the strongest person he knew, if he was going to be strong for her he was going to be strong like her. Baxter turned and fled. Mo didn't give a shit where he'd gone or what stupid rumours he'd start.
"What do you need me to do, chick?" Mo asked her quietly, tilting her chin so he could look her in the eyes and flicking a stray tear away from the end of her nose. Marceline laughed weakly; he was so glad she was back to being normal around him after that shameful day when he'd scared her in her bedroom. Mo didn't want to ever scare anyone, except maybe Marceline's evil father right then.
"Give this letter to the police." she said quietly. "I can't go myself, I have too much to do and probably someone's watching me. Going to hang out at the local school is weird but I tutor so many kids around here that they can't possibly watch all of you. Just... don't hate me. You'll understand why I have to do the things I do when the police get there and you give them the letter, ok? Just remember it's about the letter and I will pay for everything. Tell your Dad I'm sorry; tell him it was the only way and that I already arranged the money to pay for it to be transferred to your bank accounts. You'll understand tonight when they come for the letter."
Mo nodded despite not really understanding and took the small white envelope she gave him. She pulled her shirt back on to cover the worst of the scarring and pressed a quick peck onto his cheek.
"You're a really good friend, B-Mo. Please understand. I have to go and do something awful and I'm so sorry for it."
Mo stared at her in confusion as she left then looked down at the letter in his hands. He didn't get what she meant but he had every faith that he would, eventually.
The police knocked on the door in the middle of dinner to inform them that his father's corner shop had been trashed and vandalized and his upstairs neighbour was being arrested on suspicion of criminal damage. Mo understood and fished the unopened letter from his pocket.