Chapter Text
CHAPTER 7: Glasses
songs: War Pigs - Black Sabbath, Happy Together - The Turtles
“Pay attention.”
The room was dark. A singular lightbulb sat over the boy’s head, hanging from a wire. It swung in slow motions.
“This is important stuff. It’ll keep you alive.”
A tall, fat man sat across from the boy, his hands laced together on the table. A large cigar balanced between his teeth, plumes of smoke blooming on the boy’s face with each breath he released. This boy was young. However, he had nothing, he had no one, and this man knew that. He had picked him up off of the streets after he managed to fight off a few larger children from stealing the food he had foraged for in the dumpster earlier. He was a fighter, a true and good street rat. Exactly what his operation needed.
“You’re under our protection now, kid. No one’s goin’ to be messin’ with you anytime soon, not unless you do somethin’ stupid.”
The boy glanced up into the man’s eyes, before quickly looking away.
“You’re in the drug business now, it would be best for you to stay as far away from the authorities as possible. Don’t think about runnin’ your mouth to no one.”
The boy was silent.
“Do you understand me?”
“Yessir…”
The boy muttered, looking down at his lap. The man grumbled to himself before standing, looking down at the child across from him.
“You know how to fight, but you don’t know how to fight. We’ll be teachin’ you so you don’t end up gettin’ yourself killed. You’ll also be dealin’ the product we purchase. We’ll show you how to work the streets, who to sell to, anythin’ and everythin’ about pushin’ product. Got it?”
“Yessir…”
The boy still couldn’t look into his eyes. The man couldn’t blame him. He had probably seen everything while he was out there. He could imagine that the events that transpired only a few hours before lay thick on the boy’s mind. The man walked around the table and crouched down next to the child, before placing a hand on his shoulder.
“You were attacked because they tried to steal your dinner, right?”
The boy nodded.
“You fought them off with every ounce of energy you have, right?”
He nodded again. The man spoke lower.
“You killed someone today, right?”
The boy’s lip quivered. A tear trailed down his cheek.
“No need for the tears, kid. It had to be done.”
The man had never seen anything like it, to be quite honest. A boy no older than 12 lying on the ground, completely unrecognizable after being reduced to a beaten pulp. The dead child’s friends had long run off at that point. The culprit lie in a pool of blood, sobbing uncontrollably.
Even in his confused state of mind, the boy’s untapped power was terrifying.
“Death is a normal thing around here. You’d better get used to seein’ blood like that. You can’t be showin’ too much emotion around the wrong types. Got it?”
“Y-Yessir…”
The boy sniffled while wiping his sleeve against his face, drying his tears. He was an emotional child, unstable mentally, and if he felt threatened or attacked, he would fight. He would be a force to be reckoned with as he grew into himself.
“What was your name again, kid?”
“Hasan Piker, sir…”
—----
You’ll be wagging that tail in no time!
Ramona turned the card over her fingers, staring at the loopy font and the cartoon dog with a thermometer in its mouth illustrated on the front. She opened the card slightly to reread the handwritten message again.
We hope you rest and recover swiftly!
- Harrington Campaign Team
Ramona bit on the inside of her cheek before tossing the card off of her bed. Her room was an explosion of gift baskets and massive flower arrangements. Everywhere she looked she felt nauseous with the amount of color her eyes were receiving. She hadn’t even seen how she looked, but judging by the fact that she was wearing a massive nose splint and that she couldn’t feel her face, it was safe to say she had been royally fucked. Ramona looked up at the window, her sheer orange curtains billowing gently, the breeze cooling her down slightly. She had been in her bed for what felt like days, nurses checking on her condition regularly. A heart rate monitor and an IV drip sat by her nightstand, loading her up with whatever painkiller it took to keep the dull soreness at bay. Two attempts at her life in the span of a little over a week…At this point she was not free to leave the house anymore, at least not for a while until her father got security whipped into shape.
Her eyes went to the door. She hadn’t seen Hasan since she was almost kidnapped. Part of her was petrified he hadn’t made it. There was so much gunfire. She was fortunate enough to have escaped without a single bullet shot at her, however she didn’t know if she could say the same for her personal bodyguard. As desperately as she wanted to kill that man herself, wiping that smug smile off of his face once and for all, she didn’t know what she would do if he hadn’t survived. Unfortunately he was an infectious person in all the best ways. He was a book of mysteries yet to be cracked open by her prying hands. Not to mention their little moment in the dressing room yesterday. She had come to accept that hot and bothered feeling in her nether region was certainly lust. He was…tempting…when he didn’t talk.
Her bedroom door creaked open slightly.
“Oh, honey, she’s awake.”
The door opened fully. Her mother and father both walked inside, weak smiles spread across their faces. Her father carried a tray of food.
“G’morning, Mona girl, um…”
Mr. Harrington looked down at the food in his hands.
“...Had Franny from the kitchen staff whip up some sweet tamales, I know how much you like ‘em…”
Her mother walked over to her window to preen the various bouquets while her father sat down next to her, placing the tray in her lap. Ramona stared at the food on her lap, then up at her parents. Her mother had been crying. Her father looked exhausted. She couldn’t imagine how they felt knowing their daughter had almost been killed twice in over a week. They weren’t the most emotional people, they often hid their feelings behind a thin veil of stoicism. Ramona reached out to her father’s hand, taking it in her own. He glanced up at her before breaking eye contact and looking at his feet.
“What happened Daddy?”
Her mother turned her back to her, bringing her hand up to her face. She heard her sob quietly. Mr. Harrington exhaled. His grip on her hand tightened.
“...Well, Mona… there was a brief period of time where your mother and I thought that we had lost you. You were almost… taken from us. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if…”
Ramona blinked, exhaling gently through her nose. She looked back at her food, her appetite completely vanishing. Her father cleared his throat.
“What matters is you’re here now. Now, eat your breakfast. You need to eat somethin’.”
The room went mostly quiet again, her mother collecting herself as she faced the window, her father reading through some of the get well soon cards. Ramona lifted her gaze from the untouched food on her lap, her voice wary but strong.
“Daddy, this isn’t the first time.”
She swallowed hard, her throat tight.
“I think… I think someone out there wants me gone….”
Her father’s face hardened, his jaw tightening as he sat up straighter beside her.
“Ramona, We’ve hired the best security team in the state. You’ll have around-the-clock protection now. No one’s getting near you again.”
Ramona pressed on.
“But it didn’t stop them before, did it?”
Her mother turned from the bouquets at the window, her hands trembling as she folded them together over her chest.
“Ramona, please. Your father’s doing everything he can. You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”
“Safe?”
Ramona raised her voice slightly.
“Safe would mean they would have never gotten that close in the first place. They would have never gotten another chance to attack me after the assassination attempt. This wasn’t just some random act of violence. Someone is targeting me.”
Her father exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. He hesitated, his voice low and measured when he finally spoke.
“Mona… there’s something you need to know.”
Ramona’s heart sank at his tone. She straightened in bed, her eyes narrowing.
“What are you talking about?”
Her mother shot him a panicked look, but he ignored it. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he locked eyes with his daughter.
“The people behind this… we think they’ve been targeting our family for a while now.”
Her breath caught.
“What do you mean? How long?”
“It started with the threats. Anonymous letters. Phone calls. At first, we thought it was just political bullshit. Apart of being a public figure.”
Ramona was silent, her brow knit together as she processed what he had just said. She blinked, then shot her father a hateful look.
“You knew? You knew I was in danger, and you didn’t tell me?”
“We didn’t want to scare you,”
Her father furrowed his brow.
“You were under enough pressure with the campaign. We thought we could handle it. Keep it contained.”
“You thought you could handle it? I was almost killed. Twice! I was-”
“Now that’s enough from you, Missy!”
Her father barked, Ramona jumping slightly at the sudden command. Mr. Harrington quickly stood, his fists clenched tight, his jaw locked. She watched her father storm out of the room. He had clearly been so incredibly stressed out over all of this, it probably didn’t help to have her yelling at them like that. She would apologize to him later. He was doing everything he could possibly do to keep her safe.
“God… if it hadn’t have been for Hasan…”
Ramona perked up, looking over at her mother as she dabbed at her tears with a silk cloth from her pocket. Was he okay? Ramona sat up, pushing the tray of food from her lap next to her.
“Is Hasan okay? I-I mean, is he alive? Did he-”
“Oh, Mona, you shouldn’t be-.”
“Is Hasan okay?!?”
“Yes! Yes, he is–now please relax…”
Ramona let out a large sigh, her eyes wide. She didn’t realize that she had been fisting her blankets in either hand so hard as to make her arms shake. Mrs. Harrington tried pushing her back down into bed gently.
“You really shouldn’t be moving much Ramona…”
“Where is he?”
Her mother didn’t answer at first.
“He’s just down the hall, the nurses-”
Ramona pulled her blankets off of her legs quickly.
“Good lord, honey, wait-”
Ramona stood on shaky legs, grabbing onto her IV drip and her heart rate monitor as she began walking towards her door. She needed to see him. She needed to see the man that saved her life.
“Ramona, lie back down!”
Her mother begged as he grabbed one of her arms, but she shook it off of herself. She turned to stare at her mother, eyes wide and soaked with tears.
“Can I not thank the man that made it so I’m still here today? Not for a moment?”
Mrs. Harrington stared at her wordlessly. She took a step forward, cautiously taking her free hand in her own.
“...He’s not awake. He’s been out ever since our people were able to break into the shop. He… He was shot multiple times, honey…”
Ramona pulled her hand away.
“I don’t care. I need to see him.”
Mrs. Harrington clenched her jaw, before glancing over at the window. Ramona watched her mother’s brain work as she decided what to do with her unruly daughter. Mrs. Harrington turned to face her again.
“...Just briefly. I want you back in this bed no later than 2:15, understood?”
“Yeah.”
Ramona turned, wheeling her mini hospital beside her as she left her bedroom. She didn’t take the time to glance into the mirror before she left, she didn’t care. As she looked down the long hallway, she spotted one door open, a nurse walking out of it. Ramona slowly made her way down the hall, her head pounding, before making her way through the doorway.
The room was sterile. The bed was made, the curtains were closed just enough so a small gap cut through the darkness. He lie in the middle of the king sized mattress, his feet almost sticking off of the end. His eyes were closed, an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. Ramona felt her mouth go dry as she observed her bodyguard in such a state. She took careful steps over to his bedside before taking a seat beside him. He was topless, the comforter pulled up right under his armpits, both hands laid out over his stomach. White bandages covered his shoulders and one of his forearms. One eye was heavily bruised.
Even in comatose he was beautiful.
Ramona took the glasses from the side of his nightstand, noticing that one of the lenses was missing, the other shattered. The wire frame was bent. Her hands began trembling. Everything settled in now. She almost found herself in the hands of an unknown, sinister entity, no clue what could have happened to her if he hadn’t have been there, even when he was distracted. Ramona let out a gentle sob as she balled her hands into fists, pressing them into her eyes. She cried quietly, hunched over, her shoulders shrugging with each sob. She had been an absolute dick to this man that had signed himself up for a job that he didn’t even know he would survive. How could she let herself behave this way towards him? He was completely, utterly correct about what he said to her before. How entitled she was to everyone’s kindness. She didn’t want him to look at her like some spoiled rotten princess. She didn’t want him to feel like he was wasting his time here.
“...Oh, Hasan…”
Ramona picked her head up, staring down at him with wet eyes, gritting her teeth as she took wet, shallow breaths. The tears streamed down her face and into his comforter. She lifted both of her hands to his stomach, taking one of his in her own. She held his hand to her chest, crying into his skin, pressing her lips into his knuckles.
“I’m so… so sorry, Hasan…”
She would change. She would take his advice and become a better person. For herself, for her family, for her campaign, for the people of LA, for him.