Chapter 209 — Fiona Breaks Down Again Because of Monica
Morning came quietly.
Weak sunlight filtered through the worn-out curtains of 2119, spilling faintly across the living room floor.
Lip rubbed his eyes as he sat up from the couch.
He hadn't slept well at all.
All night, the same images kept replaying in his head—
Fiona's back as she walked away.
And that sharp, cutting—
"Fuck you."
He glanced toward the kitchen.
Cigarette butts.
Empty beer cans.
The whole place looked like a mess—just like everything else in their lives.
Lip let out a long breath.
Then he stood up.
Maybe… Monica was better now.
Maybe Frank had come back.
Maybe something, for once, had gone right.
—
Upstairs, the door to Frank's room was slightly ajar.
Lip pushed it open.
A stale, suffocating smell hit him immediately.
Inside, Monica was still lying on the bed.
In almost the exact same position as before—
Curled up.
Small.
Like a forgotten ragdoll.
Her eyes were open.
But empty.
Staring at a crack in the ceiling, as if something hidden there held all her thoughts.
"Mom?"
Lip called out cautiously.
His voice echoed faintly in the quiet room.
He stepped closer and gently shook her shoulder.
"Are you okay?"
"Want me to get you something to eat?"
No response.
Monica only blinked once.
And then—
Tears silently slid down her face.
—
She hadn't slept all night.
The depressive crash had swallowed her whole.
Fragments kept flashing through her mind—
Ian pulling away from her.
The judgmental looks in the recruitment office.
Fiona's cold, angry voice.
Each memory felt like a needle, piercing deeper and deeper.
She thought about Frank.
About those chaotic nights.
Those brief moments of happiness.
But now—
Even he wasn't here.
And all that was left was this overwhelming feeling:
She was a burden.
A mess.
Something broken that ruined everything it touched.
—
"Mom… don't do this."
Lip's voice grew more urgent.
"You've gotta get up."
He wasn't Fiona.
He didn't know how to deal with this.
But he knew one thing—
he couldn't just leave it like this.
Lip went downstairs, rummaged through drawers, and found a few old pill bottles.
Antidepressants.
Lithium.
The ones Monica always refused to take.
He poured out a handful, grabbed a glass of water, and went back upstairs.
"Here… take these. They'll help."
Monica finally turned her head and looked at him.
There was no gratitude in her eyes.
Only exhaustion.
And resentment.
"Medicine?" she murmured weakly. "That'll turn me into a walking corpse… I'm already bad enough… just leave me alone."
Lip pushed the pills into her hand anyway.
She let them fall.
They scattered across the floor, rolling into the dust under the bed.
"Go away, Lip… all of you… just go away…"
"I ruin everything… I ruined Ian… ruined Fiona… I ruined this whole family…"
Lip froze.
He wanted to argue.
But nothing came out.
He wasn't good with emotions.
So he turned and left, muttering under his breath:
"Fuck… I need to find Frank."
—
Downstairs, he grabbed his phone and dialed.
"Hey… uh, Kevin… is Frank at The Alibi Room?"
"…Yeah… okay."
He hung up and rubbed his temples.
Frank wasn't there.
Which meant—
he had to go look for him.
Again.
—
Meanwhile, next door, in 2118—
Fiona slowly opened her eyes.
William's bed was warm.
Comfortable.
Her body still ached faintly from the night before—but strangely, that ache made her feel… grounded.
Clear.
After everything, she had actually slept.
Deeply.
No nightmares.
No chaos.
She turned her head and looked at William.
He was already awake, scrolling through his phone.
"Morning," he said quietly.
He didn't ask about last night.
He knew better.
She needed space.
Fiona smiled faintly.
For the first time in a while—
her chest felt lighter.
"Morning… and… thank you. For last night."
She sat up.
The towel slipped, but she didn't bother adjusting it.
The pain had stripped something away from her—
and today, she decided—
she wouldn't think about 2119.
Not today.
William handed her a cup of coffee.
She took a sip.
Warm. Steady.
"I think… I can try not caring. Just for today."
William nodded.
He didn't say much.
But his presence alone made her feel… supported.
—
After getting ready, Fiona headed out.
"I'm going to the restaurant. Maybe tonight… we go out for a proper meal?"
"Sure," William replied.
He watched her leave.
The door clicked shut.
He shook his head slightly.
She was finally starting to pull herself together.
—
Outside, Fiona walked down the street.
The air felt fresh.
The noise of the South Side—
alive.
Real.
She even found herself humming as she pushed open the restaurant door.
Her staff glanced at her curiously—
but she just smiled and got to work.
Orders.
Plates.
Customers.
Everything flowed smoothly.
By the time the lunch rush ended, she sat at the counter, counting the day's earnings.
Relaxed.
For once.
Maybe—
this was a new beginning.
—
Then her phone rang.
Around 3 PM.
Caller ID: Ian.
She hesitated.
Then answered.
"…Yeah?"
"Fiona… you need to come back."
Ian's voice was shaking.
"…Mom… she…"
There was a pause.
Then—
"She's in the bathroom… there's blood everywhere. I called an ambulance but…"
The phone nearly slipped from Fiona's hand.
Everything—
collapsed.
That fragile calm shattered like glass.
—
She ran.
Out of the restaurant.
Flagged down a taxi.
"2119. Fast."
Her hands trembled the whole way.
Images flooded her mind—
Monica laughing.
Crying.
Screaming.
Breaking.
Why?
Why was it always like this?
—
When she arrived—
the ambulance was already there.
Red and blue lights flashing.
Neighbors gathered, whispering.
Lip stood at the door—
face pale.
Hands stained with blood.
Ian held Debbie Gallagher and Liam Gallagher.
Carl Gallagher stood off to the side, silent.
"How is she?!"
Fiona rushed forward, voice hoarse.
"She's alive… but lost a lot of blood," Lip said quietly.
"I went to find Frank… when I got back… she was in the bathroom… with a razor…"
—
Fiona pushed past him and ran inside.
The bathroom door was open.
The floor—
covered in blood.
Like some grotesque painting.
Monica was already on the stretcher.
Pale.
Wrists wrapped in makeshift bandages.
Her eyes found Fiona.
Her lips moved weakly.
"Sorry… baby… I… I'm just… so tired…"
Fiona dropped to her knees.
Tears poured out uncontrollably.
She grabbed Monica's cold hand.
"Mom… why…? We… we can get through this…"
But Monica just closed her eyes.
The paramedics wheeled her out.
The siren wailed—
and then she was gone.
—
Fiona collapsed onto the blood-stained floor.
Everything she had just begun to rebuild—
burned to nothing.
Again.
She wanted to scream.
To run.
But responsibility—
like chains—
held her in place.
—
Lip stepped forward, trying to help her up.
She slapped his hand away.
"Don't touch me!"
"DON'T TOUCH ME!!!"