counterfeit—chapter thirteen [newsies x reader]
A/N: Wow I’m not dead, sorry I disappeared for a while, life is crazy. Anyway, I’ll fix all the technical stuff in the morning, it’s late. Also, sorry if this stinks, I’m tired and it’s been a while since I’ve written anything.
JACK HAD MADE SURE you found your way home this time, leaving you at your apartment doorstep, bidding you farewell. A sense of gloom entered your stomach as you climbed up the stairs. If you didn’t have Spot Conlon then you were screwed. How was supposed to work, anyway? How were you supposed to make money, to buy medicine, from a job that you weren’t even attending?
Your feet were heavy as you clambered up the stairs, the weight becoming all too real. You fumbled for your key before inserting it into the door and turning it. The dark oak door creaked open and you stepped inside.
How long could you keep this lie up? How long would you be able to fool them and maintain their trust?
One more worry after another piled onto your mind. You shook off the boots that’s you’d been wearing all day and stumbled around in the dark in the socks that were two sized too big for you. You reached to pull a pin from your pulled up hair, but a string of coughing and a loud thud grabbed your attention. You ran over to the bedroom you’d been avoiding all this time.
Your shaky hands tore open the brass knob and you ran over to the side of the bed.
"Momma? Are you okay?” You called abruptly, voice shaking. Your mother blinked and she turned her head to face you. She gave a small cough, and looked at you dead in your eyes.
“[Y/n], I–” another cough, “–I love you, so very much.” She paused. Your brow furrowed, confused.
“I’m proud to have been your mother.”
She took your hand and began to run back and forth on your knuckles.
“Momma, no.” Tears began to well and you found it hard to speak with that large lump in your throat.
“[Y/n], if there’s one thing I’m proud of, it’s you,” she looked at you, squinting her eyes.
“Did I ever tell you that story about your father, the one where we found out we were going to have you?”
“Well, he of course wanted a little boy, your father always wanted a son.” She explained, “He insisted that you were a boy, even thought I explained that you could’ve been either. He always said that the two of your would play ball together and that he would teach you to shine shoes.”
She looked off into the distance as she reminisced on the events that had happened nearly sixteen years ago.
“He never did get to see you be born, of course.” She paused again, her eyes resting off on a far corner in the room.
“He–he had been caught in a fire in the old textile factory.” She swallowed. “It had always been you and I from that moment. Me and my sweet angel. [Y/n] and her momma.”
You were shaking as tears spilled down your face.
“I think it’s time that it’s just [Y/n].”
“Momma, no!” You shrieked, your words nearly unintelligible. She squeezed your hand tighter and gave a soft shush.
You rushed to hug her, arms wrapped around her weak figure.
“I’m so proud of you, [Y/n].” She whispered into your hair. “You’re such a brave and strong young woman. I have no doubt that you’ll be able to face this world on your own.”
“Just remember, continue to be kind, and continue to be courageous. Continue to be that little girl who stood up to that bully at the park one day. Continue to be the girl who dropped out of school for her mother’s well being.”
You didn’t even have to look to realize that she was gone. Her arms around you lost their tension and her last breath had been heavy.
You shook with sadness, never letting go of your momma.
You knew something had to be done when it came to the aftermath. You couldn’t continue to pay for the apartment, and you couldn’t just leave your mother there forever. You’d locked the room shut last night and weren’t planning on heading back in.
You’d decided that you’d call the coroner, and leave a notice for the management, all before abandoning the scene. The call to the coroner had been simple, just telling them to come by when you weren’t going to be here. But packing up everything you owned in a tiny newspaper sack while exhausted wasn’t quite easy.
You had scanned the house, picking out everything you needed. You took an extra change of “Frank’s” clothes, as well as one of your more feminine outfits. You packed what little bread you had left over and all the change you could manage.
Where you were going? You weren’t quick sure, but you had planned on asking Jack where he would recommend. You left the apartment, holding an envelope tightly in your hand. You threw it down on the counter as you briskly exited the building.
The envelope housed the key to the apartment and a note from an unreliable source, claiming that the apartment was no longer in use.
The note had made it seem as if the [L/n]’s had never existed.
As if [Y/n] was nothing more than a ghost.
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