On A Mission

Joséphine Gauthier, 17 years old has a french dad and a brittish mother. But her mother is not really the normal-housewife-mother, not at all. Since the age of 3, Joséphine has received the best practice she could ever have, so that one day, she could do the same job as her mother. I think you got it by now, she is kind of a spy. When you learn that you have a mortal malady, and that you have no choice but to accept all the missions you're offered, the last thing you want to do is to fall in love and get attached.

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8. A jerk I loved

"Maybe he was an asshole. Maybe he was a jerk. But he was a jerk that I loved."

•••

 

"I have bad news" she said. Something wasn't right. She would never said that if it wasn't really serious.

"What is it mom?"

"Come to the hospital. Now!"

"Oh my god" I mumbled and rushed out the cave, climbing down as fast as I could, ignoring Harry's questions. I took the first cab I could find and soon enough I found my mom. She was sitting on a chair beside a room  that was near enough the entrance for me to notice her directly.

"Mom, what happened?!" I nearly yelled as I went up to her. A nurse "shh:d"me, and I showed her my middle-finger. Not in the mood, ok? 

Mom looked up to me with a face made shiny from tears. Not good. Not good at all.

"You knew?" she said with a shaky voice.

"Knew what mom?! Stop being so fucking mysterious!" She looked down on a paper she had clenched in her hand, then looked back at me.

"Did you know that your dad had..." A look at the paper again "Myocardial infarction?"

"Well... yes. Kind of. But I never knew what it meant!"

"Oh, yeah? And how come you never told me?" She said, almost threateningly.

"Well, I don't know, I might have wanted to tell you, but since you were so busy cheating on dad, I thought you might not give a fuck!"

"I don't like that tone!"

"Maybe I took that tone because you still haven't told me what's going on!"

"You wanna know what's going on?!" She got up, yelling me in the face. I nodded, getting myself ready for what was coming. "Philippe is dead! Your father is dead. There. Happy now?!" she broke down, crying more than ever. 

As for me, you could say I saw it coming. But still, I couldn't take it. I ran out towards the doors, ,not crying a single moment when I suddenly hit someone. I knew by the sent that it was Harry. How could one forget that? He hugged me tight, and I collapsed in his arms, making him carry me to his car. He drove towards the park, and I cried the whole journey. 

When we were in "our place" I could finally calm down.

"I knew you would feel better if I took you here" Harry said, breaking the silence. It was dark outside and it was getting cold. I shivered. Harry must have noticed it, because the second after he was beside me, putting his leather jacket upon my bare shoulders, then hugging me from behind.

"Why are you helping me?" I managed to say.

"Because you need help."

"I don't need help."

"You do. That asshole could have killed you sooner or later, if he wasn't dead. Every one needs help getting away from people like him. No offense"

"Look. I know you think he is a total jerk because he beat me. But he was my father. So maybe he was an asshole. Maybe he was a jerk. But he was a jerk that I loved. Deep inside myself. And that's the hardest part; I don't know if I feel good because he can't harm me anymore,or if I should be sad, because he was my father and he died."

"You should feel good" he said calmly. I looked up at him, confused. "You get to come live with me"

 

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