Picks Up: Jason was preparing to shoot Faith, after putting down plastic or whatnot. Can’t remember why he didn’t, but it was a Friday, so I wrote what I thought she’d be thinking.
Someone is walking up to the bedroom door.
Hearing him knocking —
She knows what it’s for.
She’s at the window wondering why there is no one to save her.
Raising up her eyes to a brand new sky she knows the truth at last —
She’s never coming back.
— This Is The Day, Ivy
She was five the first time her father molested her.
It’s a hazy memory, but even a small little girl is unable to forget the first time her daddy climbs into bed with, slides her cotton nightgown to her waist and touches her in places that only her mother has ever seen.
She was ten the first time her father raped her.
And she was fifteen when she shot him.
She doesn’t remember when it happened, she doesn’t remember pulling the trigger, she’s not even sure where the gun came from.
But the memory of holding the gun in her hands, standing over his fallen form is etched into her memory. She remembers that part clearly.
It was the second that Faith Rasticoff decided that no man would have power over her again. She would never be the victim again.
Which was why the current situation was ironic. She was about to die. At the hands of a man.
She’d made last moment pleas for her life, begged…would have groveled if she weren’t tied up. But it was unnecessary. Jason Morgan had made his career on his lack of mercy.
Tears streaked down her cheeks, smearing her mascara. Her sobs were soundless, thanks to the duct tape.
She was a threat. A threat that had to be removed.
She was seventeen when she met her husband. Mickey Roscoe took good care of her, didn’t push her in the bedroom, dressed her in fine clothing and took her to all the right places. He’d saved her from a life on the streets.
Was it so hard to believe that she’d wanted a little revenge for his death?
She could hear Morgan loading the gun from behind her. Her eyes squeezed shut and she clenched her fists at her side.
She’d wanted children. A little boy for Mickey, and a little girl for her. She would have been a good mother, she knew it. A little girl she could protect from people like her father, from people like Sonny Corinthos. Mickey would get a boy to take over his operation. A perfect life.
She’d been coming home from a doctor’s appointment when one of Mickey’s guards told her. Corinthos had ordered Mickey’s murder.
She’d never been able to tell him she was pregnant, and when she lost the child three months later, she hadn’t been able to tell anyone about that.
Was it so wrong to want Sonny Corinthos to pay for the family he’d ripped from her? Only his family mattered? Only his unborn child was worth anything? What about her? What about the family she’d been creating? What about the love she and her husband had shared? Had it been any different than Sonny and Carly?
She heard the phone ring behind her and steeled herself. Mickey had gone with dignity, she knew it. He hadn’t cried or begged for his life, Mickey was better than that.
She would die like he had. She’d done nothing wrong, nothing that the great Sonny Corinthos wouldn’t had done himself.
She’d seen a threat and she’d sought to remove it.
“It’ll be done.”
His cold voice rang through the room and Faith’s heart began to beat wildly.
She was going to see Mickey again…and her unborn child that had never had a chance to survive.
She’d be free.
She felt the cold nuzzle of the gun at her ear and she squeezed her eyes tighter.
She’d be free.
She heard the hammer cock back.
She’d be free.