Folie à Deux [Yandere Guardian x Abused Female Reader]

2. Murphy's.

After the funeral came to an end Eamon insisted on helping clean up, wanting to do anything he could to not be alone. As much as he didn't want to be alone, he didn't want to be a burden. Even though Julien had offered to spend the night at his place Eamon insisted that he was fine and that Julien should go home to his wife and family.

Julien had already taken several days off of work to stay with him after his son first died, and he didn't want to keep him from his life. That being said, he still found the thought of returning to his quiet home unbearable. It was Saturday evening meaning that Sean would probably have been playing on the play station, he might have even asked his dad to join him if Eamon didn't have a meeting scheduled.

He shook his head, being alone in that house would only make the fact that his son was gone more apparent. His nails dug into his large palms, he couldn't stand the thought of going home to only be reminded of his immeasurable loss.

Leaving the cemetery, he got into his car and turned on the radio to some trashy pop station, needing some noise in the background. He quickly turned it off again as all the songs reminded him painfully of the hyper catchy songs that Sean would listen to. He decided that he would pay a visit to an old friend who he hadn't spoken to in years who ran a pub. He wouldn't be alone, and the alcohol would help to fill the emptiness, at least for a while.

. . .

He walked down a dingy side street, his friend's bar wasn't in the best part of the nearby city which was one of several reasons his ex-wife discouraged him from going, until he came to a surprisingly cheerful bright red facade with flowerboxes and the name Murphy's painted over the front door in black and gold. Stepping through the faint pools of yellow light on the sidewalk leaking through the dirty windows he walked up to the door and pushed it open.

He was greeted by the heavy and welcoming smell of ale and smoke as he crossed the threshold. The small stony interior of the bar was filled with the warm flickering light from the many candles placed on the mismatched tables, in the corner a hearty fire blazed in the fireplace even though it could hardly be considered fall yet.

"Hey, 'ow can ay help ya?" a cheerful voice asked in a thick Irish accent as the middle-aged man working behind the bar looked up from the glass he had been cleaning. "Christ! Good to see ya Eamon, ya look half-dead though." He exclaimed as he got a good look at the newcomer.

At his words, Eamon lifted his head and looked at his reflection in the speckled old mirror that hung above the fireplace. He cringed as a tired and bedraggled version of himself looked back. His once well-combed ginger hair hung limply around his worn face, dark bags had appeared on his pale skin beneath his tired eyes, the suit he had worn for the funeral was already beginning to look rumpled. He could scarcely recognize the man in the reflection as himself.

"Shove over lads!" The barkeep told some of the regulars sitting at the bar in a jolly tone. "Can't ya see this man needs a drink?" He gestured to Eamon with the warm smile that he was well-known for.

"Thanks, Murphy," Eamon nodded to the older man, not having the energy to return the smile, as he took a seat at the recently vacated bar.

"Don't mention it," Murphy replied as he slid a dark, frothing mug of Guinness across the counter. "somethin' seems to be botherin' ya, ya sure ya're aligh'?" He asked with concern as he leaned over the bar to better converse with his old friend.

Eamon only shook his head before he took a long swig from the glass. He didn't have the energy to talk about his troubles, he just wanted to forget about them for a while.

The barkeep didn't press Eamon further and left him alone, talking with the other patrons, only stopping by to ask if he wanted another drink which he always accepted. Having run the pub for more years than could be counted Murphy had learned long ago not to pry into his customer's reasons for coming in, but when his normally uptight and responsible friend reached the bottom of his third consecutive pint of Guinness he couldn't help but grow worried.

"It's fine if ya want to keep ya're secrets, but ay can't help but worry," Murphy broke the silence as he approached Eamon, who was slouched over the bar, and leaned over it himself so that they could have a more personal conversation. "It's been a good few years since ay've seen ya, and now ya come in lookin' like 'ell." His normally jolly eyes were filled with concern.

"My-my son's funeral was either today," Eamon answered in a croaky voice that sounded like he had been gargling gravel, the alcohol considerably loosening his tongue. "... Suicide."

"That sounds like ya need another Guinness," Murphy replied at one as he began pouring a fresh one from the tap and slid it over to him. "Here, on the house," he offered the grieving father a small smile.

"I just don't see a point in any of it," Eamon sighed as he took the offered drink, although he didn't drink from it and instead just stared into space. "I mean what's the point of life when you have nothing to live for?"

"Well, ya can just stay around for the 'ell of it," Murphy offered, trying to lighten the mood as he started wiping down the bar with a rag. He wanted to help his friend, but he wasn't sure how considering that he was not any better off.

"I-I should go," Eamon said gruffly as he got to his feet, offended by the barkeep's jolly tone. "You clearly don't know what it's like-"

"-Wait!" Murphy called earnestly, causing the ginger to pause. "Ye'd be surprised." Murphy walked around the bar and took a seat on the stool that was next to the one that Eamon had been occupying. Eamon found himself compelled to return to his seat and he did, the bar was now entirely empty except for the two of them.

"Ay never told ya this Eamon but ay had a wife once, a family," Murphy sighed, resting his hands on the counter as he reflected on the past. "But that was many years ago."

"What was she like?" Eamon asked, growing curious despite himself.

"Her name was Constance, and it suited her perfectly. She was bright, with a tongue sharp as a tack," Murphy chuckled a smile coming to his face as he thought about his wife. "She loved to read, and ay loved 'er."

He sighed, his face darkening with sadness and regret. "We had hoped to start a family of our own one day, but that all changed when ay found an orphaned girl, and Constance and I decided to take 'er in and raise 'er as our daughter," Murphy continued. "Life was perfect, but after a few months they were both gone, and it's all me fault - but ay don't mean to bore you with me sob story."

Before Eamon could interject and say that he wanted to hear the rest of what happened to Murphy's family the barkeep got to his feet and offered Eamon a hand up, "I can't let ya drive home with how much ye've drunk, why don't you stay here for the night?" he offered as he slung Eamon's arm over his shoulder to help keep the tipsy man steady. "Ya can have yar pick of the three spar bedrooms upstairs."

A/N

More character development in this chapter, and there's more to come soon. ^~^

until next time I'll see you on the other side

~J. C. Coltt.~