Chapter 25: Lip's Fate Has Already Been Decided
Love clouds the mind. Once someone sobers up, love alone can no longer bind them.
But dependency—dependency is something else entirely.
When the soul anchors itself too deeply in another, losing that bond can shatter a person.
Dependency means existing only through the presence of the other.
By now, Fiona had reached the edge of that dependence on William.
All it would take was one more push, and she would never be able to leave him again.
In the freezing Chicago night, a BMW 1000RR motorcycle roared down the empty streets.
That beast of 205 horsepower was the temporary ride Brad had lent to William.
William wasn't a biker by nature—his experience lay with four wheels—but control was control. After a quick bit of practice, he learned to handle the machine with ease, weaving through the traffic like he owned the road.
On a lonely bench, Fiona sat hugging her shoulders, her mind blank.
Images of Lip's furious face kept flashing before her eyes.
Then came the sound of an engine.
She looked up and saw a familiar figure—William, head to toe in black, helmet hiding his expression.
She recognized him instantly.
Without hesitation, she stood and walked to the roadside.
The motorcycle slowed to a stop before her, its exhaust rumbling fiercely even as it idled.
William didn't say a word. He simply tilted his head, gesturing for her to get on.
And Fiona—now almost conditioned to obey him—did exactly that without a word of protest.
She climbed onto the back seat, her hands trembling as they wrapped around his waist.
Meanwhile, at South District Hospital.
Frank was being wheeled toward the exit by an orderly.
"Up, cripple. This wheelchair belongs to the hospital," the man grunted.
The orderly was strong, and handling a washed‑up drunk like Frank Gallagher required no effort.
The emergency department had done its part; now that Frank was no longer in critical danger, he was the hospital's problem no more.
"Fuck! You corporate dogs!" Frank rasped. "What, you think you'll never get sick? Someday you'll end up just like me, treated like trash by the same goddamn system!"
His outburst drew no reply. The orderly ignored him completely, pushed the wheelchair back inside, and left Frank sprawled on the pavement.
"At least give me a damn cane, you bastards!" Frank shouted after him.
The man paused, turned back, yanked one of the crutches from the chair, and tossed it onto the ground beside him.
"Asshole!" Frank spat, flipping the man off before struggling upright.
With the single crutch under his arm, he limped off into the night.
Half an hour later, he reached 2119 West, shivering from the cold.
The moment he stepped inside, he went straight for the liquor.
Only alcohol could dull the pain now. Once the burn hit his veins, relief washed over him, and he soon collapsed onto the couch, drifting into a heavy sleep.
Morning came.
The sun crawled across the sky as Fiona opened the door.
After last night's catharsis with William, her emotions had steadied somewhat.
Life, as always, had to go on.
But the sight that greeted her—Frank unconscious on the sofa—instantly killed her fragile sense of calm.
She glanced at the thick plaster cast on his leg, said nothing, and went upstairs to rest.
An hour passed.
Without Fiona's usual morning wake‑up call, the house was unusually quiet. Everyone still slept—except Lip and Ian.
"Ian, Fiona didn't wake us today," Ian said, looking around drowsily.
Lip, distracted, muttered, "How should I know?"
He grabbed a slice of bread, swallowed a few gulps of milk, and left the house.
He needed to see William. He needed to know exactly what Fiona had done.
But in truth, Lip didn't care about Fiona's sacrifice. That was just his excuse. What really gnawed at him was William's connection to Karen.
At the motel, William's phone buzzed. He stirred, half awake, and picked it up.
An unfamiliar number.
"Yeah, who's this?"
"It's me. Lip. I want to talk. You free?"
William smirked. "Name the place."
Half an hour later, the 1000RR screeched to a stop under a railway bridge. Lip emerged from the shadows beneath the concrete pillars, cigarette dangling from his mouth.
William removed his helmet and stared at him.
"Alright, what do you want?"
He immediately noticed the dark circles under Lip's eyes. Clearly, the kid hadn't slept all night.
"What did Fiona do," Lip asked quietly, "that made you drop the charges?"
Facing William now, he didn't have that same defiance as before.
"Well, Philip," William began, voice calm, "I never meant to make things hard for you. Jail was just... a lesson."
"What kind of lesson?" Lip frowned.
"That every choice comes with consequences," William said, shifting easily into rhetoric.
Lip grew impatient as William rambled on like some monk doling out wisdom.
"Stop, stop, enough with the lectures!" Lip snapped.
William chuckled softly and patted his shoulder.
"Philip, you've got potential, you really do."
"Cut the crap," Lip said. "I don't know what you made Fiona do, but…" He hesitated. "Just don't hurt her, okay?"
For a brief moment, he was once again that protective little brother.
William understood him perfectly. He knew that beneath Lip's words about Fiona, he was really hinting at Karen.
But as far as William was concerned, some things in the South Side were destined to stay as they were.
Lip's role, his relationships, even his downfall—everything had already been arranged.