Flowers

61

Camille

"I had a friend named Michael when I was around six," I told him, "I used to call him Mikester."

Both of us were running on rather minimal sleep due to yesterday and the events of the morning hours, now on our way to his mother's funeral.

I understood how exhausted Michael must be, not having had a proper night's sleep in days during very stressful times and now going to say his final goodbyes to his own mother. I would be a total wreck in his shoes.

I felt such empathy for him, and was trying to lighten the mood the tiniest hint. Michael had been quiet all morning, very caught up with his own thoughts, and of course it worried me.

"Has anybody ever called you Mikester?" I wondered curiously, hoping that it could maybe become a thing of ours.

"Not twice," he murmured out lowly, fully focused on the long and empty road ahead.

I nodded to myself and in defeat slouched into the passenger's seat. I had no idea what to expect of the funeral, how many people there would be or even if Michael's father would be there. I hadn't wanted to inquire too much, knowing it wasn't the most pleasant topic to bring up.

It's as if he had read my thoughts, as he then broke the silence with a very important matter.

"Dad's gonna be there. Can I introduce you to him?" Michael cleared his throat uncomfortably, and I knew how broken his relationship with his father was and how nervous he felt about seeing him, "s'fine if you don't wanna."

"It would be nice to meet him," I decided and straightened up, but it quickly turned into a frown, "I just wish it was under better circumstances..."

Despite the horrid things his father had done in the past, especially to his own sons and Rob's fiancée, by being one of the three relatives Michael had on this Earth, I felt the need to at least meet him once. I knew he was a dangerous and most likely very unstable person, but still.

"Yeah..." he shrugged lightly, still very much in his own thoughts.

"Have you talked to him after he called you?" I questioned carefully, hoping that they had talked and awkwardness wouldn't ensue, "or had any type of contact?"

"No."

I had nothing to reply with, so I just nodded and fell silent. I wanted to take his mind away from the troubling thoughts he had but at the same time wanted to let him process them, and now felt conflicted of what I should do and how I should act.

"He's gonna be fucking drunk there, y'know?" Michael shook his head to himself, "fucker can't respect the fucking dead."

"Oh, gosh..." I frowned, sensing how frustrated he was about it, "do you really think he will be drunk at his wife's funeral?"

"Were never married," he muttered out, seeming almost disgusted by the fact, "I don't remember him sober, sweetness."

"I'm so sorry," my frown deepened, still unable to imagine the kind of childhood he had had, "if he is drunk and it bothers you, I'll have him taken outside and away from everyone."

"S'just us," he told me, dark eyes never meeting my concerned ones while my brows raised in surprise, "you, me and dad. Don't think Rob'll be there."

My heart broke, feeling horrible for him and his mother. To have such a minimal amount of people at your funeral did say a lot in my mind, but I didn't want to say it aloud, knowing it would most likely offend.

"Oh, okay," I sighed unsurely, fiddling nervously with my fingers on my lap, "I don't want you to be angry with me, but I asked a few of my security to follow us and stay outside. You won't even notice they're there, I promise. I just... I really need them around."