BLOOD AND CHOICES.
The sound of persistent banging on your door hauled you from your deep slumber, dreams filled of happiness and love disappearing as the knocks got louder and louder until eventually, you had no other option but to throw your feet over the side of the bed, grab the gun from the draws and slowly walk downstairs. The neighbours were bound to kill you in the morning, already frustrated with the constant noise that erupted through the walls every time the Shelby boys rushed around to your house for medical treatment - which easily could have been fixed at their own homes with some water and a plaster.
Half expecting to see John or Arthur pushed against the wall with bright red blood dripping down the skin on their face, you placed the gun on the shelf that was on your cream walls. No-one would dare hurt you anyway, not when you had connections with the Shelby family. The knocking faded away as the figure behind the door saw your own through the glass, blurred but still attractive. You fumbled with the keys for a few moments before throwing open the door, preparing to give one of the brothers a lecture about fighting while smashed but instead, you were met with Michael. He was a sight for sore eyes but beneath the blood that drenched his luxurious suit, you could still make out his appealing features that sent your heart wild whenever you saw him.
"Why are you bleeding?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer. There was never any harmony at your house at the weekend, there was always someone to bandage up. Being a trained nurse had its benefits and you felt honoured that you were able to help the boys in their frantic times of need but when they turned up on your doorstep, only just able to walk as they trailed a combination of sludge and blood through your clean carpets, you cursed getting the training.
"For the fun of it," he replied, his voice leaking sarcasm and slurred. Rolling your eyes, melodramatically so he got the point, you linked your fingers with his, kicked the front door shut with your foot and hauled him into the kitchen where you sat him down on the chair. The smell of booze occupied your nostrils, making you shake your head in dissatisfaction. "Don't look at me like that, love. It doesn't suit that beautiful face of yours."
"We can't keep this up forever," you mumbled, moving over to grab the first-aid kit that Tommy had very respectfully gifted you, also overlooking Michael's compliment. "I won't be here forever and who will bandage you up then? No one in Small Heath has the tolerance to deal with you boys on a weekly basis."
"You would be here forever if you agreed to marry me," he said, bother evident in his voice. Ever since his arrival at Small Heath, Michael had worshipped you. He was not a nervous man either and he made his feelings known to everyone, including yourself, but being a shy girl, you often found yourself rejecting his marriage proposals. Most of the time, he asked you when he had drunk a bit too much and you would chuckle at his words, telling him to ask you in the morning. Of course, he did but you continued to reject him, even if every part of you wanted to say yes. Being friends with the Shelby's produced enough trouble for you - tedious looks at work, sly and sometimes horrid remarks and the struggle to make friends because they all dreaded the gang. Being married to Michael would not improve things. "You love me, I know it."
"I know," you said carelessly, not thinking about your comments until they had left your mouth. The words lingered in the air for a few moments, no words spoken between the two of you as you gently cleaned up the cuts on Michael's angelic face. "No, we are just friends, that's it."
"Since when have we ever been friends?" Michael raised one eyebrow and looked at you with confusion, knowing full well that the chemistry had always been there. Before Michael arrived in Small Heath, you often went out on dates with men to try and find your true love but since then, nobody had appealed to you, only him. "We are more than friends, you just refuse to accept it. I think your perfect." He smiled goofy and looked up at you, only to make you become uncomfortable under his loving stare.
Michael hissed in pain as you dabbed the cloth harder onto an open would, the action a warning. The drinks that Michael had consumed only minutes before his fight, which was a lot considering he was drinking with Isaiah, fuelled his confidence and flirtatious behaviour. You saw him move his eyes from your hands to your waist, debating whether he should touch you.
"Do you love me then?" he finally asked, breaking the stubborn silence that was starting to fill the room as he mentally argued with himself. "Cos' if you do, then I'll get mum to arrange the flowers for the wedding and then we can sort your dress out." His mischievous behaviour was returning and the blush on your cheeks gave him everything that he had ever wanted - he knew that you wanted to marry him, it would just take dedication and hard work to go you to accept his offer.
"I don't know how I feel, Michael. I do know that discussing our feelings for each other at half two in the morning is not a good combination," you spoke in a monotone voice. When you had finished cleaning the wounds, pressing a kiss against his forehead once you had finished.
"I just don't want to lose you, love." Michael pressed his forehead on your stomach, the need to snooze suddenly rolling over his body. Timidly, you ran your fingers through his thick hair, the need to be near him growing stronger with every passing second. Michael stood up, but his drunken ways caused him to stumble over and fall back against the table, bringing you with him as he did so. Michael's hands held on your waist firmly, your own pressed against his cheeks, being careful not to cause him anymore discomfort. "You're a good en', you know that?"
All you could do was nod, too invested in the feeling of his touch on your skin. It was little and not much of an action, but it still managed to send goose bumps across your body as he gently squeezed.
"It's best to clean them tomorrow but if you pop round in the morning, I'll do it for you. I don't trust you to cut a carrot, let alone clean them properly. You're lucky that you didn't need stitches..." You continued to ramble about medical things, not that Michael was truly listening to what you were saying, your face flushed as Michael watched your lips.
"Oi," he said, her voice strict. "Shut up and kiss me." The breath in your throat got stuck at his confident words, the request sending shivers down your spine as you looked at Michael with a shocked expression.
"I can't," you whispered, your body deceiving you as you started to lean in, somewhat desperate to find out what it was like to kiss Michael. Still, there was a voice at the back of your head screaming for you to stop.
"You can," he slurred, wrapping his arms tighter around your waist. Before any more words could be spoke, you pressed your mouth again Michael's. The kiss was deep and only seconds in, you knew that it wouldn't be long before you found yourself craving the taste of Whiskey and cigarettes - something that worked so well. Michael spun you around, so you were pressed against the table, the hard wood digging into the bottom of your back, but the pain didn't affect you as Michael bit the bottom of your lip, sliding his tongue in your mouth. The feeling was different to any other men that you had kissed, and you soon ended up with your hands tangled in Michael's hair as he pressed open-mouthed kisses against your cheeks and neck, his breath hot on your skin.
"Let's go to sleep," he mumbled, the comment silently killing him as he pulled away.
There's only one bed... "
"Like that fucking matters anymore, darling."