A car that drives smoothly, is a car that must have cost a fortune. Tommy looks over at me every so often as I attempt to enjoy the ride in quiet, but it all falls short when he speaks.
"I've never seen Michael emotional before. When I tried to ask you about your occupation he looked as though he was going to jump me." He shifts in his seat. "You two past lovers?"
"We were at the same orphanage." I turn my head, looking at him. He's got a perfectly structured face.
He nods. "You know Father Hughes then?"
"Yes." I pet Jojo slowly. "What about him?"
"He's trying to get in business with us." He says slowly. "I own an institution for kids who don't have parents, or family, and he asked to be apart of it-"
My blood boils. "I don't know what you men do, but involving him in your business is a very bad idea." I couldn't stress that enough. I wonder if he takes my statement and listens, or if he'll just throw the news away.
"No, I know. I know. Michael's told me."
The car grows thick with silence. Angst. I stare at the trees we pass, the sidewalk, the people who stare. Enchanted that such a beautiful car is in such a low income neighbourhood. As I try to focus my mind on the road, my mind races at the thought of Hughes hurting other kids. That's the thing, when I left the orphanage, I knew what I was running away from. I knew that man was not to be stopped unless someone stopped him, by ending his life. I shut my eyes and imagine the mass amounts of children who have to be subjected to that mans rage and wrath.
I shift, turning to look at Tommy. "You have to kill Hughes." My words deceive me, but my heart does not regret the words I say.
"Michael'll do the killings. He's already asked me." He smokes through his nonchalant voice.
"Has he-" I catch myself, wondering if I even want to know. "Has he murdered before?"
"No. Michael's innocent. He's good at what he does, which is accounting."
So he does do the legal side of their business. I stare at this man who drives me home and wonder how many kills he has done. I can't imagine pulling the trigger of a gun, I've never been able to understand how someone could be so sick. But I guess when you're in a gang, things like that come naturally. Like covering your mouth after you cough, easy, effortless, simple.
We spend the rest of the car ride in silence, again, until he speaks again. "The money you make at the hospital isn't good, especially if you live in such a bent up area."
Rain hits his car window, darkening the sky. "I'm not joining you lot." I say, looking forward. "So there is no point in convincing me."
"I can pay you more than triple of what they pay you, we just need a nurse on hand safety ensur-"
"I said, I'm not joining your gang." I snap, turning my head to him. "Michael is twenty-one, and he looks thirty-fucking-nine, the way you drained him of his adolescence it's ridiculous. You people all look so dead inside." I shake my head, looking away.
"Michael doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do." He combats cooly.
I laugh, "Do you think you leave him a bloody choice?"
He stops talking, grits his teeth before tossing his cigarette out the window. All in which is done before we reach a stop at my street. He turns off the car, it stops humming. All we can hear is the rain.
"Thank you for driving me." I say, popping open the door. "But if you ask me to join the Peaky's again, I'll tell Michael and he won't take that news well."
Tommy scoffs, but nods. He seems like the type to give out threats, never really receive them. But I couldn't be more serious, and sent him, I can tell he understands what I mean. Michael will lose his shit if he ever hears that his uncle tried to bribe me.
He swipes his tongue over his lip. "'Right."
I get out and shut the door, heading to my apartment complex. A small dingy place but the rent is cheap, so I can't complain. I kick off my heels and slide out of my dress. My entire body aches of stress and built up emotions. It's like I'm happy and sad at the same time, the feeling remarkable.
I lay flat on my bed after doing my duties as a cat mum, feeding and cleaning up Jojo for as much as she'd let me. I spend the rest of my day in my flat, listening to music, eating, singing, dancing with my glass of wine. I manage to shower, upset that I have to get rid of the smell of Michael that stays on my clothes.
Everything about him, I miss tremendously. It's almost laughable how much I crave his touch. I move to my bed, where the pillow under my head is so soft I almost doze off before remembering to take my medication. Morphine, helps to sleep. Helps with the nightmares, so I put a three drops on the tip of my tongue. The taste is vile, potient and almost unbearable. But I lug it down with the little bit of wine left in my glass.
The impact of the drug is almost immedient, bringing my eyes to a close as I fall onto the bed one last time and dream of my protector. My Michael.
Real life is sometimes stranger than my dreams. And when I wake up to the sound of bangs at my door, I nearly fall to the floor hearing a him call my name. I need the wall to steady me out, as the room continues to spin. I can hear the record player playing, my favourite song.
I drag open the door, holding it open with my hands as I stare at Michael. Michael! My insides gleam.
"What are you 'oing here?" I ask, but my d's go silent, and I can tell by the look on his face that he knows Juney is not at all sober. Fuck. I've been caught.
"What do you mean? I came to see you." He slowly looks into my eyes. "You ok?"
"And how'd you get my 'dess?" I point at him, "How did you get my address, you arse."
His tongue wets bottom lip, eyes sparking. Buying time, making up a responsible answer in his head before showing me a gun tucked away into his blazer. He walks in, making himself at home.
I slam my doot shut, which only makes me jump, "You threatened people asking where I live?"
"Not plural. I only threaten one person. A old lady."
"Right because that's so much more acceptable." I wave my hands up before sighing. God - I'm on morphine and I'm a bit drunk.
"Let's talk," He tries, but I can't help but roll my eyes. "Seriously. I want to talk to you about what Pol said."
He sits down on a chair at my table, and I stand against the wall, arms folded over my chest. Trying to act as sober as possible.
"I met a girl named Charlotte." He begins.
"Charlotte." I say, imagining him whisper her name in his ear the way he did to mine. I swallow, jealousy pumping through my veins.
"Yes. Charlotte. Why don't you sit down, June."
"I'm fine." I hiss, looking around my room for the cat. Wonder where she is. I cross my arms over my chest, "So continue,"
"Yeah," He clears his throat. "I met her Grace and Tommy's wedding."
That blokes married?
"Was."
I look up raising an eyebrow at Michael. Was what? Oh shit. I must've said that out loud.
"He was married. His wife died."
"Christ. How?"
"She got shot. But June, we can talk about that another time."
Right right. God - I might just break into tears. Quickly nodding, I tell myself not to dwell. "Right." I stand a little straighter.
"I met her and we casually see each other now." He implies they fuck whenever they want.
Ah yes. The new conventional way of doing things. It's disgusting. The amount of diseases that can stem from casual sex is—I stop myself, and shut my mouth. My eyes go wide, his eyes wider, I thought I was talking to myself again. But I've opened a conversation with Michael.
"You're judging me for having fun?"
"It's just, what if you get her pregnant." I sound dire.
His eyes nearly bulge out the socket when I say this which makes me almost faint.
"You got her pregnant?!"
He breathes through his nose, looking around my room before he sees a set of men's shoes on the the shoe rack. "Is someone else here?"
I look down and see Kurt's shoes, at least three pairs of his shoes. "Yes. Kurt."
"Who the fuck is Kurt?" He spits and roll my eyes.
"This isn't about Kurt." I tell him wagging my finger. "This about you being a whore, impregnating Charlotte! Do you know what fucking means!?" I look at him, my eyes widen. "Fucking marriage! Unless you want a bastard child!"
"June, stop!" He gets up, he tries grab me.
"No!" I shake my head, moving away from him, "You need to marry her. You two need to get married and have that little shit of a baby. And you and I will no longer be a thing, strictly platonic. Make sure you put me in the will because if anything happens to you lot, I promise I'll take care of him or her." I ramble. "I won't let that thing be in the hands of a minster, a pope, a fucking father!"
He grabs my cheeks, forcing me to look up at him. "Will just shut up?" He whispers, getting lost in my eyes.
I crane my neck up, can he smell the wine on my lips? Because I can smell the whiskey off of his.
"I'm not gonna be a dad." He breathes. "At least not yet."
"W-why not?"
"She didn't want a kid," his thumb strokes my cheeks, "She just wanted fun, I don't know."
"So she-" I hiccup.
"Yah, she got rid of it." His voice is dark, his eyes clouded. "Probably best." He says to himself.
I put my hands on top of his, "Did you want a kid?"
"I don't know." Again, his voice is filtered by grievance.
I pout, searching his lost eyes. "Michael," I move my fingers up and down his arm, soothing him. "Do you love her?"
His eyes reach mine and I hope he doesn't answer the question. But he does and kisses my lips, I pull back, and I imagine hitting the wall before he grabs my back and yanks me into him. His other hand rests against the wall as I slowly rest my back against it. we kiss each other for a long time, long enough for me to loose my train of thought. I sigh into his lips, feeling him grin as his arms. My fingers make their way around him, feeling his body under my small hands. It's absolutely marvellous.
"You were worried I had someone?" Michael whispers. He tucks my hair behind my ear. "I don't love 'er."
"I thought you were married to Charlotte." I feel winded after kissing his lips, feeling his tongue against mine. "Did you end things with her, or...Because I'm not into that casual dating stuff."
"Yea," He gazes down at me. "I told her I found someone I missed, someone I need to be with." He smiles, shy.
I kiss him again. He blows me away. I remember in school, he was a sharp student. Had a brain on him, everyone was kind of mesmerized by Michael. Intelligent, handsome, funny. He told us math was his favourite subject to study, and not English. I think he was lying. I've never see anyone read Jane Eyre as much as Michael has.
He stops kissing me and glances downwards to the mens shoes. "So should we pay Kurt a visit?" He asks, smirking.
"He't not here. Plus, he's not interested in me." I smirk, "Maybe you though. I think you're his type."
"He's homosexual?"
I nod, resting my back against the wall, watching him. He holds my hand in his, kissing my knuckles, my wrist. He blows into my palm, making me giggle. I imagine his lips blowing like that somewhere else and my body convulses in response.
He looks up at me through those long lashes smirking, "I think you're drunk."
"I think so too." I whisper.
He moves his hand up and stokes my face with the backs of his knuckles. As if I'm craving him, I kiss his lips, swinging my arm over his shoulder.
"So. Mr. Gray." I say every word slowly.
"Yes." He bends down and kisses my lips again, brief. "My beautiful girl." He pushes my hair away from my face, "I could look at you all day, June."
I flush, looking into his eyes as I bite down on my bottom lip. His words make their way into the depths of my groin. "Will you stay the night?"
"About that," He swallows, "My mum wants me to leave Birmingham altogether."
Disappointed, my shoulder's drop and that smile he put on my face moments ago, wipes away. There is a special kind of sadness attached to the mere thought of his mother.
"Temporarily." He cups my chin, commanding me to look up.
"Mama Gray says leave and you listen to her-" I nod, getting a twitch out of him, "Perhaps if she says jump off the cliff, you'll ask her how high."
He gets a chuckle out of my statement. "She's not that bad."
I run my fingers over the side of his neck, feeling his pulse under my skin. "The one thing she did that's good have you." I sigh, telling myself to respect Michael's mum. Gah, the sound of that nauseates me. "Where are you going?"
"I don't know. Will you come?"
"I've got obligations." I tease, smirking at him. I shouldn't make it seem like I'm only kidding around. I literally have work obligations. I get a smile out of him, which is more than rewarding. Getting lost in that face, I can't help but lose my train of thought as he begins to speak.
"I got to piss." He whispers. And kisses my neck.
He leaves me and I pout, like a abby who is told it's time to leave the part. Dear God, what is this man doing to me? I walk towards my table, looking at Jojo who sips on her milk. Kurt should be home soon, I wonder what he'd say when he sees Michael. He'll probably think Michael is a relative of mine, because this is the first time a man has been in my house - other than Kurt and his lovers.
The morphine begins to ware off. I don't take much, just enough to sleep. Loose curls fall over my face, I timidly push them away, looking at the coat Michael has left on the chair. In pristine condition, like everything else he wears. Something silver glistens at me and I almost lean into the weapon before his voice startles me.
"What the fuck is this?!"
I jump look at him and then the little bottle of morphine in his hand. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My scalp prickles as he walks up to me, he shows me the bottle, he's outraged. "What the fuck is this, June?!"