I didn't know what else to do as I drive down the Birmingham streets. Sadness crept up my entire body and just stayed there as I wiped away my tears away. Cocaine, the vile was tucked into my palm as my fingers hooked around the steering wheel. Cocaine. Michael took this, and with the alcohol, he acted the way he acted. Or perhaps it wasn't this deadly cocktail that made him like this, but with the fact that he was in a noose his emotions must've magnified everything. And the way he cried will always leave a scar in my heart, even when I'm old and ready to die I'm sure the memory will always come to me.
I cried like a child in the car, sobbed uncomfortably as Michael sat there, looking dreamy in his sleep. Mum strolled into my brain, and dad, and the funeral that came and went one Sunday afternoon. I was among a sea of adults who seemed to constantly point out that I'm her, the daughter of Whitney and Derrick Osborne.
The daughter who made it out, whilst her parents welted away in the scourching fire. In a room full of people, I've never felt so alone. No one claimed me, not a single soul raised their hand and said, yup, I'll take responsibility of this little girl. That hurt the most.
And when I was shipped off to the orphanage, Michael was there. On the first day, oh I remember it so clearly, he was there to toss a little ball my way, something to remind me that I'm not alone. Distracting me of the chaos in my mind. We sat by the fire at night, in silence. I realized I hadn't heard him speak once, and neither had he. He had a look on his face, a smile, but of the saddest kind.
One night, I had been shivering, it was almost March but it was a rainy, windy evening and no one ever turned on the heating. He had left before coming back with a blanket and wrapped it around me.
I was perplexed by this young boy, I didn't know him. He didn't know me, but yet he does this? I hadn't heard him speak until that night. "Thank you." I had chirped, my voice a croak.
"You're welcome." He whispered back, hesitantly sitting beside me. He had put his arm around me, and knowing that Hughes and I had been spending a lot of time together, he told me in a voice so low and secretive, "Hughes is a very bad man and you're not alone. He does things to kids like you...Be strong, he doesn't touch the strong kids..."
He had decided to protect me without even knowing me! Tossing me the ball without ever having to do such a thing. Putting a blanket on me to keep me warm. Informing me that I'm not the only one being abused by Hughes.
I was just another body being pushed into the system, like the other ten kids who were forced into the orphanage the same day as me. But he chose me, someway, somehow, he chose me. And now it's my turn to protect him, it's my right, my mission, my fucking duty to keep Michael from falling into this deep and dark hole his family is pulling him into. It's Michael, it's always been Michael. I love him entirely, endlessly. He owns a piece of my heart, and I'd like to think I own a piece of his too.
I almost got into two bloody car accidents as a result of my tears. I've never felt this helpless in my life, Michael was slurring words in his sleep. Talking about me and just continuously apologizing.
Quickly, without really considering it, I shake Michael awake and slap him the way I would with any patients who comes in high on something.
"Hey," I shake his body, watching as he sways. "Michael! Hey! Wake up!"
"W-what," He growls. "Christ, stop hitting me woman!"
"I love you, ok? I fucking love you. You had the choice to choose whoever you wanted, and you chose me. You chose me, so I'm telling you right now that I choose you, alright?"
"Alright," He smiles lopsided. "Love u too."
Exhaling, I look at the road, noticing my apartment building getting closer. "I don't like that you snorted this, this, this—shit! I don't like it one bit, Michael. And you stink. You smell like you went swimming in a pool of whiskey and that's so disturbing because your liver must be-"
Snores fill the car, and I look over to see him unconscious again. Snoring away as if nothing were wrong. Too much whiskey makes you fall asleep hard and fast, and that's what happened to Michael Gray.
Once I park the car and get out. I call out for Kurt and Stuart and beg them to help me move Michael upstairs. But as I looked at Kurt, I knew something was off. "There's a man upstairs who won't go away,"
"What?" I sigh. Watching as they gently help Michael up. "Who?" I follow shortly behind, defeated by my emotions. I'm way too tired for all of this right now.
"Some man," He grunts, walking up the stairs. "Lookin' like he's wearing a million-dollar suit..."
"Rich." Stuart confirms, as they who help lug Michael inside the flat.
He was put on my bed, but I stop in the living room noticing Thomas who stands at the window. He's got his eyes looking over the horizon, lost in some sort of trance. He looks thin, and skeletal, like he hasn't gotten any sleep at all.
"Get out." I say, furious of all that he's done, my blood boils.
"Michael told me yesterday that he's really considering leaving the company," He tells me, completely shutting me up. "Out of the business. Out of a job. And I can't help but wonder if you're really going to stick around for him. Because it seems to me like he's madly in love. Delusional even."
I watch as he turns around, his eyes locking against mine. A relief of what he said to me, before I stand my ground. "Get out, I don't care about what you have to say."
He walks up to me, his eyes so light, the blue turns into a grey. "You got what you wanted," He says before sneakily walking by me. "I'm just here to deliver what I owe Michael for the killings." He pulls out his smokes, lighting up a cigarette before sitting something down on the table. I look at the brown paper bag and see the stacks of paper bills practically pouring out.
My eyes fix on his, "We don't want your money."
"We," He scoffs, reminding me of the day Polly laughed at Michael calling me family. "You know something," He says, exhaling a puff of smoke into my apartment. "I gave Michael the chance to walk away. New York, I have business there and an accountant is needed. I told him I could move you with him, he handles the accounts, you handle him. Get married, have children, I'm sure." He tilts his head, examining me before smoking some more. "But he refused that too. Said he wanted to stay here, in the United Kingdom."
Fuck, he must really love being apart of the Peaky's, but can I blame him? He must feel wanted by them, seeing as he went so many years abandoned and raised in an orphanage, these people to him are his real biological family.
I shutter, feeling alone. The vile in my hand glistens down at me and I show Thomas. "Michael told me you were going to hang him," I put the vile down on the table, beside the money. "And this is your apology? Getting him sprung up on cocaine?"
"The men in the car must've left that there for him." He takes the vile in his hands and tucks it into his coat pocket. "I had no idea-"
"Of course you didn't." I look down at him, "You don't care about anyone but yourself, and Michael's beginning to see that." I nod, "Have you seen Polly yet, because she'll never forgive you."
"Will you?" He asks looking up. "Because I think Michael's already forgiven me."
"Whatever Michael does is his business, but I?" I laugh, "I will never forgive you for what you've done to him."
He pouts, nodding once. "Michael and you deserve each other then." He whispers, standing up. He reaches for the door, and I realize for the first time that I hold my breath.
"Oh," He puts his hand into his pocket and shows me a small ring, beautiful and green, it glimmers and shines at me. Drawing me in, "This was my wife," He gulps. "I want you to have it."
I don't say anything, again, noting this dark cloud loom over Thomas as he speaks of her. He takes my hand and puts it into my palm before shutting my hand.
"Never let Michael forget that he made the right choice," He whispers before walking away.
Only when he leaves my house do I breathe finally, I look around, pressing my hand to my chest before looking at my room that is slightly open. I walk towards the bedroom, listening to my heartbeat like a drum. My eyes move around his body, as I shut the door behind me and crawl into bed.
I still don't understand the point if our conversation, but there is a chunk of money on my dining table with Michael's name on it. My hearts as I fear for the worst. What if Michael tells me he can't leave his family, that he doesn't want to leave the Peaky Blinders, I know deep down that I won't leave him. Despite the years of regret I'll have for putting up with a gangster, but, he's my soulmate at the end of the day. And I don't want anyone else. He brings me so much joy, and comfort, and love.
I get lost in his sleeping state and feel my eyes water again. The damage has been done, and enough is enough. I lay down beside Michael, and entangle myself in his stilled body. I stared at him as I slowly sunk into the bed, pulling the blanket over our bodies. He shifts, and I freeze, but he only wants to roll over so that he's facing me. His eyes remain shut, and he breathes gently through his nose. I rest my fingers over his knuckles, unable to help myself from crying silently as I try to get the small rocks from out of his wounds. I felt a weird unfathomable belonging as I ran my fingers over his face until I fell asleep.