Stories I Never Finished

Strawberry Cigarettes

Calum couldn't breathe, darkness so thick it flooded his lungs through open holes once pristine and red now coated in a haze of sickly grey. His eyes were glassy, brown colour overtaken by the tears they threatened to shed as they desperately sought help from the only man in the world they could ever dare to fall before.

"Why won't you do something?!" Calum pleaded, fingers curling painfully as he grasped at the edge of the table's surface; digging his nails hard into wood.

His body trembled, shaking with a mix of fear and pure blood-oozing desperation. Around him he could hear the faint noise of distant music thumping its ruthless base through walls of thickened brick and concrete, beyond a few doors deeper into the seemingly innocent home on the edge of an even less conspicuous street lay the illegal gambling ring his boyfriend ran.
People would endlessly stream through his home, some at the front door and others smart enough to head around through the side gate and enter the basement entrance out the back of the house.

Calum had desperately pleaded for many months for Michael to rent out another place at the very least for them to safely live. He could hardly sleep, terrified someone would hurt him if he dared to close his eyes; no matter how much Michael insisted he could protect Calum with a handgun.

"What do you want me to do, doll face?" Michael muttered in sheer boredom, lazing in the kitchen chair as a can of strong beer sat on the table by his resting hand while his other hand loosely held a cheap cigarette within two fingers and a thumb.

"Wha—? Something!" Calum exasperated, standing on the opposite end of the table.

A small dish of strawberries sat close to Michael, three gone from a freshly cut and cleaned group of eight. Calum had cut them up, but he was yet to take one. His comfort food didn't mean much to him right now.

Michael raised a single brow at him, sucking in a slow breath from his cigarette and blowing it back out again. Leaning forward, he dusted the ash of his smoke against the edge of the strawberry dish and spoke again with his typical dull tone.

"I'm not God. I can't do anything about it."

"He's literally dying and you won't do anything?!"

Michael brought his smoke back to his lips and Calum couldn't contain it anymore, stepping back from the table with a choked sob; turning away slightly and bringing a hand to his mouth as though it could help stop his tears.

"It's already too late," Michael's consoling words were far from helpful, "I don't see the point in trying anymore."

"He's my best friend!" Calum cracked, glaring at Michael even though it barely lasted a second before it turned into another sob. "Fuck..."

"You're thirty years old..." Michael grumbled, taking a sip from his beer before he muttered under his breath "best friends... right."

"Why can't you do anything? Or-Or at least stop his s-stupid boyfriend from spending his goddamn money in your club?" Calum tried to take a breath, hoping a more composed state would give Michael reason to offer better responses.

"I'm not that man's father." Michael said, giving Calum a pointed look. "And unless he's breaking club rules, he can do whatever the fuck he wants."

"But he—Michael, please." Calum begged. "He's going to die and Ashton's just wasting all that money."

"It's not my business."

"Fine!" Calum threw his arms up in defeat against the black haired man in baggy black clothes. "Then wait until I dob in your club and the police come investigate." He pointed at Michael with a glower, "then you're going to jail because I'm telling them you've got crack in your fucking attic!"