When With You

30

I had to rewrite an entire scene because Wattpad decided to, unprovokingly, delete my draft.

So I had to sit down for two days trying to remember wtf I wrote before.

***

I stared at his retreating back. The confusion pounding my brain won't lessen.

What the fuck did he mean by that? Don't lovers usually do what we were doing? Kissing, cuddling, and holding hands. What more did he want?

I know just the people to ask this, but right now Divine is dealing with her shark of a father and Farren is heavy with pregnancy. I can't go to both of them right now and expect not to get my head bitten off.

Therefore, my safest bet is Michael. I mean, I have to talk to him anyways might as well ask for his help with Peter too. That is if he doesn't decide to throw me out of the room.

I take my sweet time climbing up the stairs, trying to delay this dreadful conversation more than I've already done.

Sure, he deserves the truth, but is it worth it? Is it necessary? Do I have to tell him everything? Why can't he just accept that I am a criminal, and let us move on with our lives?

I claw at my face, knowing very well why I have to do this. Because, if it was me, and I found out that Michael was doing some dangerous shit, I would want to know every little detail.

Getting myself to knock on the wooden door is easier than i expected it to be. He doesn't reply, so I assume he's sleeping.

Don't be a coward.

With an overexaggerated sigh, I open the door enough for my head to pop through. "Michael?"

Something moves underneath the large lilac blanket, and I squint at it. His brown fluff of hair sticks out.

"Buddy? Wanna talk now?" I ask, nervously, hoping he'd say no.

Kittie and Doggie, who lay in their beds, give me a disapproving look before resting their heads on their legs and closing their eyes.

Great. Is there anyone in this town who isn't mad at me?

The brown fluff sniffles and I take that as a sign to walk into the clean room. If he didn't want me to come in he would have said so. Plus, I can't really stand the thought of him crying by his lonesome.

I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to give him some space. "You can come out, bud, I don't bite."

The brown fluff stirs and I get to see his reddened face, "Yeah, but you sure do lie."

Okay. I don't need this right now.

"You wanted to talk, I'm here. Let's talk. If you can't be nice then I'm just going to leave." I've never had to give him lessons on manners but sometimes Mickey needs to hear a stern voice to understand that he's being a prick.

He looks down at his hands and picks at his loose cuticles. "Sorry. I'm just upset."

I nod, understandingly. But flinch at the skin he is picking harshly at.

I place my hand on his knee, or what I think would be his knee, "You have every right to be. I should have told you about Elliot, I'm sorry."

He shakes his head and sniffs, "It's not fair that you get to do such dangerous things, Mango. You're just a kid." He wipes his leaking eyes with the back of his hand.

I reach into the pocket in my pants and take out a scrunched tissue, one I was going to use if need be-- I ended up forgetting about it. I pass it to him and he gladly accepts it, cleaning his snorted, swollen face.