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The days have past. The external cuts have healed but the same cannot be said for the internal.
Arthur was released from prison the day after Michael. Himself being covered in bruises and cuts. Tommy's been running round like a mad man. Polly is heart broken. Ada went back to London. For once it seemed that the only sane one at the time was John.
After leaving the prison with Michael we walked. No place to go or time to be there. We walked around for what seemed like hours. No words being spoken. Just the sound of pebbles under our feet and Michael's lungs breathing out smoke. As we walked our hands remained entangled. Our fingers weaved like a basket. I never thought to break the hold unless prompted to. I can tell this is what he needed.
Time and silence.
It was easy to tell his mind was going a million miles per hour while our feet did the opposite. I would glance over from time to time. The profile of his face almost becoming my new favorite view. I would turn away when I found myself getting lost in the damages that ensued. My eyes tracing over the bloody lines and caked on grime.
When my feet begin to ache I make the quiet suggestion of stopping off at the Garrison. I get a curt nod as a response before we redirect ourselves down Main Street.
The doors are pushed open to reveal the quiet pub. Since it's well into the afternoon the morning crowd has left for work only leaving the one or two lads who normally are normally past out on the tables. I go to sit at one of the tables but am jostled back by the boy to my left.
"We'll go in the private room."
Normally I would protest saying how that's the room for the Shelby family's private affairs but you can't seem to object to the boy at the moment.
Michael opens the door for me gesturing to go first. In doing so the contact you two have been sharing for so long is lost. I wait for Micheal to come in and make himself comfortable before opening the window that connects the nook to the bar.
"Hey Harry?"
The bartender quickly saunter over as if was Tommy standing in my place. "Hey there Kenzie. Something you need?"
Well that's a loaded bloody question.
"Yes could I have a pint of mild as well as a small amount of vodka, water and a rag." After listing of the items I turn my back to rest against the wall, my view turning to Michael once more.
He seems to be sat in his own world. Eyes focused on the top of the table in front of him. Hand drawing back from his lips to release smoke. Must of been his fifth or sixth cigarette in the last hour. I can't find myself to judge or care.
"Here you are. Kenz. Anything else?"
Turning back I find a tray with all my requested items. "Quite alright. Thanks Harry." I went to place my payment on the counter but a protest was quickly heard.
