Flowers

55

Camille

Michael hadn't said a word since we left my house, nor had I.

I felt incredibly conflicted about the fact that we had had sex. It had been for all the wrong reasons; he had tried to make me be okay with everything and I had tried to make him stay as well as make everything seem at least somewhat normal.

I hated having had to bring up how what he was currently going through was affecting our relationship so negatively, but to fix things I knew I had to.

"What's tomorrow?" I broke the silence when we were halfway to downtown.

"Mum's funeral," he cleared his throat uncomfortably, incredible tense and on edge now, "why?"

"I got a text from an unknown number saying that—"

"It's Rob," he muttered, jaw clenching the slightest. If I hadn't been studying him so carefully I wouldn't have caught it.

"My dad murdered his fiancée five years ago. Fucked him up big time," he surprised me by suddenly telling me this, "he's changed. Always high and sick in the head."

"Oh, Lord..." I breathed out, shocked at the information and the conclusion it made me reach, "and you think..."

"That he's fucked up enough to hurt you? Yeah," he replied coolly, "you still wanna come?"

I hesitated, but the need to stand by him trumped the very disturbed feeling I received from what he had told me, "yes."

Michael sighed but did nod briefly, still not looking over at me. I had no idea where we stood at the moment, but decided to push that all aside right now and focus on what was currently happening.

"I'm—" he began, but cut himself off and instead cleared his throat uneasily.

I didn't say a word, especially urge him to continue or tell me as I knew it would lead to him closing up. I waited patiently, trusting in him to tell me whatever was on his mind now.

"I'm scared he's gonna wanna do something bad if you're there with me," Michael explained after a moment of silence, "dad shot his fiancée in front of him, I don't know. Mum's dead so you're the closest to hurt in revenge."

"Oh..." I felt confused, lost and utterly helpless. I had not expected his family to be this dark and was having troubles processing this strange world of theirs.

"Yeah. Would make me feel real good if you stayed in the car, Camille," he added, making a lot of sense. His hand reached over to gently place itself on my thigh, feeling extremely comforting and grounding.

I took a moment to think things over before replying, "I understand, Michael, but I will go with you. If he is expecting for just you to come, surely he hasn't—"

"He's real fucked up," he shook his head with a mutter, "wants me to go through the same damn thing he did. George and Tony are there, but if he's got a gun on you we can't save you, you get that?"

I frowned and looked down at my lap, before taking his hand into mine and squeezing it lightly to let him know my feelings for him.

"I understand," I breathed out, still not comprehending the mess I now found myself in, "what exactly will you two be talking about?"

Michael shrugged, glancing over at me very briefly for our eyes to meet, "no idea. Future of the business and shit, I guess. He wants me back there."

"Michael..." I shifted, both of us already knowing where my hesitant tone was heading. He shook his head.

"M'tryna get out, you know I am. Shit, I'm thinkin' bout joining the army," he chuckled quietly to himself and my brows raised with surprise.

"The army?" I questioned, knowing that he was in very good shape and that he worked out, but still not finding the idea too lovely.

As proud of him as I was for thinking about his future, I feared the army would distance. On the other hand I did feel like along with investing, the army would be a very character building experience for him.

"Yeah," he glanced over at me again, almost as if trying to figure out how I felt about it, "listen, just stay in the car and I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Okay," I agreed, focusing my gaze outside my window at the run-down houses with unkept and small front lawns.

The rest of the drive went by in silence, going by very fast as I grew to dread him going to talk to his brother more and more. His hand squeezed mine back every now and then, sensing my distress and comforting me to his best abilities.

We arrived in front of a house that looked awfully familiar. It took me a moment to realise that I had been here before. It still looked as dirty and abandoned as before, as well as empty without people to be seen.

The night I first met Maggie, when Michael had had to take care of something with his friends, I'd been here.

My attention returned back from my thoughts when the car turned off and his hand pulled away from mine.

I looked over at Michael, surely frowning to myself and not having a clue of what I should say. It seemed that neither did he, so we were left just taking each other in.

"Gimme ten minutes," he broke the silence, tone low and calm, "you got time to post a picture of us onto your Instagram."

The small smile he added at the end made me relax impossibly, almost visibly deflating a little from stress.

"You're right," I gave him a smile in return, not wanting to worry him more by being worried even though I was unable to get my voice as excited about this as it would've been in any other situation, "I will. I'll just tag you as 'my boyfriend'. It will be so cute."

My smile faded the moment he looked away and unbuckled his seatbelt. I don't think I had ever been this scared before, especially for someone else's safety.

"George and Tony are there," I spoke aloud, trying to assure myself that nothing bad would happen while closely watching his actions.

"Yeah," he turned to face me now, glancing behind me at the house quickly, "I'll be fine, seriously."

"Yes, alright," I let out a shaky breath and nodded, now squeezing my phone in my lap tightly, "I love you."

The side of his lips tugged up in a lopsided smile, "love you too, sweetness. Really fucking do."

"Please, go now, before I start crying," I fanned a hand over my face to dry my eyes, beginning to get emotional.

He laughed before leaning in to kiss me passionately, one hand grabbing the back of my head to hold me in place.