Morphine (Complete)

𝟏𝟓

Chapter Fifteen

Everyone dealt with loss differently. 

For example, Mrs Amir wept and mourned. Tears and cooking were her sole companions of choice; all overly complicated, all extravagant, and, more often than not, undercooked or burned. Not the tears. The food.

The two twins took up with kitchen with their mother. Amelia and Lucy weren't particularly culinarily inclined, as they'd probably only learned what part of the gun fit best in which pocket, or what type of bomb should be set off in this location from a young age, but maybe the break from their world of men and drugs was a good thing.

Rannia didn't really want them making her food though.

Mrs Amir struggled to keep the kitchen intact. The smoke alarm had been set off multiple times. Riccard always thought it was a bomb threat, whereas Toto would turn up the volume of his music and drown out the world. It was a mess. 

Rannia couldn't say that she got that burning satisfaction from the havoc she'd caused, as she thought she would, but it was entertaining at least.

Carter drowned himself in work. Banking probably wasn't his calling, but the boy was smart, so he fit the job well. It was still strange to see the eighteen year old boy pick up his suitcase every morning and head off in a suit. Left in abandon at the Amir's home with absolutely nothing to do, Rannia was quickly becoming bored. There was no action, there was no blood.

But less people home meant more opportunity.

With Toto at home all day, Riccard stowed away in the basement doing God knew what (probably crying), and Mr Amir sat in his chair as usual, no opportunity presented itself. It was killing her.

The uncle Rannia half-regretted not killing was now in a hospital bed, held down because his old ass couldn't take a bit of knife bashing. She wanted him dead now, dammit. His purpose was served.

It was her last day at the Amir's house, and Rannia found herself fidgeting with a butter knife, since there was no alternative. She'd gotten a weird look when she'd picked up a butcher knife the other day. She was anxious to visit the uncle at the hospital because God knew what she'd do if her bloodlust went insatiated a day longer. Probably pick up that butcher knife again and use it.

Rannia twirled her knife and stabbed it downwards, stopping right before the blunt edge punctured her thigh. Her lips curled as she flipped it back up in the air again and repeated the action.

She glanced to her right to see Mr Amir watching her, face impassive as always.

"Want to try?" Rannia drawled sarcastically, lifting the knife. She was breaking a little. Being nice to the Amirs was taking its toll on her.

Not much longer, she told herself. A few more hours. One more day.

Mr Amir ignored her, shifting his stare back out the window again. Rannia rolled her eyes and settled the knife back on the kitchen table. Scoffing under her breath, she stood and approached Mrs Amir in the kitchen.

"Any signs of Mykel yet?" She asked, offering a hand to dry the dishes beside the sink.

Birds chirped outside the window, lightly tuning out the dark thoughts in her mind. Light reflected off the dish Rannia chose, shining right into her eye. Rannia scowled and winced, glaring at the plate as if it'd done her harm.

Mrs Amir smiled sweetly and handed her a drying cloth, though her eyes were visibly reddened by recent tears. Rannia's eyes fell to the tissue hidden behind the woman's back, soaked.

Oh.

"No, I'm afraid not." Mrs Amir turned away to hide the newly spread tears down her cheeks. "He's not the best at dealing with...with..." A choked sob escaped her lips. "I'm sorry, I should be better than this—"

"You lost a child," Rannia cut her off, not wanting to hear another pitiful sob. "It's alright to cry."

"Not...not here," Mrs Amir replied, sniffling as she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. She turned back around, eyes all glossy. "I'm sorry, dear. I'm putting something on you that I shouldn't be."

"I'll be your daughter in law," not really, but Carter can dream, "we're friends, Mrs—wait, I don't actually know your first name." Rannia paused. "Can I call you by your first name?"

Saying her full name before slitting her throat would be a little more cinematic, no?

Mrs Amir's cheeks turned bright red. "I-I haven't ever introduced myself, have I? Oh gosh." Her hands patted her cheeks as if to ensure that she was indeed awake. "Oh, dear. Rannia, this has been so rude of me, so...so atrocious—"

Rannia burst out laughing, delighted by the distressed state her enemy was in. "It's fine, I don't actually need to know."

"No, please," Mrs Amir's face took on a serious look. She clasped Rannia's hands between her own. "Please, dear. Romina. Call me Romina. None of that Mrs Amir stuff. As you said," she took on a hesitant smile, as if she herself weren't ready to admit her words, "we're like...we're friends, right?"

"Of course!" Rannia forced out a laugh, silently slipping her hands out of Romina's. She did not like touching the woman. It wasn't her direct aversion towards the lady. It was the fact that she was her enemy, and enemies did not hold hands.

"That's...that's really good." Romina's eyes started tearing up. "I-I'm sorry. I haven't had many friends."

"Never?" Rannia paused. That was strange. Romina was a rather delightful lady, status and marriage aside.

"Well, there was one time..." Romina looked away, fiddling with her fingers. "But enough is enough, you know? We have a hospital to visit. Come, I'll gather everyone. You get ready."

Rannia hesitated before heading off, casting a suspicious glance towards Romina's fiddling fingers. What had happened to Romina?

Stop, Rannia scolded herself. You don't care. Go and get ready. Story time can wait.

You have a man to kill.