Loving the Man

Chapter 15: Kiss Me Through the Phone

....this addiction to Michael is killing me....

Michael's POV

Day 5 of their separation

"Danielle?" I asked with anxious butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Just like yesterday...  a voicemail. There must be billions of my messages on Trevor's voicemail box. I bet he just deleted them all before she got the chance to hear them.... son of a bitch...

My kids have barely talked to me, let alone even been in the same room as me, since that.... other night. At first, I didn't take the fact that I was with Danielle for granted. And here we were, separated like animals... by an animal..

I've spent nothing but all my hours of the day brooding, drawing random sketches of hateful things or Amanda... or Danielle everywhere, and throwing things at the wall from anger. I was this close to jumping out in front of a bus... a bus came by my house earlier, actually. It must've been a sign.

My dreams are taunting me, making me think I am happy but leading me to my depressing life which is a hollow shell... all my mistakes... my few good moments...

"Shit.." I mumbled under my breath, getting up for the first time in twelve hours from my bed. I still had my sleeping clothes on, in which was only my boxers... I was too down-in-the-hole to put a shirt on. I needed to get away... do something before I kill myself.

Franklin.

He was the answer. He was always down with the groove type deal. Grabbing my phone as I stumbled forward, I nearly tripped over a vase that ended up on the ground from last night. I silently cursed as I scrolled through my contacts. 

There was Franklin's contact. Clicking on his icon, it began to call him.

Ring....... ring....... ring..... 

"Come on, Franklin." I grumbled.

Ring....

"...Homie?" Franklin asked, groggily.

"Um... what's up?" I asked nonchalantly.

"You woke me up, I was sleeping, dawg. It's three in the morning." Glancing behind me, I saw my alarm clock. He was right... it was 3:05 in the morning. Well.. shit.. where did time go?

"Sorry—-" I began to say but was interrupted by a familiar voice. I almost began to think it was Amanda... but no...

"Dad!" Definitely not Amanda... unless she rose from the dead and began to call me Dad... that would just be freaky... 

"Yes, Trace?" I shouted back, covering the phone speaker.

"Come over here!" 

"Look, Frank, go back to sleep, I'll catch you later, yes?" I quickly said, pressing the end call button before he could even answer. I tossed my phone on the bed and jogged over to my door, swinging it open.

Questions were rushing around my head, motivating me. The way Tracey sounded, it was as if she was in trouble. But when wasn't she off messing around with drug dealers? Either way, I had to figure out what it was.

"Trace?" I asked curiously, lightly tapping on her door. I put my hand on the door knob when I heard some rustling around inside. Just as I went to turn the knob, the door swung open, making me almost fall forward. There was a stern face Tracey.

"Did you forget?!" Tracey said with exasperation. It's three in the morning, kid.

"Forget....?" I trailed out the word.

"Mom's funeral, you asshole!" She hissed, dramatically rolling her eyes and turning around.

Well.... shit.... totally forgot.. I was so depressed and busy—- I wasn't busy, I was just depressed. "Sorry.. sorry.." I sighed.

"It's at 11am." My daughter was on the verge of tears before I slowly and reluctantly hugged her, lightly tapping her back. At first, I figured she was going to knee me in the guts and slam the door into my head but surprisingly, she hugged back.

"Well... get some sleep if you can. I'll get you up around 7 and you can get ready..." What I was about to offer was out of my ballpark and I would later shoot myself for saying. "....and we can go shopping for a dress or whatever...."

"Really?" She squeezed me tighter, making me wheeze and sputter. 

"Yes—"

"Thanks, Daddy!" She exclaimed. This kid is bipolar.. why doesn't she get some pills from her drug dealer friends? Michael! That's a horrible thing to say! That's your daughter.

I unnoticeable shook my head as I took a step back out of our hug. Tracey wasn't smiling, as I expected her to. She had a few tears seeping down her face. Giving her one last small smile, I slowly backed away, shutting the door behind me. 

If Jimmy is awake now, I'm just going to jump out of a window. Too much mushy stuff...

I'll have to be there at the funeral, expected to give a eulogy. Can't do that. What am I suppose to say? 'Amanda was the love of my life, but I am already moving on'? Too harsh. 'Amanda was a wonderful woman'? Too generic.

Sighing with a simple defeat, I walked into my room, to begin planning my outfit and rehearse what I am going to say at the funeral.

___________________

It was 9 AM. 

I promised Tracey I would take her shopping for a funeral dress.

Who does that?

Who shops for a funeral?

Well my daughter does. Clearly, she inherited this from her mother. No way was it me she got it from.

So here I was, sitting on the bench outside in the sun, baking like a rotisserie chicken, staring as Tracey went nuts in the store Posonbys. They are expensive. Very expensive.

"Dad!" Tracey cracked open the store door. "I'm ready to check out."

Wiping the few sweat drops off of my forehead from the hot summer sun, I struggled to stand. I was sitting out there easily for an hour. The sun was already getting hot and it was only nine in the morning. My distressed leather jacket, jeans, and work boots probably weren't helping. Hopefully Amanda's funeral was indoors..

I slowly shuffled my way into the store, A/C instantly hitting me and making a small sigh of comfort slip through my lips.

My eyes wandered around... black suits, dress tops, shiny shoes... I owned a few of these outfits. When my eyes landed on the counter with Tracey gesturing me to come up, I nearly rolled my eyes.

She had what? Three dresses, two sets of high-heels, and a scarf? Dear God, kid.

Slowly reaching for my wallet, I was definitely regretting bringing her here as the register read in big green print '$429.89'.

"Are you for real?" I muttered under my breath, tossing four hundred dollar bills and three ten dollar bills up on the table. "Keep the change."

The woman at the register slightly rolled her eyes, as if to think 'Wow, thanks, eleven cents. I barely even know what a one dollar bill is'. Typical Los Santos.

"Let's go." I gestured Tracey out of the door as she grabbed her stuff that was now sitting in a bag. "We need to get your brother up and make sure we are all ready."

Without protesting, Tracey followed me out the door, with a small, smug smile on her face.

I could definitely already tell that this funeral wasn't going to go very well.