A single bullet // M.C ✔️

55

Not a single word was shared into the air as the rain pelted against the windows, matching everyone's mood. It had been a few days since Margaret died, and today was the dreaded day of her funeral... People work quickly when it's gang members demanding one.

It was a sense of normal lifestyle: someone dies, a funeral happens. Calum has sunk into his shell, only coming out to snap at something the boys say. They've all taken over his part of the gang, including Ashton, letting him mourn and grieve without the pressure of running a gang present on his shoulders.

Smooth, velvety fabric hugged my body, flowing out at the waist down, covered in a delicate, lacy pattern in a stunning deep black. Matching black heels were on my feet, and a small clutch was parked in my left hand that held my phone. The usual long strands of hair were held in a bun prison with a few face-framing pieces left out and curled to do what they wanted to do.

"Under any other circumstance, I would say you look so hot right now." The familiar image of Michael in the mirror was in my eyesight as he leant against my doorframe with his arms crossed. Black shades covered his bright eyes, and a dull suit covered his body, tieless, letting the top few buttons of his dark shirt be unbuttoned and free.

"It feels wrong." My free hand brushed my dress down, smoothing out invisible creases in my mind before I walked over to him. "We shouldn't be saying bye to her." I let his comment brush away, not wanting to get upset over him, just wanting to be normal. Any other day, my heart would have grown and swelled with that comment, taking it in and locking it up. But now it was just left outside, waiting for the right time to take it.

"No, we shouldn't." He agreed, gingerly placing his hands over my waist; hovering them ever so slightly, "but this is what's needed. Not for her to be killed but to say goodbye. It'll be good for you."

"Good job, Mikey." I tapped his cheek before stepping back, causing his hands to fall. Then, I walked around him to my kitchen, already wiping under my eyes that were stinging.

I hadn't slept much the last few days, and it was clear in my features. Eyes sucked and blood-red, bags deep enough to carry shopping in. The colour of them dark, almost as if they were two black eyes. Lips equally as bitten raw as Michael's, since I've been flooded and filled with nerves since it happened. No colour was present in my skin and face, making me look sickly. I knew it weren't helpful, but I couldn't help it. To make matters worse, Michael was almost a splitting image of me, refusing to leave my side night one and once. He realised I couldn't sleep, and he didn't either. He refused to leave me alone in my own place, either him staying at mine or me stopping at his.

"You're already here?" I hadn't even noticed Kensie had arrived. Her hair was locked in a claw clip as she threw it up, letting out a deep sigh. She had opted for black trousers and a black work shirt, paired with a long coat and some Converse.

"Couldn't sleep last night." She muttered, looking down and shaking her head. "I can't shake the feeling that something's going to happen. Nothing can happen, right?" Panic was clear in her voice and features as she waited for me to reply, but nothing happened.

No words left because I couldn't promise nothing would happen. I knew deep down in my bones I had some nagging feeling in the back of my mind that this was a mistake and shouldn't be happening. It had been pushed further and further away as a 'you only feel this way because Dad hasn't been able to happen yet,' but I don't think that's true. His could have happened, but Mom chose a later date.