A single bullet // M.C ✔️

80

The sun had long gone. It was a wasted day of just doing nothing but feeding Pingu and staring at the door waiting for Michael to enter again. My phone had been pinging and ringing from the other room, but I didn't have it in me to answer or even see who was ringing.

Dread and anger filled and flooded my body before evaporating. I caused this. I should have just told him I was pregnant. We could have experienced this heartbreak from the start together, not me halfway through and him just starting. He never even got to say hello to the cells in my stomach slowly growing just goodbye; and he's yet to say that.

I knew now I should have told him, and we could have dealt with it together. Maybe it would have lessened the pain I was feeling, although I doubt it.

The sky had turned cloudy by now before letting down little droplets of rain, perfectly suiting my mood. It always seems to know. New York was silent now as everyone had gone home to their families and partners, but here I am unsure of where mine is.

Slowly I reached over ignoring the messages from Kensie as I hadn't spoken to her all day, unusual for us to not speak daily, and brushed over the few messages from Alex and Mom. Not a single message from Michael. I couldn't have my first message to Kensie being 'I fucked up'. I hovered over mine and Michael's messages staring at the recent one from him saying

'Love you forever'

It had become our recent way to end a conversation, a reminder of no matter how bad things got there would always be love between our two bodies. No matter what or if death do us part. I was his, he was mine even through the dumb stuff.

The temptation to check his location was high, another safety feature I had insisted on after Sam broke in and Noah took me. But I didn't, if he wanted me to know where he was he would tell me.

My fingers tapped against the screen anxiously as I fought against sending him a text. He's fine. He's fine, Nicky. He just needs time, and I can't deny the time he requires. The clock was ticking away, making each thought inch closer and closer to the front of my mind.

What if he was hurt again?
What if they got him?
What if he's dead in a ditch?
Where is he?
Is he okay?
Is he mad at me, fuming at me?

Where is he? Screamed louder than the others, making me curse silently under my breath and chuck my phone back into the sofa, away from me, to limit the temptation to message him. He's fine, I repeated in my mind, closing my eyes and tapping my foot now against the floor. He's fine.

Soft cotton was under my fingertips as I gripped my shirt around my lower stomach where Hudson would have been. This is understandable and a valid reaction from Michael. I felt empty both mentally and physically, drained even more at the fact that Sydney had taken this moment from me. I had a full plan of how to do it when I had the courage, and it was ripped from my grasp. Clean out my hands, leaving them empty. It was the push I clearly needed, as she knew I wasn't going to do it by myself. Did that make it okay though? No.

"Michael," I breathed out as the door opened and a disheveled Michael stepped through the door. His hair was sticking up in every direction showing the abuse he had been sending its way running his hands deep through the strands.

"What, Nicky?" He snapped sending daggers my way, a complete 180 of what I expected sending chills through my bones.

"You're okay,"

"Ok is an understatement," he scoffed chucking his keys on the little marble side table next to his door,

"I-,"

"Speechless again." He glared at me,

"Are you drunk?" This wasn't Michael in front of me but at the same time it was. It was his eyes, his lips, nose, features. His hair I love, his body, his voice; but it weren't my Michael.