Heal

the pieces

(this is where it gets super unrealistic and im not even sorry(: )

“Are you okay?” He asked over the phone. They had gotten me out of the car and given me a McDonalds breakfast. It was nice. Ronnie showed me his tattoo on his arms and told me what they all meant. It was pretty meaningful actually.

“What do you think?” I snapped, feeling like it was George and not these guys killing me.

“Sorry, sorry. Make me a promise, ok?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it but ok…” I replied, thinking about how useless promises are once a bullet is in your head.

“Don’t do anything stupid,”

“What could I possibly do to get me in a worse situation, really?”

“They could shorten the time. And then I’d never get to see you again. Don’t say a word. Pretend I’m telling you about death.”

“Death isn’t as scary as that.”

“And if I never see you again I’ll never be able to tell you that you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,”

“You’ve never experienced death, so how the hell would you know that?”

“And I’ll never be able to kiss you. And that is scary.”

“Very scary.” I said, barely holding my breath together. I hadn’t expected the conversation to take that turn.

“I’ll see you soon.” He whispered before hanging up.

Half an hour later and Joe piped up, saying something about the cost of the parking. Ronnie laughed and I began to see them as family unit, not as a gang.

Then one of people still in their hood grunted something about it being 11am and they should do something to show George time is ticking.

Ronnie looked reluctant to hold me this time, but Joe went back to Mr. villain in three seconds flat. He pulled a knife from his pocket and held it to my face. “Lets make some art.”

I gritted my teeth when they put the knife to my skin. They cut a line into my right cheek, a line below that on my neck, and then a line parallel to those next to my left ear. It didn’t look much like art, but it hurt like hell.

I squealed and Ronnie had to hold me still. The one near my ear started to bleed overly and Joe smiled, taking his finger. I felt him write on my forehead with the blood “16 hours.”

They took a photo, I looked down, and they sent it.

Reply, “I’m so sorry.”

It was directed at me, and everyone knew it. Joe frowned, because I think he wanted more of a reaction.

“Do you think he’s going to do it?” Asked the hooded guy.

“Only one way to find out,” Replied Joe. I shivered.

“He’ll do it,” Whispered Ronnie, in an attempt to comfort me. I don’t know why he was trying. “You’re the first person we’ve seen him with in ages apart from the pub owner. He wouldn’t risk losing someone if he made the conscious decision to befriend you.”

“What is it that he has to do?” I wondered.

He laughed and tilted his head, like what he was about to say would shock me, “There’s a man in London that knows a few of our secrets. We don’t want him around anymore.”