Morphine (Complete)

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Rannia slept well on her first night at the Amir's.

When she woke, small rays of light peeked into the room, shy at first. Rannia slid out from under her covers, doing her best to not disrupt the snoozing boy by her side-the boy with the covers pulled into his arms in soft caress, the boy with a trail of drool leaving his parted lips, dripping onto the pillow below him.

Rannia hated this boy, god, she really did, but a small smile did allow itself to bud on her face at the sight.

"I will kill you," she whispered, heavy words floating into the still air of the room, hanging there above his neck like a noose. Tearing her gaze from Carter's gentle resting face, she padded her way quietly across the floor and opened her bag to reveal its contents.

She remembered Mykel's hands touching her own over this same bag. His large, strong fingers, making a sure swipe of her hand to the side. The gentle whisper of his breathing as they leant, close. The intensity of his stare.

Pushing out her own tired breath, she brushed the thoughts aside and dug through her equipment, double checking to make sure everything was there. She was prepared for everything with that bag. Her fingers glazed over the edgy of her loaded gun, pausing for a moment as her eyes drifted to Carter, and then quickly tearing away from the addictive cool metal touch.

She bit her lip. Not yet.

With Carter asleep, the house dead silent, Rannia decided to leave their small room and enter the rest of the house.

It was cold. Old floorboards creaked beneath her bare toes as she padded into the living room. She caught sight of a bottle of whiskey skewd across a couch, half empty.

Her eyes fell to a burned cigar by the bottle's side. It was blackened and used to all its extent. She turned to look out of the front window, and she met a pair of meandering dark eyes.

Something clutched her heart at the sight of him, outside, watching her. Eyes tracing her movements as he lazily clasped a new cigar caught between his fingers. Mykel had been watching her.

Mykel had been watching her.

His eyes looked a little dazed, bored, and high. A place where the ground could not catch him. Rannia grabbed the half empty whiskey from the couch and left the house, joining Mykel on the front porch of the suburban abode.

A small, quaint road lay parallel to the bungalow, empty of people and cars. The distant sound of faraway cars echoed into the barren street, bouncing off the occasional wall and tree.

A small breeze ran past the pair. Rannia took a small sip of the whiskey, finding herself sitting beside Mykel on the front steps.

"It's quite calm here, isn't it, girlfriend?" Mykel questioned, voice hoarse and a little slurred. He lifted the hand holding the cigar and motioned it before them, waving the smoking stick without a care in the world.

Rannia felt her eyes wandering over his veined hands, examining each tendon, each muscle, each line-the light patch of hair dusting the back of his hand, his fingers, his arm.

"It is, and you want me gone," Rannia replied calmly, taking another sip of the toxic liquid. It burned down her throat and lips as she savoured the pain, closing her eyes to accentuate the feeling.

Burn.

Mykel shook his head and took another long drag. Clouds of smoke left his parted lips, floating up into the air, dissipating as quickly as they had appeared. It was fascinating to watch a man so horrible in such a vulnerable, calm state. Perhaps vulnerable wasn't the right word. His hands could do much damage to Rannia's body alone. But the lost look in his eye? The searching? That, it was.