Love You To Death: Chapter 17

Love You To Death
Chapter Seventeen
Fading Smoke


“Michelangelo?” Helen was knocking on his bedroom door, and only after Lucifer realized he hadn’t collected or filled out any of his lists for a few days now.
Anna had been gone for almost three months and only now was he showing any signs of loss, which Helen didn’t understand, but did accept.
“Are you in there?”
“Yes” his voice came through the arched wooden door.
“Can I come in?”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I haven’t seen you in three days? I’d think you were dead only that’s not going to happen.”
There was silence.
“I’m coming in.”
“Fine.”
She opened the door, and glanced round the room.
Cigarette smoke floated at about head height, and all Helen could see of Michelangelo was a pair of boots propped up on the back of the armchair where he was sat upside down.
“Why are you sat like that?”
“I’m trying to grow my hair back.”
“What do you mean? Your hair’s really long...” She stepped around the chair. His ponytail had been clipped off and his hair was spiked and almost thorny.
“Did you do that yourself?”
“Yep.”
“You think cigarettes are going to help it grow back?”
“Couldn’t hurt. It’s not like they’re going to kill me.”
“That’s not the point.” She folded her arms before climbing over the scattered stacks of books and full ashtrays. She almost tore the curtains trying to pull them open, and the sun strained mockingly into the room.
“How’s work going?”
“He’s sent you to check up on me hasn’t he?”
“Who?”
“Lucifer; he’s got you to come and tell me to stop skiving.”
“You’ve been skiving?”
“Don’t be so nonchalant, Helen it really pisses me off.”
“He’s worried about you.”
“Worried I won’t carry on working.”
“Look, Michelangelo, Phoenix, Valentine and Orlando are working their fingers to the bone to keep up with everything you’re not doing okay? It’s getting ridiculous. She’s gone and you need to get over it!”
Michelangelo stayed silent and Helen knew she’d hit a nerve.
“I’m sorry.”
“Just get out. Now.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“Now.”


It’s over. She’s gone now.
It’s better, considering the terrible impression I made on her father. Accidently killing the cook who’d pretty much raised her was NOT part of the original plan. She was about to call the police and I’d forgotten to put my glove back on. What more is there to say?

My main concern now? Will she forget? I sincerely hope that she...doesn’t? Does?
I want her to have a happy life, but I want her to spend that life with me.
And if her life was indeed spent with me, then it would not be happy.
Of course it wouldn’t be happy.
She hates me.
And I love her.