Not my typeMature


I read the note on the mirror a few times before it sinks in.

He's gone, and it's clear he hasn't got much intention of coming back.

I sit on the edge of the bath, wishing I could have helped better, wishing I could somehow persuade him to come back. But I know he won't. He can't hang around, or his own friends will kill him.


Eventually, I manage to make myself leave the apartment, to get something to eat from... somewhere. I'm not even hungry, I just know I'm supposed to be eating.

I'm kinda... I dunno. Numb? In shock?

Something like that. I don't really want to think, or move, but I make myself.

Stupid, Maxxie. Should have been ready for this. It's not like I thought he could stay now he's... y'know.

While I'm queuing up to buy... whatever it is in my hands, I'm staring out of the window aimlessly. I'm not looking for anything in particular, just staring. It's better than staring at the boil on the back of the woman's neck in front of me.

A figure passes the window, pausing. He has his back turned to the window, but the dark shirt and the bulging muscles on the huge figure kinda gives it away. That and the fact he's holding a gun and not even bothering to conceal it.


He looks around as if he's lost something. I can almost imagine the expression on his face.

I pay for what turns out to be a chicken salad sandwich and an energy drink and walk out.

"Hey, Mickey right?" I have no idea where this confidence came from. I just saunter up to the guy and start talking.

"I'm busy."

"You look tense," I smile, trying not to squint in the sunlight.

"I'm busy," he repeats, glancing up. I follow his gaze and see someone on the roof of the building across the street. He goes to move, and I don't need telling that the figure up there is probably Alex, and that the gun in Mickey's hand is full of bullets just for him.

"Why don't you relax a bit?" I ask, putting a hand on his sternum to keep him back. His eyes snap to mine angrily, but I keep smiling. "I can help you relax," I tell him, keeping my hand on his chest as I walk around him. I drop the bag with the sandwich in it on the floor behind me and put that hand around his waist, a little further south than I figure he'll be comfortable with.

"Get off me," he growls, trying to move my hand, but every time he lifts it, I move it back and a little closer to his groin every time. I bite back a laugh as I take a quick look up at the roof over his shoulder and see Alex has gone.

"Aw," I put on a disappointed tone, "I was hoping I'd be able to help you unwind a bit."

"Christ, get off me, ya stupid fag!" he yells, twisting and pushing me back. I give him an upset look, but to be honest, I'm glad I don't have to hang onto him anymore. I've done my job.

That and he's really not my type.

"Shame," I sigh, picking up my bag again, "I'd been looking forward to having a bit of fun."


The End

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