@mina ౨ৎ

It cast a sick yellow glow over everything, over the bottles littering the counter, over the half-open cabinet doors, over Frank sitting on the floor with his back against the island like the whole structure was the only thing keeping him upright.

You’d seen Frank Langdon in so many ways over the years. Exhausted. Angry. Bleeding. You’d seen him after twenty-hour shifts, after losing patients he pretended didn’t get to him. After his divorce, after rehab the first time. But you had never seen him look frightened of himself before.

The sound he made when he saw you wasn’t relief. It was worse.

It was a deep guttural sob of shame, escaping at the first sight of you.

“Oh, Frank,” you breathed, kneeling in front of him so quickly your knees cracked against the tile.

His face was blotchy and wet, hands trembling so badly he couldn’t even wipe the tears away properly. There was an orange prescription bottle sitting between his feet, the white cap sitting on top of the counter right above his head, a few small white pills strewn about the floor. 

When he looked up at you, his expression crumpled entirely.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, like it physically hurt him not to. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry.”

“How many?”

He shook his head immediately like he couldn’t bear the question. “Not enough to- I don’t know.” His voice cracked apart. “A few.”

Fear shot through you so fast it made you nauseous. You grabbed his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you. “Frank, how many?”

”Fuck, no more than three.” He breathed out, chest rattling in fear. “I w-was just gonna take one, but it didn’t do anything and-“ 

You exhaled shakily and pressed your forehead against his for one brief second just to steady yourself. He smelled faintly like sweat and toothpaste and the rain outside that hadn’t fallen yet. Your hands slid into his hair automatically, smoothing it back from his damp forehead the way you had a hundred times before after brutal shifts and panic attacks and nightmares he pretended he didn’t have.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, even though both of you knew it wasn’t. “We’ll figure it out.”

Frank let out this awful broken sound and suddenly folded forward into you completely, forehead against your shoulder, fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt hard enough to hurt. You held him instantly, arms wrapping around him while he shook apart in your lap. 

”I tried getting sober, I swear,” He cried, “I did better this time.” 

“I know.” 

“I went to meetings, I called my sponsor, I did everything they told me to do.” His breathing hitched violently. “I wanted it this time. I wanted to be better.”

“You are better.”

“No.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, devastated and furious with himself all at once. “No, I’m not, because normal people don’t do this shit. Normal people don’t sit on their kitchen floor at two in the morning swallowing pills because they can’t stand being inside their own fucking head anymore. Normal people don’t disappoint their kids, normal people don’t fucking do this.” 

The pain in his face nearly undid you.

You glanced toward the pills scattered across the floor and stood abruptly, grabbing the bottle before he could say another word. Frank watched you with glassy, exhausted eyes while you dumped the remaining pills into your palm and carried them to the sink. 

“What are you doing?” 

You ignored him, throwing them down the garbage disposal. Running the water as you flipped the switch, watching them disappear far into the sewers. 

“Please don’t-“

You looked over your shoulder at him. “Frank.”

“What if I just kept one? Just for when it’s too much?” His voice cracked completely. 

The honesty of it shattered your heart. Because that was the terrible thing about loving an addict, you understood the logic even when it horrified you. You saw it every day at work, and this wasn’t the first time you’d flushed Frank’s pills. You prayed every time it would be the last. 

You understood that sobriety wasn’t one brave decision made once; it was thousands of miserable little choices every single day afterward. Loving Frank meant understanding there would always be a part of him capable of destroying himself. Loving him meant staying anyway.

You walked back over slowly and crouched in front of him again, your hand sliding carefully along his jaw. “Then you call me then too.”

His face twisted instantly. “You can’t keep saving me.”

“Yes, I can.”

“No, you can’t.” Tears spilled harder down his cheeks, his blue eyes bright. “Eventually you’re gonna wake up and realize I’m too much work.”

Your throat burned painfully. “Frank Langdon, listen to me very carefully.”

He looked at you because there was nothing else to do. 

“Anything you need,” you whispered fiercely. “A ride home, an alibi, someone to sit with you until sunrise, I don’t care. I’ll help you bury the fucking body if I have to.” Your voice cracked then. “I’m not leaving you alone in this. Never.” 

You felt tears finally spill down your own face then because there he was, completely wrecked and terrified and ashamed, and somehow he was still apologizing for being loved.

You brushed your fingers through his hair again slowly until his breathing eased just a little beneath your hands. “Frank,” you said softly, “this is what love is.”

His face crumpled all over again.

”Now let me love you, please.” Your voice cracked. 

Outside, thunder rolled somewhere far off in the distance. Summer was ending. You could feel it in the air coming through the cracked kitchen window, that strange sadness August carried with it every year, like the world itself was grieving something unnamed.

"It's…" he rasps, his voice rough as he wracks his brain for something to say. He finds nothing that accurately reflects his thoughts, so he settles for honesty. "Fuck, doll, just come here." His hands are already reaching for you and you are more than happy to oblige, giggling as you cross the room towards where he sits on the edge of the bed.

His hands grab at your waist, pulling you down into his lap as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. "Driving me fucking insane," he growls against your skin, pressing a hard kiss there before pulling back and looking up at you. His eyes are dark, swimming with a hunger that makes your stomach clench and your pussy flutter. You gasp when he flips the two of you, landing on your back on the mattress. "You always know what to pick to make me lose my mind. You do it on purpose, huh?" he asks, looming over you.

You squirm beneath him, shaking your head in mock innocence. "You told me to buy something nice!" It's true, but a weak argument. You know full well what he likes, what turns him on. The red lace currently clinging to your body is textbook.

With a rough chuckle, Frank shakes his head. He reaches out, tugging at the dress, needing it off of you. He doesn't care if he tears it a little tear. He'll buy you a new one. He'll buy you an entire fucking closet of them if it makes you happy. "Brat," he murmurs, running his hands over every newly exposed inch of your skin. His hands cup the weight of your tits before skimming over your stomach to your thighs. He pries them open, finally getting a look at his prize, his reward for all the pretty things he gives you.

"There she is," he coos at your cunt, dipping his head to press a kiss against your clit. You shiver, your hand flying down to tangle in his soft hair. He hums, flicking his tongue against your slit before sucking your clit into his mouth. Your hips buck against his face, whining as he pulls back. "I know, baby. Daddy's got you," he says, his hands already moving to push his pants out the way.

Your face heats up when he calls himself 'daddy'. You always do, even if that's what he is - your sugar daddy. It feels… dirty, but you love it. "Frank, please," you beg, sliding your hands up and down his bare chest as he settles himself above you. He grabs your hands, pinning them against the pillow with one hand while the other reaches down between the two of you. His thumb circles you clit in a way that makes you squirm, his middle finger slipping inside you.

"Please what, baby?" he teases, a smirk on his lips. Even though his cock is already hard and weeping to be inside you, he still wants to hear you say it. He's a taunter, a teaser, and it drives you mad just as much as it turns you on.

Your lips fall into a pout, but you oblige him. "Fuck me," you say, your soft eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks. That's all Frank needs to hear. He doesn't have the patience to wait another damn second.

He pulls his fingers from you with a 'pop', the head of his cock replacing them, notching against your entrance. His hands move to grip your hips, holding you steady as he pushes into you in one sharp thrust. "Fuck!" he grunts, closing his eyes again the sensation. He always has to take a moment, just so that he doesn't finish as soon as he feels your walls pulsing around him.

You gasp, your back arching from the bed as he fills you. There's no better feeling than this… except maybe when he gives you his credit card. It's a close call. As if he knows what you're thinking, Frank pats your cheek with a huff, bringing your attention back to him. "Really, doll?" he asks, a grin on his lips. "You like my money more than my dick?" He punctuates his question with a roll of his hips, making your lips part in a moan.

"No," you whine, your nails clawing at his shoulders and back as you shake your head. "Like your dick more… promise." With a satisfied hum, Frank nods, pulling back until only his tip remains inside you before slamming back in. His hands clamp down on your hips, holding your writhing body steady as he fucks you. Every time he pounds into you, his cock hits that special spot that has your toes curling into the bed sheets.

Frank can feel it, the way your walls clench and pulse around him, giving away how close to the edge you are. "That's it," he purrs, one hand moving from your hip to your pussy. His fingers circle your clit in time with his movements, heightening your pleasure. "You close, pretty girl?" he asks, pressing down harder and relishing the way your mouth falls open in a gasp as you nod.

You nod feverishly, your eyes glazed over and your lips parted in a seemingly endless moan. "Yes, yes, Frank—!" His name is a cry on your lips, your body tensing up as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. The pleasure is intense, every nerve in your body tingling as he works you through it with steady rubs to your clit. He groans as you tighten around him, his hips stuttering in their rhythm.

"Jesus, fuck," he growls, the sensation of you coming apart on his cock almost too much to handle. He buries himself deep inside you before letting himself go. His body shudders, his chest heaving as he comes down from the high, his dick twitching inside you. "God, you're perfect," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. He collapses onto you, pressing wet kisses across your neck and face until he reaches your lips. The kiss is lazy and messy, both of you exerted from your highs.

Carefully, he breaks the kiss and looks down at you. You look a mess. A beautiful, sexy mess. Frank groans at the sight, his dick already stirring again, but he pushes the feeling away. He has other ideas for tonight. "C'mon, baby," he whispers, pulling out of you slowly. You whimper and he grins. "Let's get you cleaned up, hm? Then I'll take you out for dinner."

Your eyes snap open, excitement creeping into your expression as you nod. "Good girl," he purrs, helping you sit up.

Benjamin was an asshole to say the least, and an absolute fucking douchebag to say the most.

If your father didn't have a practically codependent relationship with his dad, Dr. Abbot, you would not be here right now, sitting on their couch while your dads cracked open the third beer of the night.

Ben was sitting beside you, manspreading like his life depended on it, and playing some random first-person shooter game.

You scoffed and curled closer into yourself on your corner of the couch and fumbled with your phone in your hoodie pocket to try and occupy yourself.

"Hey, kid, what's wrong?"

Your head perked up at the voice, your father, of course. His footsteps were practically silent compared to Dr. Abbot's whose gait was slightly off and would clink with his prosthetic.

"Nothing, Dad, just.. tired," you sighed, tucking your phone into your lap.

Your father cocked a brow and stared at you over those ridiculous glasses he always wore. "You're lying," he commented without hesitation. The man always found your tells and could see right through you.

You looked between him and Ben briefly before fixing him with a look, your silent signal for "I want to go home, I don't like him".

Your dad nodded in understanding before ruffling your hair and patting your shoulder, his own silent signal for "Hold out a little longer and try to get along", before walking back to the dining room where Jack was giving him a curious look.

Ben finally died in his game then and looked over at you with a furrow in his brow and an upturn in his upper look that conveyed something like annoyance. "You made me lose with that freaky silent talk thing you do," he complained.

You raised a brow. "Then you must suck if silent talk made you lose your game," you retorted with a scoff before grabbing your phone from your lap to return to mindless entertainment.

Ben stared for a moment longer at your uninterested expression before mumbling something eerily similar to "piece of work" under his breath before returning to his game.

A few minutes of silence passed until that familiar gait caught your attention and you looked up to see Jack coming behind Ben's spot. The idiot was too immersed in his game to realize his father was behind him and he jumped when Jack's hands smacked right against his shoulders, making him lose instantly.

"Bro! You're actually so lame, Dad!" Ben groaned as he turned to face his father.

The two were so identical, it made you wonder what his mom looked like because her genes put in absolutely no work. Ben was every bit his father except his hair was a mousy brown shade while Jack had long since been salt-and-peppered and Ben had significantly more freckles from time in the sun– no one could fault Jack for that though, then man ran the night shift and therefore was a night owl.

"Tell our guests bye and go up to shower. I swear you haven't had one in two weeks," Jack replied, his dry voice holding a hint of teasing.

Ben's cheeks pinkened and he stumbled over his words before placing his controller down and looking over at you for a moment. "Bye," he muttered.

You nodded in acknowledgement before unfurling from your crumpled spot on the couch to leave. "Bye, Mr. Jack, see you later," you spoke politely before rounding the edge of the couch to find your own father in the foyer, pulling his shoes back on.

"Bye, kiddo!" Jack called back before looking back to his son and smacking him across the back of his head.

You stifled a laugh as you slipped your shoes back on and followed your father out of the Abbot's house and to his truck.

The night air was cool against your cheeks and you shivered lightly, more than eager to enter the warmth of the old pickup.

"So, Benji's having his birthday party next week. You should go," your dad spoke once the two of you were settled in the truck.

You quirked a brow. "Dad. No. No way–" you scoffed, trying to figure out if he was actually being serious.

"Oh, c'mon, kid. It won't be that bad. It'll be hot, they have a pool, plenty of Jack's barbecue," he began to list, trying to convince you.

"Dad, no– why would I want to go to his birthday?" You argued.

You had gone to Ben's birthday every year since you could remember because Jack and your dad were convinced the two of you would be best friends because they were. Every birthday party ended with the two of you fighting, though.

On his tenth birthday he pushed you into the pool and you pulled him in with you, leading to the two of you almost drowning by trying to fight each other to the surface.

On his fourteenth birthday, you slammed his face into his cake after he threw a water balloon on your new lace dress you had gotten from a box of your birth mother's things.

And of course you never forgot on his seventh birthday when he found out you were adopted and made fun of you with all his friends. You rode home crying that night and didn't see Jack or Ben for almost three months.

Your father sigh from the driver's seat caught your attention again and you looked back at him.

"I know you don't like him, kid.. but give this party a chance," he requested, looking over at you. "For your old man?"

You huffed as he pulled that card. Of course he would.

You laid in your bed that night, contemplating it. It was his eighteenth birthday and the two of you were graduating this year. If you went, this would be the last of his birthdays you'd ever have to go to and if he humiliated you, at least you'd barely see him around and could live down the shame at a college out of state where no one went to.

You rolled over to stare out the slightly ajar window before sighing. You would go. If only for your dad's sake.

The party was lively, and the scent of Jack's cooking wafted through the back yard that could barely contain the sheer amount of people invited.

Of course the extended Abbot family was there, but also so was the entire football team it seemed. You brushed past people, attempting to stay close to your dad so you didn't risk the chance of running into Ben.

"Hey! There's my bonus kid!" Jack grinned as you and your dad found him. The two shared a brief hug before Jack hugged you as well– always one to be affectionate to the ones he cares about.

"Look at this, all grown up," he sighed as he pulled back to grasp your shoulders. "Don't let any of these boys here ogle you," he added in a mock authority tone before patting your shoulder and going to his conversation with your father about kids growing up so fast or something along those lines.

You hovered, but looked around awkwardly, trying to find familiar faces that weren't people who asked you for the answers during class.

As you were preoccupied with searching the crowd, Ben came up to his dad and began asking questions about food.

You turned at the sound of his voice and saw him in just a pair of swim trunks, torso glistening like he'd just come out of the pool. Despite yourself, your gaze lingered, eyeing the slight chub on his bones from bulking and trailing the thousands of freckles that littered his skin. You were about to look away when his head turned and he met your gaze.

Fuck.

He smirked, because of course the idiot smirked, and returned to his conversation like he didn't just catch you sizing him up like he was a porterhouse.

You felt your cheeks get hot and you looked away to try and take your mind off that interaction because why did Benajmin John Abbot make you flustered? This was your mortal enemy! The bane of your existence that called you a piece of work!

But God, he was a really sexy enemy who grew into his body really well.

You shook the thought from your head before deciding maybe a dip in the pool would do you some good.

You headed inside and walked upstairs to the bathroom so you could set your clothes somewhere they'd stay dry and safe.

While you were tucking your clothes away in a safe spot in the cabinet with your purse and shoes, you heard a knock on the door.

Assuming it was a stranger, you cleared your throat and called out, "Occupied!"

There was a small chuckle on the other side. "It's me. Are you decent?"

Ben. Because of course.

Your brows furrowed and you felt your pulse leap into your throat. "Still occupied!" You yelled again.

"Dude, just let me in, I wanna talk," he replied. The words were followed by a small thud that sounded like his forehead hitting the door.

You sighed and closed the cabinet door before opening the door to reveal Benjamin standing there with a shit-eating grin, wet curls sticking to his forehead and a towel thrown around his thick neck.

"Wow, nice rack," he muttered, staring down at your bikini top, leading you to shut the door in his face. "Hey I was joking!" He called from behind the wood.

You contemplated shutting yourself in the bathroom for the rest of the party for a moment before slowly relenting and opening the door.

"Thank you," he hummed once the door opened again. "Besides, I only think it's fair from how you were looking at me earlier," he added in a teasing tone.

You sputtered for a moment, trying to come up with a valid excuse for practically drooling at the sight of him.

"Hey," he began defensively, holding his arms up. "It's a compliment from Miss Hates Me," he continued with another grin, this one softer.

Your cheeks burned again and your grip on the doorknob tightened. "Do you want me to slam this door in your face again?" You spoke, trying to keep your voice steady.

"No, sorry–" Ben quickly replied, rubbing the nape of his neck.

You rolled your eyes before looking at him, expecting him to say something– fess up the real reason he was here, for one.

Ben just stared unknowingly, brow quirked. "There– you're doing that freaky silent talk thing again!" He pointed out, making you groan.

"Why are you here?" You asked bluntly this time.

Ben's face morphed into one of realization before he grinned again. "Because you like me."