“So, your first day back…what a shit show.” She trailed off, watching out the window as fireworks streaked the horizon.

“About what I expected, if I’m being honest,” he huffed a laugh, “I’m surprised that anyone was happy to see me back, considering I didn’t hear from anyone while I was gone.”

He gave her a pointed look.

She shrugged her shoulders and mumbled, “Wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.”

“I always want to hear from you.”

“Therapy sure made you honest, Frankie,” she smiled slightly, shifting her attention away from the window and fully to him. The smile didn’t last long, her expression drifting off with her mind.

“Am I,” she cleared her throat, “am I allowed to ask questions?”

He couldn’t help but laugh. It was a new feeling—neither of them were used to dancing around boundaries once they slipped into more intimate settings. His chest tightened when he remembered that this new need for boundaries, this need for uncertainty, was his own fault.

“Yeah, Y/N/N, you’re allowed to ask questions.”

She straightened a bit, “okay.”

“Were you high every time we were together?”

He expected the question, but her bluntness was like a blade to his chest.

“Not every time, but, yeah, most times.”

“Were you high when you told me you loved me?”

“Y/N…” 

He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. It was all the answer she needed

“Okay,” she said softly, gave a jerky nod, looked back to the window, at the floor, then back to him, tensing, “Okay.”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.”

“Frank—”

“No, Y/N,” he cut her off—he knew the road she was about to go down all too well, “I mean, is it not obvious? That I love you? That I’ve always loved you?”

“It’s kind of hard to believe in what seems obvious anymore, Frank.” She roughly wiped away a tear before burying her face in her hands. “This would be so much easier if I hated you. I wish I could hate you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, sorting through the screaming in their minds.

“Maybe he was right,” he nodded at one of the photos hanging above them, “your dad, I mean.”

She looked at the photo, barely suppressing a scoff. It was a snapshot of her with her father’s arm slung around her shoulders as she triumphantly held up a diploma and a bouquet of flowers. They looked happy. It had been a good day.

“Yeah, because he’s really set the standard for relationships.” They shared a laugh at her father’s expense, the tension finally lifting, even if just by a fraction. She sat up straighter, a conflicted look passing over her face.

“Look, Frank,” she toyed with a loose thread on the couch, “I’m going to tell you something; even though it’s not my place. A-and I promise I’m not making excuses for him—because he’s being a total jackass, but…”

He raised his eyebrows, leaning in, “But…?”

“You need to promise me that you won’t tell anyone. Ever.” She licked her lips, a nervous habit she’d never been able to kick, “Even if you somehow find out somewhere down the line—you need to act surprised.”

He shifted one cushion closer, reaching out for her hand, “You can trust me, Y/N/N. I want you to…feel like you can trust me.”

Her eyes darted from his hands clasped around hers, up to his face, and immediately back to their hands. The bluntness from moments ago was completely gone. Frank didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she finally spoke, barely above a whisper.

“My dad, he…he struggled,” she paused, looking for the right words, “he struggled with addiction when I was a kid. Painkillers.”

Frank’s body reacted before his mind did, his eyebrows nearly shooting off his forehead.

“He’ll never admit it, but he’s more mad at himself than he is at you.” She sighed, “It’s not an excuse. Just…an explanation.”

“Wow…I mean—I never,” he couldn’t quite find the right words, “wow.”

“Yeah, wow.”

A million half-thoughts ran through his mind as the weight of what he’d done became so, so much heavier. He felt the darkness creeping in around the edges before it was sapped away by her gentle touch on his jaw. She turned his face to hers.

“You didn’t know, Frankie. There’s no way you could’ve known,” her hand slid up to cup his cheek, “It’s not your fault.”

Her lips parted to continue, but was interrupted by the harsh ring of her phone. She huffed, ready to send the caller straight to voicemail, but the name glowing on her screen made her stomach drop.

Jack Abbot.

The pair looked at each other in confusion as she slowly answered the phone and lifted it to her ear.

“Hey.”

“Are you sitting down?”

Frank saw her eyes glaze over, “Just tell me what happened, Jack.” “Sweetheart, it’s your dad. There was an accident. Things aren’t—” his breath caught “things aren’t looking too good.”

~~~

yeah, i'm evil. get over it. more pain coming soon to a blog near you.