Come On Angel, Don't You Cry

Chapter 17: "We Can't Stay."

Frank stared at me when I finished the sentence. Then his eyes flashed with what I knew as rage. I'd seen it before. Not in his eyes but the eyes of people who used to torment me daily in school. His eyes were usually bright and full of love but not now. They were dark and I knew he was seeing red.

There went his promise to keep calm. And then he started to yell and with every venom soaked word he got closer and closer. I was nearly convinced he would hit me but then I remember back to our first encounter when I nearly hit him and he flinched so far into himself. Then I was sure he wouldn't. I was still scared though. I never paid attention to what he said. I just blocked it out like I used to in the halls of high school. It hurts less that way.

Eventually, he stopped screaming and started pacing. His hands pulling and tugging on his hair as though he were trying to ring the strands of answers on what to do. He was pacing back and forth. From the side of the room where the mirror and dresser stood to the complete opposite side where there were pictures and a small closet not big enough for 2 people to fit in at once was placed.

My eyes followed him as he walked, tracing his own footsteps around a million times until I was convinced he would fall through at any moment. But, of course, he didn't. Instead, he stopped. About halfway between the 2 walls, at the end of the bed, right in front of me. He slowly turned on his heels and looked at me. Staying silent, he looked me up and down, and then cocked his head to the side, furrowed his eyebrows, and stared for about a minute.

Then he spoke. "Gather the things that mean the most to you. 5 at the most, get dressed in something comfortable, and head downstairs in about 45 minutes." And then he left. Walked straight out the door.

I watched after him. Wondering if that meant we were leaving for good or if we would come back. Was he going to do something to me?

I was unsure about a lot of things but I followed what he told me to do and started looking around and thinking what meant the most. I looked at the clock and realized I had maybe 30 minutes to decide what to take, and to get ready. I grab my favorite Misfits shirt and pull it on, along with a pair of jeans. I put my feet in a pair of worn out white converse and look around for the stuff I'm going to take with me. I obviously have to be able to carry it all so I pick fewer and lighter things.

I grab a backpack from the closet and put in it a thing of colored pencils, a thing of pencils and a sketch book that I had been using since about a week after we got here. It was probably the first thing I requested from Frank. I look around for anything else. With about 15 minutes left I hear something that scares the shit out of me. A gunshot. Obviously from outside in the backyard. I'm not sure who was shot or who was the one to shoot but I'm not taking any chances of going downstairs cause I don't want my ass shot if the shooter is still a little angry.

I hear the backdoor close and since its about one in the morning the house is silent also making me be able to hear the shower turn on in the bathroom just below the room. Still shaken I decide to carry on with my activities.

But due to what just happened, I forgot exactly what I was supposed to be grabbing so I tried to remember but I only thought of one other thing before the shower downstairs cut off and I realized I had 5 minutes to get downstairs. I grabbed the backpack and the last item and folded it in fours shoving it into the front pocket of my jeans.

I walk down to the opposite end of the hall and take a deep breath before I take the 15 counted steps down until I reach the hard oak floors of the first floor. I sit of the carpeted stairs and wait. Frank comes out of nowhere, it appears, now wearing a Blink 182 shirt, a leather jacket, a pair of jeans similar to mine, and a pair of black converse that had little red marks on toe that was obviously blood. His hair was wet and he looked slightly guilty and tired as he looked me in the eyes leading me to the saddening conclusion that he was in fact the shooter.

"Where are we going? Are we going to come back?" I asked him, and he shrugged, directing his sight down towards my feet.

"I don't know where we are going and I'm not sure if we'll ever be back here together but I do know for a certain fact that we can't stay." He replied quietly before putting out his hand as if to ask 'are you with me?'. I looked at his hand for a moment and closed my eyes tightly. I put my hand in his and he helped me up to my feet.

We walk hand in hand until we reach the door. We both stop and we stand there, I with my back pack and him with a briefcase. We look around at the place for probably the last time. I look at his hand in mine and then look up at him. His beautiful hair and eyes and just him entirely. I, then, look back to the house. The house that both ruined and made my life. As I stand next to the man who's done the exact same. I feel as though we are a couple who are finally moving out of their first home. The home they lived in before they were married, the house they lived in through all of the tough times. A couple that now needs to move on for the best of reasons.

Although, our reasons are nothing near the best. Ours may be near to the worst of any situation.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Before I open them however and slightly push Frank telling him its time. That we need to go and he understands cause he starts to walk onward. I open my eyes and follow him, both of us still attached at the hands.

As we walk out onto the porch I look at the rocking chairs and the wooden tables all worn down from cold days and hot ones, from being out in the sun and exposed to winds. We walk past them though and through the screen door that leads to the 3 steps that take you down to the gravel of the driveway.

I feel and hear the crunch of the rocks under my feet as I walk next to Frank. I just now realize how funny it is that I am a good 5 inches taller than him but I was so scared of him when I found myself being handcuffed to the door of his car. I also find it funny that I was so scared in the beginning and now I am walking beside him hand in hand, willingly. I am not scared of Frankie anymore. He means a lot to me, now.

We make it to his car and place our stuff in the backseat. He opens my door for me and I sit inside, not bothering to close the door quite yet. Instead, I pull the folded item out of my pocket. I slowly unfold it as Frank walks around the front of the car. And in the dim light from the old bulb in the ceiling of the car I can make out the two smiling faces of me and my brother.

Mikey has his arm around my shoulders, as I've always been shorter than him, and his smile is probably the most genuine I've ever seen for a picture. Mine was just as genuine as his. This was always my favorite picture of Mikey and me. That may have been why I put it on the front table, so that I would see it everytime I came into the house. Whenever I put my keys down, or when I sat my phone in front of it, instead of carrying it with me beacause I knew no one would call. I don't know why I took such a liking to it because we both look a mess. Mikey's hair is everywhere, as well as mine, his glasses are on somewhat lopsided but I think it just reminds me of every good time we've ever had.

I realize that I had been taking to long looking at it and that Frank was now looking at me. I snap back to reality and close the door, but Frank doesn't start the car. Instead, he smiles at me.

"You really like that picture don't you?" He asked, I look back down at it.

"Yeah, I do. It means a lot I guess. How did you know?" I looked back up at him and he smiled and laughed a little.

"You sat down and it was the first thing you pulled out, and not to mention you were smiling the entire time you were looking at it." He said, as he actually started the car.

"Yeah, Mikey means the world to me. I guess he just knows me the best. He was always there for me, even when I couldn't be there for him. He's the best, really." I said but this time Frank doesn't give a verbal response he just nods letting his focus stay on the twists and turns of the road.

I watched as we drove through the trees and past the stars. I knew we wouldn't be coming back. I just had that feeling. There was something else in that feeling that made me worry cause I wasn't sure what it was. Like something would happen. But I couldn't put my finger on what.

I was also still worried how Frank would feel after shooting someone, I'm not exactly sure who it was exactly. It could have been Pete, Patrick or Ray. Although seeing as to how we are leaving and there's no Ray with us......

A gunshot. No Ray coming with us.

I kind of have my suspicions.