Issues [Frollie]

Chapter 9

“OW!”

“Will you stop that? Put your hands down.”

“Just tug at the –”

“Stop fiddling!”

“You are actually going to – ouch – rip my hair out!” Mollie winced and leant out of Frankie’s reach, slapping her hands away. Her gaze was reproachful. “Be gentle with me,” she warned, readjusting her position on the couch cushion so she could point a finger in Frankie’s face. “Think about how bad you’ll feel if you pull this bandage off with half of my head still attached.”

“Shut up,” Frankie told her fondly. “And stay still, for once.”

Mollie remained wary, but she consented to allow Frankie to continue gently peeling the bandage away from her skull. She kept on grumbling under her breath, however. “I’d like to see you try and stay still while someone slowly pulled the hairs out of your scalp. You wouldn’t last a second of this.”

Sighing, Frankie let her hands fall. “Why don’t you get someone else to do it, then?” she asked, trying to smother the amusement in her tone.

“Because Una would do the rip-the-bandaid method and leave me bald, Rochelle would tell me to leave it on until we’re sure the stitches are completely gone and Vanessa would be here until tomorrow night trying to do the job without hurting me, and we have to leave at some point today.”

“Why don’t you do it yourself?”

Mollie fixed her with a level look, and reached forward to rest her hand on Frankie’s shoulder. “If I could, I would,” she said seriously. “Now get on with it.”

Feeling Mollie’s eyes on her the entire time, Frankie carefully resumed trying to remove the bandage as gently as she could. After several visits to the hospital over the last week and a half, it had been decided that Mollie’s stitches had almost definitely worked their way out of her skin, and so she could leave it unprotected. However, the tape hurt far more on the way out than either of them had expected.

Frankie had to hold Mollie’s cheek in the palm of her hand as she continued to pry the material away, and so she could feel every single cringe or wince that crossed Mollie’s features as she worked. It was mildly distracting, but at least she could use the indications to guide her.

As the faded remnants of the wound that had killed her best friend was revealed, bit by bit, Frankie’s fingers became less steady where they rested against the side of Mollie’s face. When Molls had asked her to assist her, she had not thought to prepare herself for seeing the actual damage firsthand. In an instant, a red-hued memory of blood and pale skin flashed across her mind, and she stared at the dark red, slightly raised line of thin scar tissue that cut beneath Mollie’s hairline near her ear. To anyone else, perhaps it would not have been so obvious, but Frankie’s mind was also conjuring her recollection of the fresh wound and the two images overlaid to create a terrifying gash.

Watching Mollie’s health improve by the day had been one of the most quietly wonderful things Frankie had ever experienced. It did not necessarily meet up with the excitement and hype that had made up the last fantastic years of her life, but it was satisfying in a far more private way that she wanted to keep to herself. Each time that Mollie looked up at her with those clear blue eyes or her cheeks flushed a happy pink when she laughed, Frankie had to physically stop herself from beaming because she so glad to have her there.