𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐲 𝐌𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 ✧ (𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐝) [on hold]

✧ Chapter 12 : The Red Monarch ✧

I followed Frank. Cogs turned in my head and I asked : "Where do you live since your parents... Um..."

"Died?" Frank ended my hesitant sentence. He didn't seem like he would mind a lack of tact. "I've been living with my aunt and uncle for four years now."

I hummed. The both of us eventually arrived at a relatively small but clean house. For some reason, I had expected Frank to live in some dump in a slum, inside a broken car or in an attic he would squat.

"Not what you expected, Way, huh?" Frank said casually bumping my shoulder with his, as if he had heard my thoughts. Maybe he had just looked at my face and saw surprise on it. "Not punk enough?"

"I- uh..." I began.

"C'mon, don't be so tense. You can say it," he said without a care in the world while standing on tiptoe to grab a key under some flowerpot.

I didn't reply. Frank unlocked the front door and stepped inside the house. I hesitated to do the same as I remembered that Frank was supposedly my tormentor and that this invitation seemed slightly suspicious. Frank wanted to tell me 'the whole truth', but that just sounded too good to be true.

"What are you waiting for, Gerard? An invitation?" Frank called.

I narrowed my eyes, guardedly stepping inside. "Aren't your uncle and aunt home? It's Sunday."

Frank closed the door behind me. I looked around. It seemed familiar, but I didn't remember ever coming here. It was just a serious feeling of déjà-vu.

At first sight, it was an ordered house overall. I wouldn't say 'boring' for it sounded too harsh and not so suitable for a home, but the more I looked around, the more appropriate the word sounded.

It was empty, almost... soulless. Nothing was there to make it alive. Something was telling me the owners wouldn't change much about that, even with their presence.

"They're not here - they rarely are. Generally, they're working or out for their own entertainment without me. It's okay, I am not so fond of ballet."

I would have snorted if Frank's point wasn't sad. Maybe he was used to it, but I wasn't. And that made me sad for him. I think... I think my compassion is slowly turning into some form of forgiveness.

The thought of Frank having to bear a whole evening of ballet still made me smile discreetly.

"They cared enough to take me in, but apparently not quite enough to do much more than feeding me on a decent basis and giving me a roof to live under," Frank explained. "It's fine, it's all I really need and ask for."

I found myself wishing to be so emotionally detached in my own life. Frank seemed to be able to numb his own sorrow, loneliness, and his feelings in general, which was something I was terribly envying.

Frank sat down on a couch in the living room and I imitated him, sitting at a reasonable distance from him. Frank scooted a little closer and I didn't dare move away. It didn't matter enough.

"I... I don't know where to start," Frank said, looking at his lap.

"You should start with the beginning. Chronologically, I mean. Frank, I know I suffer from memory loss much heavier than what I was told. Don't sugarcoat it, please. I just learnt about my grandmother's death; there isn't much I can't hear."

Frank hummed, as his own way of saying 'don't be so sure'. "From what I know, you were in love with Lindsey at the time," he began quietly. "You already were the blonde-haired top of the class, the same pain in the ass you were a week ago. You made a lot of efforts for her and you two ended up dating. You were a great couple, and everything was for the best. I think you remember everything until then."