Boston Blood

Twenty four

The apartment was small and smelled strongly of weed. It was full of people who looked as wasted as she did. There were a few girls huddled around the kitchen table doing lines but the party consisted mostly of young men in their twenties. Frankie sat on the couch and was handed a glass of something. She didn't ask what it was, she just knocked it back, revelling in her carelessness. Rap music was pumping from the large speakers in the corner and some of the girls started to dance. They looked like teenagers. Frankie stared at them, suddenly feeling a twinge of jealously. They were young and happy and didn't have a care in the world. She envied them.

The man who had invited her to the party plonked himself down on the couch beside her and placed his hand on her bare knee. Frankie turned to him and tried to will her head to stop spinning. "So, what's your story then?" She stared at him, blankly. "Got a name?" He was becoming irritated, which made Frankie smile. "Frankie." She held out her hand to the man who took it and placed a sloppy kiss on her skin. His touch made her shiver. He wasn't bad looking at all and Frankie wasn't looking for anything from him, per say. She knew she would hate herself in the morning but it felt nice to be touched in that moment. She knew she shouldn't be drinking. When she stopped taking the pills, alcohol didn't appeal to her. She had had the odd drink at the bar but she never longed for it after Bill had helped her. But tonight, all she wanted was to feel numb.

"It's a bit crowded in here. Wanna go somewhere a bit more private?" The man smiled a warm, hungry smile at Frankie and held his hand out to her. He was big and covered in tattoos. She could feel brain screaming at her to stop. To tell him no and to go home. But she took his hand and followed him out of the living room. He high-fived one of his friends and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the counter as they headed out into the hallway. "I'm Jimmy, by the way." Frankie forced a smile and took a deep breath as he guided her into a small bedroom. It was sparsely decorated. It had an old, shabby mattress on a rickety bed frame and one small bed side locker which held an old fashioned lamp and a CD player. Frankie hesitated as Jimmy closed the door behind him. He motioned for her to sit on the bed and handed Frankie the bottle as he took off his shirt revealing heavily a tattooed, muscular torso under a tight black vest. Frankie gulped back the vodka and walked over to the tiny window. She stared into the darkness and tried to fight the shameful and furious tears that were stinging her eyes. What the hell am I doing here? This is stupid. I'm stronger than this. I have to be.

Her agonised, conflicted thoughts were interrupted when she felt a cold hand caressing the skin on her shoulder. it made her shudder. Get out, Frankie. This isn't what you want.

"Hey, you okay, sweetheart? You look tense. Why don't you take one of these? Might help loosen you up a bit." Jimmy held out his hand. A small white pill glared up at Frankie, tauntingly. She stared at his hand and took a deep breath before snatching the tablet and closing her sweaty palm around it. Jimmy smiled and threw himself onto the bed and removed his boots. Frankie could feel beads of cold sweat fall down her back. What are you doing?

She cleared her throat and turned to Jimmy. His eyes were wide with lust. "Is that the bathroom?" Frankie pointed her chin towards the door to the left of the bed as she walked towards it. Jimmy put a cigarette between his wet lips and lit it. "Help yourself." He smiled at her but it didn't reach his eyes. He only wanted one thing from her. Something she thought she would give him, but standing there, in what what was beginning to realise, must have been a crack house, staring at this complete stranger, she felt devastated and sick to her stomach. She had no idea how but she suddenly felt completely sober and frightened. This wasn't her, anymore. She wasn't this person.

She stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut before she stepped towards the sink and placed her wrists under the taps. The cool water felt nice as she let it wash over her still reddened and slightly swollen skin. She reluctantly looked into the cracked mirror above the sink and felt her heart pound in her chest. The image of her father and Michael plauged her mind. Then Cillian's rough hands securing the cuffs around her too tightly, his dark blue eyes boring into hers, trying to intimate her. It made her shiver. She shook her head and glared at herself. Her eyes were puffy and red and her skin was pale and clammy. She looked exactly like she had when she was an addict. Sick and hollow. It was almost like the little pill had a pulse. She felt it in her hand, tormenting her. She looked down at it and felt the tears return to her eyes. But she stopped them. This wasn't the place.