The Sharpest Lives.

Chapter 11: Mansize Rooster.

I was almost disappointed when Frank dropped me at my house. It was such a new feeling, and I was yet to decide if it was an unwelcomed one and whatnot, but we had spent the twenty minute walk back to my house holding hands, and it wasn't that I had just liked it —fuck, I had loved it. I had loved how Frank was a few inches shorter than I was, and I had loved how his hand was warm and how our fingers intertwined. I had loved the subtle blush that had covered our cheeks, and how that weird fuzzy feeling invaded my chest.

And I had loved how awkward the goodbye was, because that guy had his lips around my dick an hour ago and now he didn't know how to say goodbye to me. And I had intended to make it a thousand times more awkward by practically dry humping him in my front door. I left him with the promise to text, a peck on the lips and his hand lingering over his lips, where mine had just brushed a second ago —fuck, he was gorgeous.

I entered my house stumbling, that stupid warm fuzzy feeling still invading all my being, only to encounter my whole family waiting for me in the kitchen, where I had intended to take an innocent cup of coffee. I raised my eyebrows, not knowing what was going on, noticing the concern in their eyes.

"Sup" I muttered, too afraid to ask, and they all glared at me as if they didn't believe I had the courage to come home and greet them with a fucking "sup." But I genuinely didn't know what the fuck was going on, and as always, I was too afraid to ask. Because the last time I had dared to ask, they had told me I needed therapy, and boy, I wasn't up for therapy again. Psychologists were just plain stupid to get me, I was too complicated and the questions I had inside my brain weren't exactly the easy type for them to answer. And I wasn't exactly the easy kind of person to deal with. So I started to make myself a cup of coffee, trying to ignore the eyes of my family piercing my back. I rolled my eyes when I was done and turned to face them. "Look, you guys. I don't know what this is about, but I don't need any more therapy. I'm doing fine."

Mikey and my dad snorted at the same time, and if that hadn't been a somewhat serious moment, I would've teased Mikey about how he copied our dad in every kind of way, something I found really cute on the inside, but something I laughed at on the outside nonetheless.

"Yeah? Well, tell that to your friend, boyfriend or drug dealer or whoever that guy was."

My father spat the words to my face, and I simply froze on the spot. Surely, Bert hadn't had the guts to actually show up at my door, had he? But fuck, it was Bert. Of course he'd have the nerve to come to my own house, and talk to my parents. He had no morals, but that was a bit hypocritical of me to say, considering the fact I had been exchanging fucks for drugs for over a year now, and that he had warned me.

The thing with Bert was that he was very, very possessive, he didn't want me to be with anyone, but he could be with whoever he wanted to be. I was his bitch, there was no other way to define it, and it was making me sick and wanting to throw up, because —fuck, because the guy that had somewhat ruined me a little bit more had actually talked to my parents and that meant he had invaded my house with his filthiness. And I wasn't up for that.

"Bert was here?" I breathed, and my mother caught the feeling that he wasn't my friend, or boyfriend. That we were done. But still, that didn't explain why a drug dealer had actually knocked on my door and asked my parents about me. What if he had threatened them? What if he had threatened Mikey? That fucker was dreaming if he thought I would ever let him near Mikey.

"Yes, from your reaction I think he isn't someone you're very fond of." The sarcasm dripping my father's voice was seriously killing me, because I had promised Frank I would try to get better, and Bert was ruining everything again. I didn't even know why I cared that much about Frank, or the promises I made to him, but the fact was that I did. Maybe it was because he seemed to genuinely worry for me, even if he wasn't related to me in any kind of way and could've just left me alone. Maybe it was because of that amazing blowjob, or because of how I had missed him the week we weren't together. For crying out loud, I didn't know why I suddenly cared about promises I made to Frank, but I did. Period.