To The End

29 Scars Are Memories Of The Broken.

        Frank stood in front of me. He's wearing a long sleeved black shirt, and some black skinny jeans. His eyes are red and puffy. He looks at me with a hurt expression, then starts walking away. "Frank, wait." I run after him, grabbing his forearm. He flinches. Why would he? I barely touched him.

        It's not what I think it is, is it? While he's stopped, I begin to gently roll up the sleeve on his arm. Cuts were covering it, caked with dark red blood. Some of them were scars, some of them were fresh. I hadn't even reached his elbow yet, and his arm was completely covered.

        I sigh, tears welling up in my eyes. "Frank, is that it?" He pauses, looking unsure, then nods, slowly. "Take you shirt off." I try to wipe the tears from my cheeks. Frank sighs, but obeys and takes it off. I gasp.

        His arms, all the way from his wrists to his shoulders, they are covered in cuts and scars. The tattoos on his arms help conceal them, but you still know that they are there.

        "Don't let this happen, Dakota." His eyes have a pleading look trapped inside. "I won't, I promise."

                        I sit up in my bed. I'm still crying. I search the room, and hear the shower running. Taking this chance, I open and close the door very quietly, then I go to the room that I remember Frank was in.

        I knock on the door, rather rapidly. A few moments later, Frank opens it. He's got a long sleeved black shirt and black skinny jeans. "Hi, Dakota." I grab his hand, "Hi Frank." I drag him closer, now looking at his hand. "Dakota, what are you doing?" I roll his sleeve up, only to see the same thing I did last night, but there aren't any scars. All the cuts are fresh.

        I look up to him and frown. "Frank. What is this?" A guilty look spreads across his face and he looks down at his feet. "I- I just wanted—" he cuts himself off. When he won't finish his answer, I sigh. "Frank, please don't do that."

        "But it's hard." He shakes his head. "Frank, you can." He sighs. "You don't understand" he tries to close the door, but I jam my foot in the doorway, forgetting that I'm barefoot.

        "Fuck!" I screech, but leave my foot there. "Why the hell would you do that?" He lets the door go.x"Because I care about you, Frank. And don't you dare say I don't understand."

        He raises his eyebrow, "what do you mean?" My foot is throbbing. Fuck, it's turning different colors. "You know what I mean, Frank." I try to move my foot, but then wince in regret. "Frank. I think you broke my foot."

        He just stands there, staring at me. "Frank." Nothing. "Frank!" Still nothing. I slap him across the face, now he looks down at my fucking black and blue foot. "Frank, take me to get my foot fixed." He nods, disappears for a moment in the darkness of his hotel room. Moments later he comes out with a jacket.

        Even though he's short, he picked me up without a struggle, and carried me outside, calling a taxi. He asks the driver to take us to the nearest patient first or hospital or whatever.

        "Promise me you won't hurt yourself ever again." He nods. "Say it."

    "I promise."

        "Why did you do it in the first place, Frank?" He shrugs, mumbling something, presumably so I won't hear. "What?" "Because of you." I blink, confused. "What do you mean?" He bites his lip. "I couldn't have you." I chuckle, but don't know why. I shouldn't be laughing. "So, you went for my best friend?"

        He shakes his head, waving his hands. "No! It's not like that, I swear!" I scoff, looking away from him.

        "I'm serious."

        "Dakota?"

        "I love her."

        "I love you."

        "I'm just confused."

        "The universe is fucking confusing, isn't it?!"

        I grumble. I stare out of the window, ignoring him until we get to the hospital. He picks me back up and carries me inside. The place isn't busy at all, there's only a couple of people sitting in the chairs for waiting. The man at the front desk looks up and raises his eyebrows. "Hi." Frank says once we reach him.

        "Hello." He's got nice eyes. "Um. I kind of shut my friends foot in the door, and she thinks it's broken." The man looks down at a bunch of papers on his desk. "I'll see if a doctor can see you immediately. Shouldn't leave that unattended" Frank shifts his weight slightly, making me wobble. He's been holding me a while. I think this is awkward.

        A woman in a white lab coat pokes her head out. She motions for us—Frank. To come in. She's got short black hair, and she's rather pale. Frank sets me down on this bed chair thingy. The lady has a friendly smile on her face. "Hi, I'm Dr. Amy"

        "Dakota." "Frank." She smiles. "Nice to meet you, Dakota and Frank. So, I've been told that you believe your foot is broken?" I nod, "Frank slammed it in a door." He scoffs, "you probably shouldn't have jammed it in there in the first place."

        This chair is all weird. I can't decide whether it's a chair or not, and they have paper rolled over it that crinkles whenever you move. Dr. Amy looks down at my foot, which is still deciding what color it wants to be. "What area seems to be causing the worst pain?" Deciding for a moment, I lean forward and point to the spot in my foot that is throbbing with pain.

        "This may hurt." She gently feels the area of my foot I'd pointed to. Oh god damn, shitfuck that hurts horribly, I'm gonna die. "Holy shit!" I yelp, and she walks over to a computer and types something in.

        Frank giggles, "wimp." I shoot him a glare. "I think you were right, Dakota. Your foot seems to be broken. But we need to take some x-rays to be sure. It won't take long.

-

        When a doctor says, 'it won't take long', it means that it'll take a lifetime. I'd gotten my x-ray and my foot is broken. They put a retarded looking pink cast on my leg. It starts at my toes, and goes to below my knee.

        Ugly mother fucking pink. Pink is a horrid color and it should have never been on this planet. Pink pollutes life and makes people go on killing sprees. That's how Barbie started. They wanted me to pay for crutches, so I made Frank do it.

        We're on our way back to the hotel. I pluck my phone from my pocket. 7 missed calls, from Mikey. We'd been gone all day. It's dark outside. "Dakota," Frank begins, a cocky grin on his face. "I'm sorry I broke your foot."

        "You're an idiot, Frank." I giggle, "I know." The car stops by the hotel, and Frank helps me get out. Wobbling trying to get used to the crutches, we make it through the door and get into the elevator.

"Should've taken the stairs" Frank jokes. Frank walks me to Mikey and I's hotel room. We don't go in though, "please don't tell." He gives a backwards wave.

        I unlock the door and push it open. "Mikey?" I close the door with my foot(the good one). He pokes his head around the corner, "you scared the living shit out of me." His eyes wander to my leg, with the pink fucking cast. "What happened?" I hobble over and sit down on the edge of the bed. He follows. "Frank broke my foot."

        He nods, "that makes a lot of sense." He smiles. "So much," I mumble. Thinking about Frank, I don't think he'll continue to cut, Frank isn't like that. He won't give up, he's a cocky son of a bitch.