Eyes Wide Shut

Chapter 8

1 week later

            The newspapers and magazines began to pile up. ‘Frankie Sandford checks into rehab.’ ‘Frankie Sandford’s surprising drug addiction.’ I couldn’t handle it. It followed me everywhere. I was used to getting stared at in public, but lately, it was a different kind of stare. Looks of disappointment or disgust across young girls’ faces. A society that seeks perfection from those in the limelight and I just wasn’t. The stories had just broken out as the media discovered my absence from tour rehearsals in November this past week. I escaped to my parent’s house over the weekend while Wayne was away. I couldn’t cope with all the men waiting outside my home, with their cameras at the ready. I needed some retail therapy on my way home from my parent’s house, even though Christmas had just passed.

            Walking around the corner to my car seemed like it went on for miles as the paparazzi swarmed me walking out of Top Shop.

            “Frankie, over here!”

            “Frankie, are the rumors true?”

            “Do the girls know about your addiction?”

            “Are The Saturdays breaking up?”

            I shoved through them and eventually arrived at my car. Don’t break down, Frank. Not here. I pushed my car through the herd of photographers and headed home, battling the whole way not to let the tears fall. I stayed strong, strong enough until I got home.

            I parked the car in the driveway and scrambled out of the car, trying to avoid the men snapping their cameras outside of my own house. I walked through the front door and into the mess that covered the entire place. Wayne must have had to the boys over.

            Bags of crisps on the sofa, empty beer cans on the floor and pizza boxes all over the counter. The music was still blaring from the stereo and Pix and Pres just kept barking at the noise.

            Wayne rushes down the stairs in his practice gear and his bag thrown over his shoulder.

            “There you are,” he greets me, wrapping his hand around my waist and pulls me in for a tiny kiss.

            “Are you going somewhere?” I ask noticing his urgency. Please say no, please say no.

            “Yeah, the boys and I are going to have a little scrimmage,” he responds as he leaves my side and heads for the front door.

            “And you’re just going to leave the house like this?” I yelled after him, but he was out of the door before I could finish my sentence.

            I couldn’t handle it. The papers, the rumors, the mess, the dogs who just wouldn’t shut up. Didn’t anyone care? The whole depression business was enough to deal with, but now the absurd rumors and the mess. What the hell, Wayne? The least he could do for me was not add to my worries. I kicked one of the beer cans near my feet and caught Presley peeing in the corner.

            “God damnit!”

            My knees gave way and I collapsed to the floor. Before I knew it, I was bawling, the uncontrollable tears flowing down my face. I reach for my phone, desperate to have someone come to my side. I didn’t know who I was calling, my fingers went on autopilot to the number I always called.

            “Hey, Frank,” she answered, sounding happier than ever.

            “Mollie…” I let out in between sobs, my breathing becoming over powering.

            “Frankie, what’s wrong, babe?”

            I couldn’t stop crying. There was a weight in my chest. Heavy and restricting, not allowing any of my words that begged to be released out of my mouth.

            “I’ll be right there,” and then the dial tone rung strong in my ear.

***

            She brought me up to bed, where she threw the blankets over us and cuddled up beside me. There is nothing anyone could really say to make it better. Not even her. But all I needed was to be close to her. To know someone cared about me. So we laid there, my head rested on her shoulder until the tears finally subsided.

            We turned on the TV for some further comfort. Sex and the City as usual. The dogs, along with Alfie, were playing on the floor.

            I got bored watching the episode, considering I had already seen it plenty of times before, so I began drawing circles on the top of Mollie’s shirt, running my finger tips over the material of her casual top. She winced at my touch. I slightly lifted up her shirt to find a dark blue bruise on one side of her abdomen. I kept sliding it up to see if there was anything else. There was, just slightly peaking out just below her bra line. I looked up at her in disgust, thinking of the possible reasoning behind the marks. She slowly put her shirt back down, as if she was trying to keep me from finding more.

            “Did David do this?

            “It’s not a big deal.”

            “I think it is, Mollie,” stating the obvious that she seemed oblivious to.

            She shook her head and turned her face away from me.

            “Is there more?”

            She didn’t respond. I sat up and placed myself in front of her, keeping my eyes locked on her, letting her know I would not let her go without an answer.

            “Mollie-“

            “He’s a good guy, Frank. You have nothing to worry about.”

            “Don’t tell me I have nothing to worry about when you are covered in bruises… again!”

            She shook her head once more, like there was something I didn’t understand. I was confused. How could she not see what was wrong with this situation?

            “You just don’t like him,” she scorned.

            “And why should I?”

            “You’re my best friend. You’re supposed to support me.”

            She tried to get out bed, frustrated by the conversation, but I grabbed her hand before she got very far and pulled her back, cupping her hand with both of mine.

            “And as your best friend, it is my job to tell you when are you are being treated right. Mollie…” I swallowed, processing what I was about to say. My voice became calm. “You deserve someone so much better. Some who will make you their priority and not an option. Someone who knows what you’re really worth and sees you for all that you are; not just an accessory to go on their arm. Someone who wants to show you off like you are their prize possession. Someone who matches that gorgeous smile of yours,” and I gently dabbed my finger on her bottom lip for a second, “because they are so happy to be with you.” I tenderly wiped her hair out of her face and gripped her head with my hand. “Someone who sees you for how beautiful you are inside and out.” I stared into her eyes for several seconds so she understood the truth behind my words and then released her from my grip. I tilted my head down, unable to look her in the eyes. “You just deserve so much better.”

            I meant every word. I don’t even know where it came from. These feelings that had been repressed finally came to the surface. It’s not what I am supposed to think or what I’m supposed to want. When I’m with her, I feel overwhelmed with joy. Warm and fulfilling sensations. She’s my best friend, beautiful in everyway. But this all feels wrong. I’m not supposed to want this. She has a boyfriend and so do I and this is definitely not allowed. But you can’t help who you love and I loved her.