Psychopathic ✔️

Chapter Ten

Sandra couldn't even recognize herself anymore.

She looked into the bar mirror, the alcohol in her system blurring her vision. She didn't know how to cope with the loss of her son, and so she continued to drink away her life. Nobody had confronted her about it, so she figured she was doing fine. Although she didn't know that there was no way that anybody could contact her with her being out all day and leaving her phone at home.

[∆∆∆]

"I don't think Frankie's coming back. It's been three months." George said, hugging Kayla to himself. He didn't know how to comfort his girlfriend, and so he tried to tell her the truth.

"They should've found him by now." She mumbled into his chest, balling up his shirt with her hands. He nodded, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

"Just . . . just try to get over him. I'm not telling you to force yourself to, but try." Kayla stayed silent, contemplating his request. She would have to get over him, that she knew. But she didn't know how to get over him. "Please?" He whispered, pulling away to look her in the eyes. She nodded weakly, wanting to be in his embrace again.

George had helped Kayla greatly throughout Frankie's absence. She would often times breakdown when they were alone and would discuss topics such as Frankie. She was still leaning onto George for support, and she was giving up hope for Frankie's return.

[∆∆∆]

Frankie and Mitch fought in their room, throwing and blocking punches. It's become a normality to them, and they thought it was a great way to keep fit and such.

"That punch was good, but try hitting me where I could actually get hurt." Mitch laughed lightly as he said this, enlightening the younger boy.

Frankie tightened his fists, his knuckles turning a white-yellow, and struck Mitch in the jaw before the scared man saw it coming.

"How was that?" He mocked, smiling triumphantly. Mitch nodded, walking back to his bed. He didn't care that his face was going to bruise, or that the wound could get infected. He just laid on his white padded bed and dozed off.

Frankie wasn't all that worried of Mitch's face, either. He too decided that it would be some good to get some sleep.

[∆∆∆]

"One . . . one more . . . beer . . . ?" Sandra drunkenly slurred out to the man across the counter. He nodded, eyeing the disoriented woman. Alcohol was abundant in her breath, but the man serving her drinks paid no attention to that.

He handed Sandra the drink, thereafter serving other people there's. She gulped down the liquid in her cup, fully aware that it would probably be the last one he would let her get.

"Hey!" A man's voice sounded over the chatting of people in the bar. Sandra paid no attention, since she was certain no one was talking to her. "Hey! Pretty lady!" The man's voice slurred again, this time louder. Several heads turned, Sandra's being one of them.

The dirty blond man smiled lopsidedly, walking closer to her. His blue eyes were unfocused, giving away that he too was drunk. His six foot frame towered the woman's, and his hair lightly brushed his shoulders.

Sandra giggled, finding his hair funny.
It looks like a girl's hair. She thought, giggling again. The man saw her giggling and smiled to himself.

"I'm Matt." His voice held a slight accent to it, but Sandra couldn't pinpoint exactly what accent it was.

"I'm Sandra."

[¶]