journey through frankies world

“What was your mother like?”

“Beautiful. Graceful. Evil.”

“Evil?”

“She had a way with words.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea, she never hit me or anything. It was just the way she spoke. I’d obey her requests immediately because I just knew I had to. The look in her eye; it was scary. I was more scared of her than my own father.”

“Tell me about your father.”

”What do you want to know?”

“Well, what did he do for a living?”

“Other than cheat on my mother and bash the shit out of both of us? He was a lawyer. Funny that, he was always good at arguing on his behalf with Mum because of it.”

“Keep going.”

“She was always the one who apologised in the end, even though she was sticking up for herself. He convinced her that she was the horrible, accusing wife when he was the lying, cheating and abusing husband.”

”I thought you were just saying your mother was evil.”

“Well, I did, but- Look, you don’t get it and its only five minutes till I’m allowed out. Can’t we just finish early? Talking is starting to piss me off.”

“Okay, lets not talk. Its okay if you don’t want to-“

“I know.”

“Yes, I know you do. But I can’t let you go quite yet so take a seat on the sofa and make yourself comfortable. Help yourself to a drin-

”Fuck you.”

My name is Frankie. I’m sixteen, have scruffy hair, nothing special about my eyes, bony, pale, lean… And I murdered my parents.

Guards immediately burst in the room and pulled me off Rowena, the psycho counsellor. Her face at first was a mixture of shock and fear but as the guards dragged me out of the creaky, old depressing counselling room, I grabbed a last glance of her; quickly tidying up her hair and had an expression that looked like “another day at work, fed up with this shit”. She went on with her papers and work in front of her casually and didn’t even look up at me once. Waste of my death stare. I’m sure she felt it though.

It wasn’t the first time I’ve hit Rowena either.

The guards shoved me back into my room, making me heave forward and stumble across my own feet. I didn’t fight it. I didn’t fight them. Hitting the counsellor was enough for one day. Murdering my parents was enough for a lifetime. I let myself collapse onto my squeaky little bed. It felt cold in the room, but not cold enough to snuggle inside the blankets. A dim ray of light shone through my window, which was a tiny little square just below my ceiling, and the warmth of the light was right on my pillow and my right cheek. I just let everything be for those few minutes, and I let myself cry. Silently.

I opened my eyes after the emotional ten minutes and found myself gazing at the bed across from mine. I didn’t have a roommate. I was one of the more “monitored” patients. No kidding, I was just a psycho bitch and they probably assumed I’d murder my roommate as well.

I’ve forgotten what it was like to have a friend, although I never really had many to begin with. I loved school though.  I may have not had many friends but that was only student-wise. I was friends with my teachers; although we never really fully connected like I wanted to, at least I had people to talk to during breaks. I was either reading in the library or having a conversation with them wherever around the campus. Other friends were just the ones who sat next to me and said the “hey, how has your day been” routine. Basic people. I preferred to refer to them as acquaintances.

I hadn’t always been at that school either; I use to go to another private school where believe it or not, I actually had at least 3 real friends who – get this- weren’t teachers. Astonishing effort from me, Frankie, right? But I wasn’t the one who actually put in the effort to making friends with anyone until one day a uniquely faced girl sat down enthusiastically next to me.

”Eight hundred and fifty eight!” she squealed.

So far, you’ve probably come to notice, I’m not one for much enthusiasm or squealing. I slowly raised my head from my book and said with a blank expression and voice; “Pardon?”

It was in year seven, my first day of high school and we were sitting in our first class together, which was English, I always loved English which is why I was a bit irritated at the fact a girl with a distracting personality type had chosen to sit next to me. We were sitting at two desks second row from the back and the class was still filing in and settling down their gear, a few nervously picking their seats as if they were going to get in trouble if they chose to sit in the wrong one.

“I’ve collected eight hundred and fifty eight bookmarks! I made a bet with my cousin who could get the most by this exact date about five years ago, and would you believe it! EIGHT HUNDRED AND FIFTY EIGHT!” It didn’t even feel like she was talking to me anymore, and I wondered if I should actually respond as she gazed up at the ceiling with self-triumph. Her gaze turned to confusion and she turned to me; “What’s your name?”

“Frankie.” I blurted quietly. I wasn’t that great at the whole friend thing. Or introducing. Or talking.

“Frankie? Frankie who?” Oh no. I didn’t want to say it. It was dreaded. It was horrid. Why does the Lord Oh He Mighty do this to me on my first day of high school!? Why me!?

”Brown” I threw back without thinking properly. I could’ve come up something with a little more creative. She might be one to jump to immediate judgements- you know, like judging people on their shoes and how many bookmarks they have.

“WHAT?! So is mine. I guess I shouldn’t be so excited although we may only BE RELATED! It is a common last name I guess BUT THERE IS A CHANCE! How awesome. You could be my second third cousin or something! If that exists… I wonder.. Maybe I should ask this teacher! Do you think he looks nice? He looks a bit lost… When I walked in he smelt of avocado and tobacco, did you smell that? It was horrid. I almost wanted to give him my whole perfume bottle my mother had bought me for seventy dollars and sixty-five cents! Imagine if I did that… She would of killed me! Oh, gosh you look confused. My name is Tully by the way! And you already know what my last name is, aye cuz! Oh, this is awesome… Hey! I like your bookmark!”

She. Would. Not. Shut. Up.

But the whole time I didn’t want her to. I wasn’t one for talking a lot, especially about what I’m observing about others around me. I debated with myself in my mind for a bit and came to the conclusion that Tully Brown would be good for me. And I didn’t even consider if I would be good for her. Selfish, I was. I was so caught up in it all I hadn’t realised that our English teacher, Mr. Walter had proceeded to call the role call to mark our absence or not, and my name called out by his painfully low and monotone voice brought my attention back to reality.

”Frankie Frang.”

I felt Tully’s confused stare at me as I stared straight ahead and answered yes. I acted completely normal as I again looked down at my book and continued to read.