If Looks Could Kill (Sideshow Bob Fanfiction)

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter 49

Bob, having retrieved a black bin bag from under the bathroom sink, put Gino's dirty underwear in the bag and decided to take it to the bin outside. Walking down the stairs, Bob saw Franchesca struggling up the stairs with the vacuum cleaner.

"Here, let me help you with that," Bob said.

He put the bag of dirty underwear down on the floor momentarily whilst he helped Franchesca. Bob took told of the vacuum cleaner, and Franchesca picked up the pipe part of the machine.

"Are we taking this into Gino's room?" Bob asked.

"Yes, thank you, Roberto."

Franchesca smiled graciously at Bob as they heaved the vacuum cleaner to the top of the stairs.

"You're very welcome, darling," Bob replied, smiling back at Franchesca.

 "This is a lot harder than-a I first thought, Roberto," Franchesca sighed.

"What? Pulling the vacuum cleaner up these stairs?" Bob asked.

"No, Roberto. This-a whole- clean up. Of-a Gino's room..."

Bob sighed in reply, setting the vacuum cleaner down on the carpet of Gino's room.

"Yes. It is harder than I first thought it would be. A lot harder," Bob said, staring at the carpet.

"Roberto, are-a you okay?" Franchesca asked, her voice acquiring a concerned tone.

Bob nodded, but didn't look up from the carpet.

Franchesca stood in the doorway, an onlooker, and watched pitifully as Bob stared at the floor. This wasn't the Bob she had once knew; this wasn't the Bob who she loved and missed. This wasn't the Bob she wanted; not the Bob who she remembered.

A few minutes later, Bob stood outside the room whilst Franchesca vacuumed. He leant heavily against the wall, looking down at the carpet on the landing instead. The floor seemed a lot more interesting when he felt upset, or so it seemed. It was a point that required very little effort to look at, and a point in which you could stare at without offending anybody, or unnerving them; unless, of course, you were being watched by someone who knew you so very well- and this was out of the ordinary for you. As Franchesca, vacuumed, Bob walked downstairs and into the kitchen. 

He had noticed how afraid Franchesca had seemed as she watched Bob stare at the floor. She appeared at a loss; she looked as if something wasn't right. And to Franchesca, it probably wasn't. Bob had inferred straight away that he was the problem, but had waited until Franchesca was distracted before he came downstairs. He hadn't wanted to seem rude or angry, so he waited until his departure could be seen as 'just a break', rather than 'I can't do this anymore'. 

Bob sat down on one of the wooden dining chairs. He turned to the wall and looked at the photo of Gino, at approximately ten years old. Bob smiled at the photo, feeling his heart warm. He studied the photo, examining every attribute of his son. Gino had Bob's frizzy red hair, but Franchesca's beautiful eyes and nose. His jawline was similar to his own, and he also seemed to had inherited Bob's large feet. At only twelve years old, Gino had been wearing size six shoes. Gino had been quite tall for twelve, reaching a height of 5 ft 2. There had been times when Bob had looked at Gino, and it had felt almost like he was looking into a mirror, only of course when he was younger.

Bob's smile contorted into a grimace, and the photo became blurry through a film of tears. He gripped the table edge tightly with frustration and despair. A forlorn sob wracked through him as he screwed his eyes shut, fighting a loosing battle against grief. Bob rested his head and shoulders on the table, sobbing quietly.

'How do things always manage to go so bloody wrong?' Bob thought pitifully, 'how do you manage to let things go so bloody wrong?!'

Bob lifted his hands over his head, feeling overwhelmed and desolate. The hard wood of the table felt cold against his forehead; his head felt heavy and it ached. Everything ached. But his heart ached most of all; it ached for a deceased son; it ached for a marriage long ended; it ached for a fresh start with parents who he hadn't dissapointed; it ached for a fresh start with a brother who he hadn't set an awful example to; it ached for a fresh start with his life. But a fresh start was not going to happen, and each tick of the kitchen clock reminded him of that, sounding louder in his ears than his sobs. Despite his headache, Bob was acutely aware of his heart-beat; he could feel it, and hear it. Though it wasn't palpating in panic or exhaustion, it too sounded above his sobs; yet another reminder, or so it felt to Bob, that he was here, but Gino was not.

Bob heard the over-head noise of the vacuum cleaner cease, replaced by the sound of approaching footsteps. 

"Oh, Roberto," Franchesca whispered, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Franchesca was unsure of whether Bob was aware of her presence or not, but even if he was, Bob didn't raise his head from the table, and his quiet sobbing continued. The sound felt like a stab in Franchesca's chest; it hurt her so to see Bob, a man once so strong and powerful, seem to desperate and upset; he looked helpless. Hopeless.

'You stupid man; have you no bloody control? Or any self-respect? Are you trying to upset her?!' Bob thought angrily to himself, feeling Franchesca's hand on his back. Bob's finger tensed and dug deeper into his scalp, his frustration with himself intensifying at Franchesca's touch. Bob forced his sobs to a hi-cupping stop. He sniffed and raised his head, knowing that Franchesca would only ask him to anyway.

He wiped his tears with the cuff of his sleeve before looking over his shoulder, up at Franchesca.

"I'm sorry, Franchesca, darling. I'm not as strong as I'd like to be. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," Bob said, standing from the chair. Catching Bob off guard, Franchesca clung to him, hugging him tightly.

"Oh, Roberto! There is-a nothing to be sorry about," Franchesca cried, digging her fingers into his back in desperation, "I'm sorry, Roberto. I shouldn't have-a asked you to do this, especially not on-a your birthday!"

Despite himself, Bob couldn't help but chuckle at how quickly they had seemed to switch places. Bob hugged Franchesca back, pulling her in close. It felt wrong- like a betrayal to Caitlyn- but Bob knew that it was only a hug of comfort, and nothing more. But deep inside himself, Bob knew that he secretly wished that it was something more. He immediately felt guilty for even wishing for anything more to happen between the two of them; at the same time, however, he couldn't help but wonder.

"You did nothing wrong, Franchesca. You need help with this horrific task, and it is only right that I partake in it. That being said, I think that it is still best that we finish it as quickly as possible.

"That is-a good idea, Roberto. You are full of-a good ideas," Franchesca replied, smiling.

The two of them pulled apart and prepared to get back to work.

Another  two hours later, Franchesca and Bob were outside Bob's apartment door, and bidding each other farewell. 

Franchesca watched, feeling desolate, as Bob entered his apartment, shutting the door on her. She began walking back down the stairs, going over what had happened.

"I-a swear," Franchesca snapped aloud to herself, starting up the car engine, "I don't care what I-a have to do; this is the last time I am coming home alone. Without Roberto. He's-a MY Roberto. MINE."