Vulnerable [Frollie]

Chapter 8

Frankie fidgeted nervously in her seat, leaning forward to pop open the glove box and rifle around inside, shutting it again and leaning back in her seat for the fourth time.

“Frankie, stop fidgeting, please,” Mollie sighed, her hands clenched around the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were white.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just so nervous, you know? Oh my god I can’t believe I’m doing this holy shit-” Frankie babbled, wringing her hands.

“We can always turn back around and go home. Have a cup of tea and go to the shops. Maybe take a walk?” Mollie said hopefully, raising her eyebrows.

Frankie gave her a look and went back to her fidgeting.

“Or, we could turn around and I can show you just how much fun it is to stay home…” Mollie persisted, trying to be suggestive but her voice broke on the last word.

“No, Mollie. We’re almost there. We have to keep going.”

Mollie frowned and focused on the road ahead of her, reaching out to change the radio station. It was no secret she wasn’t at all keen on this plan. She had a sneaking suspicion this visit to the prison would hurt Frankie more than it would provide her closure. She had come up with countless excuses as to why they couldn’t go this weekend, offering up things she knew Frankie wouldn’t be able to refuse.

Miraculously, she did though, and Mollie was forced to acknowledge that somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to stop Frankie from going to the prison. She knew that whatever she said that they would be making the long drive to East Sussex Prison.

Frankie played with the hem of her shirt, tugging on it anxiously and running her free hand through her hair.

“You’re going to mess it up,’’ Mollie chided softly, reaching over and squeezing Frankie’s shoulder.

“I know, I know, I’m just… Oh my god,” Frankie stuttered, tapping her fingers on her knee and looking out the window at the passing scenery. “He doesn’t know we’re coming, right?

“No, babe, I asked them not to tell him,” Mollie said, flicking on her indicator and turning left. Frankie seized up, picking up Mollie’s phone that was lying on the dashboard and looking at the GPS. They were two minutes away.

Mollie noticed and squeezed Frankie’s knee encouragingly, murmuring quiet reassurances.

“Just please relax, Frankie,” Mollie pleaded, squeezing her knee again. Frankie settled herself back in her seat and tried to even out her breathing for the duration of the ride.

Too soon, though, Mollie was pulling into the barren parking lot of the prison and turning off the car, opening her door and moving around the car to open Frankie’s for her. Frankie climbed out, looking around, seemingly bewildered. Mollie closed her door and gently pulled her forward, taking her hand leading them to the entrance.

They reached the automatic door and when it slid open for them Frankie jumped. She regained her composure and straightened up, moving through the doors with a confidence only Mollie could see through. They approached the front desk and Frankie gripped Mollie’s hand tighter as she gave them their information. The receptionist ran them through the system, giving Frankie a sympathetic look as he read the name on her license. He handed them back their ID’s and directed them to a small waiting area, telling them the warden would be with them momentarily to take them to the “inmate.”