Battling the Loss You Live For.

Frank’s Point of View
Fucking hell.
I knew I had to expect the question sooner or later… but I didn’t want it all to turn out so… like this. She was up there inmy her room now, probably crying her eyes out. I felt so fucking bad.

“…What? You’re leaving?!” she cried, her eyes wide and distraught.
Fuck.
It was all that ran through my mind. I’m so terrible.
“When?” she asked, more contained and… reasoning.
“Two weeks…” I mumbled, not directly looking at her. I could see her breaking, and I hated it. Why the fuck did I do this? Come here on a whim?
“Oh.”
I looked up at her at the tone of her voice. It was the most lost and upset voice I’d ever heard her use. It fucking ripped me up. Her eyes were watery and red, but not just the usual look her eyes gave when she cried. The hidden emotion in them was just… it made me loose my mind.
“Sazzy… I… I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, brushing my hand against her cheek. She closed her eyes. She looked so… defeated.
“Why did you do this? Why are you doing this to me?” she said so quietly, I barely heard her. It killed me, though. Literally, my heart felt like it got ripped out of me and thrown into a shredder.
“I-Sazzy… I’m so fucking sorry,” I didn’t notice until I was crying until my words caught themselves in my throat.
“I love you so much,” she muttered. “But you kill me.”
And she pushed herself up off the wall, slipping out the door like a ghost.

So many things ran through my head… like the memory of my Dad, who almost forced me here.

“Frankie, y-you have to go. I-if you don’t, I’m fucking d-disowning you, y-you sonovvabitch,” he stuttered. He was doing fine now; just his speech was a little like a stammer… nothing that couldn’t be fixed over time, though.
“Dad… she told me not to leave you. I can’t think of going against her… I dunno…”
“You love her, don’t you?”
He spoke like my Dad. My old Dad, before I left.
“Yeah. So much,” I said, a little shocked he didn’t stammer. He smiled.
“Then go, you faggot! And stop s-smoking all that fucking w-weed. I can smell it on you, y-you idiot. Y-You better not let your M-Mother find out or so h-help me… Why the f-fuck do you s-smoke that shit for, a-anyways?”
“I need it… right now, Dad,”
“Because o-of h-her? B-Boy, your a m-mess without h-her. Go b-back, f-fucks’ sakes,” he cried, his eyebrows raised and eyes wide. I smiled half-heartedly.
“O-or I’ll d-disown y-you. Family m-motto,” he reminded me, grinning a little.
That was all it took for me to run home, on the phone to the airline.

I had to talk to her. Explain to her. And tell her I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I stood up from the couch, stubbing out my cigarette swiftly in the ashtray before trudging upstairs quietly, and stood in front of my old bedroom door. It feels like years since I stood here, and pushing my bedroom door open. In reality, it’d only been just over two months. I’d never thought I’d be nervous walking into my own bedroom. I lifted up my hand, balling it into a fist and knocking lightly on the wooden door.
I heard nothing. It was quite nerve-racking, waiting there a good three minutes and four seconds and not hearing an utter sound.
“…Sazzy?” I mumbled. I felt terrible. I felt like such a dick. I was really nervous. So I walked in, really slowly, closing the door behind me.
She was laid on the bed, her eyes closed. Her face was like stone – set and unmoving, the stress showing on her face. Her damp hair was out from its bun, strewn around on the pillow and over her left shoulder. Both her hands were resting on her stomach, a lit cigarette in between her forefinger and index finger.
Talk about heartbreak.