Beloved

"Frank." he whispered. "Frankie, get up!"
I rolled over.
"Meh." I mumbled.
"Get up you lazy bastard!" he raised his voice.
"Mehhh..." I groaned.
He ripped the covers from my body.
I sighed and swung my feet around to the edge of the bed. They lowered down and pressed against the smooth wood floor, which also happened to be as cold as ice. I shivered and made my way into the bathroom.
Aidan shook his head. "Good Christ..." he muttered.
"Meh!" I shouted.
I threw my toothbrush at the bathroom door. I heard him laugh. Laugh all you want, Aidan, but I SO kick your ass, I joked in the comfort of my mind.
"Hey Frankie, I'm gonna open up the shop. Be down before nine, okay?"
"Yeah yeah..."
Nine? I looked at my watch. It said eight-thirty, which gave me just enough time to take a shower and get dressed. I took off my clothes, turned on the shower, and hopped in.
*
"Aidan, what time do you think I can get off today?" I asked loosely, jogging down the stairs and tying my apron tight.
"Um...What about five?" he asked.
"Five? Are you kidding? Dude..." I sighed.
He unlocked the front doors and gave me a look; you know the look. The one that tells you not to try anything.
"What if I give you your break at ten?" he asked.
I turned the lights on. "Double the break time, and you have yourself a deal." I said.
"An hour break?" he nearly shrieked. "...Alright, if you leave at five thirty."
"And I get a normal break and three."
"Deal."
I smiled and stood behind the front counter. Aidan joined me. And now, we wait..., I thought.
Aidan Marsceneo and I ran a coffee shop in Detriot, Michigan. He was twenty-seven, had black and red liberty spikes and was basically a walking potriat because of all his tattoos. I met him five years ago on what might've been the worst night of my life...
It was the middle of winter, and, in case you didn't know, living in Michigan assures freezing cold weather and snow. I was a mere twelve years of age. My mother had just re-married a few months previous, and my sister was away at college. It was just me, my mom, and her husband, Shawn.
"Frank Andrew Nyro, I thought I told you to get your shoes out from under the table!" Shawn shouted.
"I forgot." I said. "I went over to Nate's house today."
"Did you ask if you could go over to Nate's house today?" he demanded.
"I asked my mom." I snipped.
In a heartbeat, I found myself face to face with the floor. My face went numb, and I could taste blood in my mouth. Shawn was towering over me.
"Don't you dare talk back to me like that!" he roared.
"You aren't my father!" I screamed. "I'll do whatever I damn well please!"
His foot smashed against my head.
"What the fuck did I just get done telling you, boy?" he yelled. I recieved a swift kick to the ribs. "Answer me!"
"Don't..Talk back..." I managed.
"Damn straight."
He nodded and left the room. I layed on the ground, curled in the fetal position, crying my eyes out like a six year old. I hurt all over. I felt like I was bleeding all over, too.
The next morning I woke up to get ready for school. I caught my reflection in the mirror and nearly passed out. I had a black eye, scabbed lip, and severly bruised nose, chest, scalp, and abdomin. How the Hell was I gonna cover that up before my mom got home from work?
I thought of one answer; Don't cover it up, just leave early. That's exactly what I did that morning. And the next morning. And the next. And the next...
Every time he beat me, I'd cut my wrists up so unbelievably bad, it wasn't even funny. If I had nothing to cut with, I punch or bite or scratch - Anything to make me feel better. My next birthday passed and I got moved up a grade, into highschool. There, I was introduced to alcohol and a wide variaty of drugs. They made me feel untouchable, like I could handle the world.
About a year after the first beating, I came home from school a little late. Shawn was standing by the door, waiting for me, like he always did. I didn't want to go in, but I knew I had nowhere else to go and if I stood around, I'd be even more late. So, I went inside.
"You're late." he barked. "What have I told you about being late?"
"Tardy kids are beaten bloody...I'm sorry, sir." I answered.
He studied me. "Set your bag down." he instructed.
I did as told.
He stepped forward and grasped the bag in his hands. I watched as he lifted it up and down, testing it's weight. I wondered why he was doing this. When I finally figured it out, it was too late.
I woke up in a snow bank the next afternoon. I lifted my head up to look around. Cars sped past, flinging snow in my face and not bothering to stop. The snow beneath me was splattered with my blood, and, judging by the level of my numbness, I figured I had been there for at least twelve hours.
Where am I?, I asked myself, as if I could justify that with an actual answer. I looked acorss the street. A building with the sign 'The Hot Coffee Lounge' above the door screamed to me. I got to my feet and stumbled my way over to the cafe'.
"My Lord boy, what the Hell happened to you?" Aidan asked. At the time, he was only twenty-two, and had been running the shop by himself for a meesley two months.
"I..." I couldn't utter another word.
He ran over to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. "Listen, just tell me your name." he said.
"Frank." I answered.
"Okay, Frank...What happened?"
"Shawn..."
"I thought your name was Frank?"
"No, Shawn...He..."
And I passed out.
*
"I don't know man, he just wandered in here...He looks pretty bad."
I opened my eyes.
"I said I don't know!" Aidan hissed. Then he saw me. "Hey, he just woke up. I'll call you back. Bye."
"Eh..." I moaned.
"No no, stay put." he rushed to my side. "My name is Aidan Marsceneo...You need to tell me what happened, okay Frank?"
I nodded. "Shawn...My step-dad. He beats me. He beats me bad. Yesterday he attacked me with my book bag and I woke up in the snow bank across the street." I said.
"...Do you know why he beats you?" he asked.
"Because I cut...I get drunk...I get high. I'm never good enough for him."
"...Honestly, I used to do all of the same stuff. But then I went to rehab to get help."
He grabbed my hand.
"Frank, I can help you."
*
As it turns out, Aidan had the same past as me. He understood everything, even the fact that I didn't want to go home. As a result, he helped me overcome my addictions, and gave me a place to live. He gave me a job and tutored me so I wouldn't have to go to school.
I wasn't the only kid he helped out. As soon as he got me back on my feet, we both reguraly bumped into troubled teens who needed saving and brought them in. But of all the ones we helped, I was the only one that was a permanant stay.
"Ten o'clock, time for my break!" I shouted, nearly pouring coffee all over a customer.
"Yeah yeah, get the fuck outta here." Aidan responded.
I grinned, pulled my apron off, and hung it on the coat rack. Then I went outside. Every time I left for break, I'd take a walk. And before every walk, I'd look across the street to where the snow bank was. It'd send shivers down my spine, and I had to get away. I followed the rotuine.
"I should've brought a jacket..." I mumbled.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and put my head down, a sorry attempt to make myself a little warmer. I don't know why I like to walk around weaing a band tee and some tight jeans during the middle of October in Michigan; I guess I just figured my long bangs would block the majority of the wind from my face and keep me warm that way. I laughed at myself.
"Shut the fuck up! I don't need your bullshit!"
I raised my head.
"Where do you think you're going? Get back here you slut!"
I stopped dead in my tracks and tried to identify where the voices were coming from. A second story window broke in a house up the street. A person caused it to break.
"Holy shit!" I shouted.
I ran as fast as I could over to the house. Laying in the grass was an unconsious, teenage girl, surrounded by shards of glass and pieces of the window's screen. My instincts told me to pick her up, so I did.
"Hey!" someone shouted at me from where the window used to be. "Hey, get your hands off her!"
"Fuck you!" I retaliated.
And I retreated back to the lounge.