Freak Me Out

I had pretty much figured I was condemned to complete my community service without seeing Frank. When he shows up for lunch with a white gauze sleeve, I nearly have a heart attack.

I blink a few times, and am euphoric when he doesn’t disappear into thin air. His hair is ragged, his eyes baggy, but it’s definitely Frank. When the rest of the line had gotten their food and it was Frank’s turn, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Why’d you do it?”

He just glares at me and continues down the line for his juice. I follow him. “Frank, really! I just want to know because I care about you.” I blush as the words come out—that couldn’t have sounded more lame—but stick by them. I can’t help but look at the thick layers of gauze covering up his wounds and shiver. How had he done it?

He ignores me, walking to his usual seat as if I wasn’t right behind him. I sit in the chair opposite his so that he’s forced to look at me. I catch his eyes and do my best to keep them, staring at him intensely. “Frank.” I state.

Finally he sighs. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” he retorts, his voice colder than I’d ever heard before, “but since you’re so damn persistent, I’ll tell you why. I did it because of you.”

“Me?” I’m immediately taken by shock and hurt. I had made him want to kill himself?

He nods, spearing a carrot angrily and not meeting my eyes. “You’re just another dumbass who got in trouble for doing a dumbass thing and got sent here for community service. You noticed the loner kid and decided to fuck with him.” Finally, he looks up. “I know the deal, Gerard, it’s happened to me a thousand times. I’ve been hospitalized for half my life.”

Instead of even trying to deny the ‘fucking with the loner kid’ part, I ask, “Well, if you’re so used to it, why did you butcher your arm last week?” My tone is filled with acid; the things he’d assumed about me stung deeply.

“Because I actually fell for it this time,” he mutters. “I started to like you.”

I bang my fist on the table in frustration. “You tried to kill yourself because you had a… a crush on me? Well let me tell you something. I’ve been going around all happy and shit, thinking of you all the time because I thought there was something real between us. But no. Before I ever opened my mouth you had me pegged as the bad guy.” I’m fighting the tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “That’s not fair, Frank.”

He watches my display of emotion carefully, looking for any notes that were off-key, I guess. He found none, because there were none. Slowly, the angry expression on his face dissipates, replaced by one with regret and bewilderment. Like it was so hard to believe someone could actually like him.

“Frank,” I say, looking him in the eye. “Just so we’re clear here: I fucking like you, okay? I like you a lot.” We’re both extremely lucky he always picked a corner to sit in, because my voice was getting louder all the time and neither of us wanted to be overheard.

Frank looks down at his plate, a sad expression on his face. “I like you, too,” he says.

“So what’s the problem?” I ask, confused. He just shakes his head.

“Whenever I like someone, they fuck me over in one way or another.” He sighs.

I try to wrap my head around all this. So Frank had… trust issues? “You might not believe me now, but give it time and I’ll prove I’m not like that.” I’d always liked to think I was a decent guy… could I ever hurt Frank? I didn’t think so.

“How?” he objects. “You only have four more days here. Then I’ll never see you again.”

This time it’s my turn to shake my head. “I’m your number one visitor, remember?”

He looks up, brightness in his eyes. “You’d do that?” he asks. “You’d visit me?”

The last bell rings. “Absolutely,” I say, standing up. I kiss him quickly when I think no one is looking.

Monday eventually turns into Tuesday, and I get out of school at 2:15 quite looking forward to getting to Natchaug. I go home and shower quickly before mom drives me over there, grumbling as usual.

“So glad I only have to do this three more times,” she says, and I hop out the door.

“Yeah, mom, bye!” I say, running for the door. I was a bit late.

I get the meds handed out in record time, making sure I’d have plenty of time to spend with Frank. When I appear in his doorway, his face lights up.

“Hey,” I say, grinning. I hand him his cup of pills which he swallows immediately, still insisting on that stupid checking thing. It felt silly, really; I wasn’t exactly his nurse.

I notice his wrappings had been changed last night; they were a lot less grimy than they had been, and I could see no spots of blood leaking out. Frank catches me staring at his arm and pulls it to his side self-consciously.

“I saw them, in the shower,” I say quietly. “How did you do it? I thought you guys were barely allowed to use sporks in this place.” He nods, and I don’t understand.

“That’s what I used,” he says, and I stare uncomprehendingly at him. A spork? How could a spork do that much damage? He sees the confusion on my face and explains. “I snapped it in half, so that it was pointy. I put it to my arm and… started sawing away, I guess. I was determined.” I remember the bumpy, torn open flesh that I’d seen that day in the shower. Bile rises in my throat at the picture he’d just created in my head. That was horror movie shit. And I had no doubt in my mind that he was telling the truth.

“Please don’t,” I say, choking.

“Please don’t what?” he asks, confused. “Tell you this stuff?”

I shake my head. “Please don’t do that again.”

As usual, I don’t see Frank on Wednesday or Thursday. I’d been kind of hoping to, though, because Friday—today—was our last real day together. He sits next to me in the huge circle, holding his bandaged arm protectively against the stares of others.

And that was the first day Frank spoke out. When Miss Sarah had unhopefully called his name, she’d been astonished when a fountain of information came pouring out of him. He told the group about his cutting, about his family situation, about how I’d been there for him all this time. I think we were all astounded by his behavior. The kids that had been here a while, like Dustin, were absolutely speechless. He spoke for a good ten minutes or so, ending his speech with a quick “I guess this place won’t ever help me if I don’t tell you what’s wrong.”

A generic statement, the kind doctors wanted to hear from their patients. He said it to please them, but I was happy; he wanted to get better, to get out of here.

After group was over and the crowd had begun to disperse, I cling to Frank as if he were a life vest. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you,” I say, thinking of my mom and how hard it had been to get rides from her.

He shrugs. “I’ll be here,” he says with a smile that didn’t quite match his eyes.

I shake my head. “No, Frank. Get better. Get out of here.”

“I guess we’ll see,” he responds, a mischievous grin on his face. He walks away towards his room, and I go outside to greet my mother.