What the Frank

“He did what?!” My mother shouted, loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood.

“No—mom, calm down.”

“I’ll kill him.” She said as she walked towards t he door, even though she was wearing a bathroom and curlers.

“No! Mom, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“Your fault?! Frank, he hit you! How the hell can you justify that?!”

“Mom, can we just talk about this in the morning?” My mother sighed before rubbing her eyes.

“You’re going to sleep on the couch?” I nodded my head. Where the hell else am I going to sleep?

“You could sleep in Stanley’s room.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“No! I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

“Franklin, you’re sleeping in Stanley’s room. Gabe will sleep with me and Arnold. Got it?” I groaned as I stomped up the stairs to hell Stanley’s room.

{The next morning…}

Ugh. I didn’t get any sleep last night. I had to sleep on the hard floor without a blanket or a pillow (I was not going to ask Stanley for one!) and listen to Stanley’s extremely loud snoring.

“Did you sleep well?” My mother asked me when I walked into the kitchen. I mumbled something along the lines of ‘sure’ as I sat down at the table.

“Where is everyone?” I asked her as she fed Gabe.

“Arnold’s at work and Stanley’s at s—“She stopped speaking once she looked at my face.

“What?”

“Go look at yourself in the mirror.” She said sternly. I took a sharp intake of breath once I saw myself in the mirror. There was a large bruise in the shape of a handprint on the side of my face. Shit.