Goody, Like Two Shoes

I woke up with a start; everything was blurry, and my head was pounding like god knows what.

It took a while for my eyes to focus - and that wasn't much, due to my lack of glasses - but I found myself staring up at a white ceiling, and, instantly, I knew I wasn't at home; my bedroom ceiling was light blue.

I reached up, hesitant, and touched the side of my head, my fingers coming in contact with a bandage and congealed hair.

Thoughts of last night - well, I think it was last night - came rushing through my mind, making my head throb harder: the bus, Frank, the club, Gerard's band, dancing, falling over, glass, blood, nothingness.

What the hell had happened after that, though? I couldn't remember a thing.

I sat up carefully, glancing around. From the faint outline of furniture, and the smell of lavender detergent, I knew that I was in Frank's house; on the couch in the living room, to be precise.

"Hey, you." a soft voice broke the silence, and I looked around, confused - there was no one in the room, "I'm down here, Sash."

I looked over the edge of the couch, and Frank came into view, lying on the floor, looking uncomfortable, with an empty bowl perched on his bare chest.

He reached onto the coffee table and handed me my glasses, "You okay? Wait. Strike that; stupid question."

I groaned, sliding my glasses on, "What the hell's wrong with me? I feel hung over."

"You most probably are: from the amount of painkillers they gave you in the emergency room."

"Emergency room? When?"

Frank winced, "We got you there in an ambulance after you passed out. There were small bits of glass in your forehead, so they doped you up on painkillers, took the glass out, and stitched you back up. Then Gerard drove us back here, and you managed to throw up on Mikey in the car.'

"Poor Mikey." I suddenly felt nauseous, "Well, I could do with some painkillers right now."

Frank nodded, getting up and taking his empty bowl into the kitchen, reappearing seconds later with a glass of water and a little tub of tablets that I had been prescribed the night before.

He handed me two and sat at the top of the couch, putting my head on his lap, 'So, yeah, they stitched you back up and Gerard drove us back here at four this morning.'

"Why didn't you take me home? Do my parents know?"

"No, no. We couldn't get in touch with them last night - they must be fucking heavy sleepers - and then obviously they've already gone to work now." Frank subconsciously stroked my hair, making me feel calm, and he gave me a smile,
"So me and mom decided to play nurse."

"Thank you, Frankie." I whispered, feeling light-headed; the painkillers were kicking in fast.

"You were so funny when they'd given you pain relief, you know." Frank chuckled, "You offered to take your top off for the male nurse who was pushing you in your wheelchair. And then you told the doctor that you were expecting a baby next March; and the father's name was Luciano Pavarotti, and I was your midwife."

"You're making that up!" I hit his stomach weakly, "I wouldn't let you anywhere near me if I was having a baby, let alone be my midwife - or midhusband, if there's such a word."

"No, seriously. Gerard recorded it on Mikey's cell phone!" Frank smirked, "Something to show the grandkids, huh?"

"So, I made a fool of myself?" I pouted as best I could, but I felt extremely sleepy again.

"Oh, no one cared, Sash!" Frank laughed, and then he scowled when his fingers got caught in my tangled hair, "Jeez, the amount of blood in your hair..."

"Yuck. Well I'm not going to school, so who cares. Can I stay here for the day, Frank?"

"'course you can; and I'll stay with you. Do you want me to wash your hair?"Aww, Nurse Frankie

"Would you mind?"

He smiled and shook his head, standing up and then helping me up, too.

He put his arm around my waist, keeping me steady, and lead me into the hallway - where Buster greeted us with a chorus of happy barks - and then we slowly went up the stairs to the bigger of the two bathrooms.

I felt even more high as I was sat down on the edge of the bath, and Frank pulled my shirt - the one I'd borrowed from him - over my head. I didn't care that I was in my bra and jeans in front of him; we were friends, he wasn't a perv, it wasn't a big deal.

Next, the jeans were slid off my legs, and I was lifted up and placed in the bath, one of Linda's bath cushions shoved behind my back to keep me upright.

"You comfy, or do you want another cushion?"

"I'm fine." I smiled dopily at him, and watched him as he grabbed the shower head off the hook.

"You look ... stoned." Frank smirked, gently beginning to wash my hair.

'Shu'p, Frank.' I rolled my eyes, washing my arms with some of the water that dripped from my hair.

"Tilt your head back; the doctor said that the bandage shouldn't get wet."
With a hand under my chin, he carefully moved my head back a bit, smiling.

"What, were you a nurse in a former life?" I smirked at him, my voice slurred, but I wasn't that doped to not realise where his eyes where, "Stop looking!"

"Oh, uh, sorry." Frank squawked, eyes flitting to the door instead, "I was just, uh, trying to read what it said on your bra."

I nodded, and he got back to washing my hair.

I glanced up at him seconds later, "Didn't you realise that there's no writing on my bra."

"Well, um, Ithought I could see some writing... Right there..." a finger stretched out curiously.

"Oi!" I slapped his hand away.

His cheeks turned bright red, dropping the shower head into the bath, "Uh, shit, I hear the phone ringing."

He scrambled from the room quickly, leaving me staring, dazed, at the open door, wondering why in hell couldn't I, too, hear the phone that was supposedly ringing.

"Uh, Frank?" I called, but all I heard in reply were feet pounding down the stairs and a muffled "Idiot!".

I eventually got to my feet, wobbling, stepping out of the bath with some difficulty then grabbing a towel and heading across the landing to Frank's room, in the mood to raid some of his clothes.

10 minutes later, unable to find a pair of clean trousers, I made my way slowly downstairs to find Frank curled up in the armchair, eating ice-cream, and looking like he'd just been told off.

Looking over the rim of the bowl, he whispered, "Why are you wearing my t-shirt and Donald Duck boxers?"

I swayed to the side, "Couldn't find anything else... "

"Oh." he wiped some of the brown liquid off his lips, "Sorry abo--"

"Don't worry about it," I laughed, falling onto his lap and hiding my face in his neck, feeling my eyes close tiredly, "It's not like I'll remember much of it when I fall to sleep and wake up again; I'm too high, remember?"

"Unfortunately," he whispered, and I felt something warm and soft against my forehead.

If I wasn't so dazed, I would've thought that the feeling was his lips.

I mean, Frank wasn't that type of boy.

Was he?