Seventy Times Seven

Franks POV

I can'tstand this, I thought to myself.

Why is she ignoring me? Why does she seem so scared of me? I think I liked it better when she was pissed at me!

Why doesn't she fight with me anymore? Why isnt she a bitch anymore?! It's not any fun if shes not yelling back!

It almost makes mefeel bad!

That one made me stop for a minute. Why would it make me feel bad? That doesnt make me feel bad. Just because she's being a whore and not sticking up for herself anymore doesnt mean I should feel bad for her. She's still the same stupid bitch she was a few days ago, except now shes got a bruise on her face! Ha!

I paced through my house. The house she cleaned. She didn't do that bad of a job, except it looks like she didn't vacuum. She was probably too busy whining about her face and forgot. Skank.

She's probably doing this on purpose. Acting scared of me, trying a guilt trip. She's probably not even hurt that bad. And here I am, trying to figure everything out.

I hope shes fucking happy.

Chelseas POV

I pulled on my PJ's and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. I scrubbed particularly on the bruise, trying to get the make up off, and winced at the pain.

Taking my time, the purple-ness slowly started to appear. After I got all the makeup off I looked in the mirror. I looked...well, like I'd been in some fist fight..and lost.

I hope he's happy, I sighed, brushing my teeth and going to bed.

A Few Days Later at School (Monday)

I went to my locker. I needed my english book and my notebook. I shoved stuff around, trying to find it.

Life was so shit right now. I avoided Frank more now, when before I would just go on about my day and if I ran into him I'd say something bitchish to him if he said anything, then forget about it.

Now he was all I thought about. At the end of class I would think of where I would normally run into him next, and avoid going that direction. I would spend as little time as possible at my locker. Anything to keep my distance from him.

"I know what you're doing and its fucking stupid Chelsea," a familiar, irritated voice said from behind me.

As you can see, it didnt always work...

"I'm not really doing anything..." I replied.

"See? Like that! You don't yell at me anymore. You don't bitch at me anymore, why dont you stand up for yourself like you used to?!"

I looked at him and scoffed, "Cause the last time I did I got fucking punched in the face!"

Did he just smile? "You fucking deserved it! You were accusing me of something I didn't do!"

"I was..having a bad day, because of all the other shit you did. Sorry," I mumbled.

Screw the notebook. I grabbed my book and my pencil and walked off. But he followed me.

"Come on Chelsea! Why don't you just...do something...like..erg," he said frustrated.

He stepped in front of me, and made me stop walking. "Hit me."

I looked at him. "What?!"

"Hit me. Come on. Punch me in the face like I did you. Give it your best. Actually, I think I'm stronger than you. So hit me twice."

I looked down, lost for words. "Frank..I'm not..I'm not gonna hit-"

"Chelsea!" he protested, using his hand to make me look up. "Do something! Anything to make you back to normal.."

I looked up at him..barely..I didn't wanna look at his eyes, in fear that it would set him off. I wasn't sure of what he was going to do, or what he was getting at. He hated me, so why did he want my attention?

After looking around, I realized there wasnt many people in the hallways anymore. Only the last few that were slowly drifting into classrooms. "Sorry Frank..but..I gotta go."

I quickly walked to my english class, with him standing in the middle of the hallway by himself. I looked back. He smashed his face in his hands in frustration, then left to class.

***

I drove home, relived from not getting surprised by Frank again, yet sad, because of the lack of things to do, and knew that I would be thinking about what happened today until I fell asleep.

Why does he want my attention.. Hell no, he's probably just bored and wants a fight. Why does he want me to fight with him though? Shouldn't he be glad that he finally got rid of my presence?

Just try to get your mind off it Chels, I told myself, grabbing a granola bar and heading up to my room.

Franks POV (I'm really sorry about changing peoples points of view all the time but I really think it's important that you know what Chelsea and Frank are both thinking. Very sorry if it annoys you =/)

This is something I would never do. I'm breaking. I'm giving up. To Chelsea Manson! Of all people! I shouldnt be doing this.

Fuck fuck fuck turn around now turn around now I shouldnt do this...

I pulled up the side of the road, her car was in the driveway already.

Hesitating, I got out. My hands were shaking. I had done this before, but not ever imagined for her. My palms had a small mist of sweat across them. I walked up to her door and knocked.

She pulled open the door and looked up at me. She had been munching on what looked to be a granola bar, and stopped chewing. Staring up at me, she swallowed. "Frank.." she kind of stuttered.

Putting my hand on my arm, I replied, in an unusually quiet voice, "Um..I know this is weird, but can I uh..see it..?"

She looked at me perplexed, "What?"

"Can I like..see..what I er..did?"

After looking at me like I was retarded for a few long seconds, she left and walked back toward the bathroom, leaving the door open for me.

I took that as an invitation to come in. I looked around the house, noticing the odd cleanliness. She obviously brought her work home.

I heard the water run in the bathroom, then it was silent. The door was wide open, with the light on. Quietly walking back, I peeked in the door. There she was. Her black fingernails wrapped around a damp cloth that was gently prodding the left side of her face, as she stared at the mirror in concentration.

It was really awkward..the silence was. I walked up beside her and watched in the mirror. She met my eyes in the mirror for a second, but never stopped wiping the make up off. She would wince every now and then, but just kept with the rythm of the cloth, like shed been doing this everyday for the last few days.

Soon enough, the dark purple started to appear. But she kept going, her cloth beginning to turn the light tan of her face.

Her tiny frame..I remember her being anorexic in seventh grade. Something about her parents... I don't know. But she never really filled back out after that. She's always been like five foot tall, but after that she's always been twig like. Not so unhealthy as she used to be, but she hasnt gained back all of what she used to be.

She had on jeans right now, with a dark grey tank top that clung to her tiny body, and a baggy black invader zim jacket, with thumb holes cut out. And her eyeliner, I remember her telling someone before that she wore eyeliner like pants. I don't think I've ever seen her without eyeliner since fifth grade...

"There," she muttered, looking at me in the mirror. I glanced back up at her face. It was a hell of alot worse than I thought.

I couldn't really believe it. I guess I had never thought that since she was so tiny that one stupid punch could cause her that much damage. Almost half of the left side of her face was purple, with some green around the edges where it was healing.

"Fuuck.." I muttered under my breath in astonishment.

She sighed, then began rinsing out the cloth, "Thats what I said."

There was so much guilt..I felt so horrible. She didn't seem like the stupid bitch I'd hated since grade school anymore. She seemed like the tiny fragile girl I carelessly beat the shit out of, with a mere punch in the face.

After she rinsed out the cloth, she hung it on towel rack, then leaned on the sink. "There, see? I'm a bitch. Whore. Hoe bag. Skank. Slut. Fine, whatever. I give. What more do you want from me?" she said rather straight forward. It kind of made me happy to hear her talk like that again, even though the words werent quite the same.

"I.." I started, thinking about how I was going to say this. "I..Chelsea.." I stuttered, not able to take my eyes away from the bruise. "Chelsea, I'm really sorry."

She stopped. I watched, her muscles tensed. That must've been the last thing she'd expected. "For..for what?" she said kind of hopefully.

That confused me a little, "Well.. for punching you in the face..it was kind of an ass thing to do."

Her face fell again. "Yea.."

What the hell, isnt this the part where she says 'it's ok' or 'fuck you Frank' or something? I wasnt expecting her to be sad.

"Yea so, I think you should go now," she said looking back up.

"Wha..What?"

"You should go."

"Why?" I guess I kind of understood, I didn't expect her to like me. But thats not what I was thinking right after I said sorry for like, the first time in my whole life to her.

"Because I kind of don't want you here."

"Well, can you atleast say something about my apology?" This is getting irritating..

She glared at my eyes. "Well I don't exactly have much to say," she replied, showing me to the door.

I fell onto the porch, "What?!"

She replied in an honest voice, "Frank, if I were going to accept the one apology that you will ever give me in my whole life, I want it to be for more than a punch in the face. That fucked life up a bit yea, but I believe theres a hell of a lot more you could be sorry for. Think on that tonight, then you might be able to try again."

With that, she shut the door. Leaving me once again, alone and frustrated, trying to think of what I was going to do next.