Frankie Fever

Ho colto nel bel mezzo di una situazione impossibile

Mom chucked Dad out, claiming she didn't want ever to see him again. She insisted he'd made a mockery of their marriage and she'd never be able to see him in the same light again. Dad had sobbed for about fifteen minutes in my room while Mom rushed about, shoving his stuff into black binliners and crying that she wanted him gone by five.

Mikey was slowly retreating deeper into his own world. He'd sit in his room by himself in the dark for hours. Only God knows what he was doing in there but it didn't take a genius to work out that it wasn't healthy. I'd tried to hang out with him, I really had but he just wasn't interested. He never saw any of his friends (if he had any). He was all alone.

Frank? Let's not go there. His new target was another language student -like Andrea- about two years older than him. She was very beautiful and I could see why Frank took an interest in her. But guess what? She was a language student that couldn't speak English. And, lucky me, she was from Italy. Italian was a language my family was up on; y'know, with one half of my family being Italian and all. So Frank had employed me for the night to be their translator - that's if they ever got a conversation going. If he even got his chance with her, it wasn't like he planned on using a lot of words. Frank was always one to speak with actions rather than words.

I was once again, sitting on the sofa, clutching a beer can. I reeked of foul mood. Frank was out somewhere in the throng of people, mingling and trying to catch the attention of his new prey. I growled to myself, taking a violent swig of my beer. There was a shift in weight as someone sat beside me.

"Hi, Gerard," The bright voice said eagerly.

"Hey, Stalker," I replied sharply.

She blinked at me, her face crumpling with hurt.

Okay, okay, I didn't say that.

"Hey, Sarah," I replied, forcing a smile onto my face.

She leaned close to me, smiling brightly, her eyes briefly flicking to the beer can in my hand. She was trying to calculate how many I'd had. I'd figured it out by then. I haven't mentioned it much but Sarah had been 'bumping into me' quite a lot over the past few weeks. She'd been running up to me to say hi at school and 'popping over' my house to say hang out. Most of the time I was polite but other times I'd send her packing. It depended on her timing and my mood.

"So, how are you tonight?" She questioned.

She looked good. She was wearing a pink tank top and a denim skirt. The pink should have looked wrong because of her vibrant red hair but it didn't. It looked nice. She looked pretty with her hair held in place by an alice band and the tank top semi-exposing her breasts.

"Could be better," I replied honestly.

"But things could be worse," She smiled brightly, resting a hand on my shoulder.

I nodded in agreement, managing a small smile in return. Her hand was rubbing at my shoulder as if to try and cheer me up. I wasn't too sure how I felt about this contact. I wanted her off of me but I was also curious. I don't really know what it was I was curious about. If I were to make an attempt at understanding my messed up brain, I would say it was the chemistry of that moment -if there was any- and if there was ever any sexual tension between me and Sarah. I guess there was to an extent. We always had this awkwardness between us that neither were ever able to explain; moments between us where something could have happened.

"How are you, anyway?" I asked in an attempt to break the awkwardness.

She smiled brightly and started talking. I'd switched off and was now in my standby mode. The words were going straight over my head. There he was.

He was weaving his way through the crowd, his eye set on one thing and one thing only. I frowned as he strutted around, so sure of himself. All the girls were watching him. He had a reason to be so sure of himself. You just had to look at the reaction he got from walking into a room to see why. And then you could confirm that by watching the reaction he got from flicking his fringe and wriggling his hips a little.

Sarah was still talking but I wasn't listening. Someone had switched the song to 'mObscene' by Marilyn Manson. Frank was moving perfectly to the music. He'd caught the arm of a girl I'd never seen before and was moving with her. She was looking like the cat that had got the cream as she lifted her arms and swayed her hips with him. He was smirking as he leaned into her neck but I could see his eyes wandering. This girl was his consolation but he had his eyes on the olympic gold.

He was murmering into the ear of the girl he held onto as he spotted his gold moving. I blinked. He was rushing my way. He leaned down close to me, his face flushed with excitement and his eyes glittering.

"Gee, quick I need your help!" He rushed "How do you say 'hello' in Italian?"

I frowned.

"Gerard, please!" He begged "I need your help!"

"Ciao for a close friend or family member," I finally said "But you want to say 'buona sera'. It means good evening."

"Buona sera," He repeated.

"Si," I agreed smartly.

"Huh?"

"Means yes."

"Oh right," He nodded "Thanks, Gerard! You're a real pal." And then he rushed off.

I frowned again. Why was I doing this? I was making a complete ass of myself by subjecting myself to Frank's every whim.

"Gerard, I didn't know you spoke Italian!"

"My God, are you still here?"

Again, I didn't say that. It's what I was thinking though. I promise you that.

"Yeah, yeah, I do," I replied, initially shocked Sarah hadn't gotten bored of me yet.

And I'd perhaps just messed up any chances I had of her getting bored of me. She found my Italian heritage intensely interesting and began pressing all sorts of questions about how I was Italian and had Italian been my mother language -which it hadn't- and when did I learn to speak Italian -as soon as I'd mastered English.

"How do you say beautiful?" She asked.

I quirked an eyebrow. She blushed.

"Bello or bella," I replied "Depends on the gender."

"Like French then?" She questioned.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Will you tell me I'm beautiful?" She questioned eagerly. Then she cursed herself "That sounded creepy didn't it?"

"I wasn't gonna' say anything," I smiled cheekily, earning a slap to the arm.

I did end up telling her she was beautiful in Italian. Lei è bella. I know what you're thinking. But here's my logic: Sarah was beautiful and I haven't done her any wrong in telling her so, right? It's not like I was responding to her obvious flirting. I was merely doing what she asked and telling her the truth.

There's no wrong in that. It was like Frank telling me I looked good after we'd been to the gym. It was merely an observation. It meant nothing.

Sarah was talking about how she'd love to learn Italian when a key event in mine and Frank's lives occurred. Something that would help determine the course of the rest of our lives. I don't know why it happened.

Yeah, yeah, 'what happened', right?

He kissed me.

He'd managed to weave his way back through the crowd to me. He was smirking at me as he perched on the arm of the sofa beside me. I could smell the booze and. . . erm. . . other substances on him.

I don't know why he did it. But I know he did.

I was looking up at him, concerned. He looked messed up. He was grinning and had a manic little glint in his eye. There was a glistening sheen of sweat across his forehead and he was breathing hard and fast.

"Frank, for God's sake what's wr-"

I was cut off by a pair of strong hands seizing the back of my head and pulling me forwards. And then lips slammed into mine. I was shocked.

The hands clutched my hair to stop me moving. It was a simple dry kiss on the lips. No tongues or touching. But my world began to spin. I was rocketing up through the stars, dragging Frank with me.

My heartbeat picked up to the point that I was afraid I would suffer a heart attack. Sweat began to spread over my back and under my arms. I felt weak-kneed to the point I wanted to wrap myself around his waist and cry 'Take me, I'm yours.'

Here's something for you to translate: Era un buono bacio.