Lightning struck, thunder boomed.
Deep within the bespectacled residence of Madame Foster's, a young dark-skinned girl rose from the exposed twin bed. At first, she aimlessly darted her head around, seeing nothing but abstract blur patterns tinged in hollow white and muddy brown firmly engraved into her eyesight, while mumbling incoherently.
Soon after, though, she came back to her senses. Wiping her eyes and taking a few firm blinks, things became clear: the white were the rusty interiors of what was the residence's main guest room, and the brown happened to be specks of shaggy hair belonging to a certain eight-year-old boy next to her.
"Mac." she said plainly, without turning to face him.
"Yes, Goo?" the boy responded.
Goo shrugged. "No, nothing."
She hunched back into the bed, staring in the opposite direction.
"I just thought..."
She trailed off with a barely-suppresed choke. Mac dropped down as well, and with great caution placed one of his arms across Goo's shoulder--even without looking at the boy's face, she could tell he was gravely concerned for her.
"It's just the weather." Mac said. "It's been getting nothing but worse the last few hours. The thunder woke you up, that's all..."
He delicately pressed his face just below her right ear, with a slightly scrunched expression intended to be both a smile and a frown. "You were asleep in my arms the whole time, and you're still with me. You have nothing to--"
Before the boy could finish, Goo spun around and, using her left arm, gave him a firm shove which almost knocked him down to the floor. Her soul flared with desperation and urgency, but only very briefly; when Mac shook off the surprise of being pushed away, he saw her once again with head hung sullenly low, the untied hair now covering much of her face.
"You got too close."
Mac's face went red. "I'm sorry, just wanted to check on you..." a mild chuckle arose from his lips, but it instantly vanished when he saw she wasn't returning it.
"Look, Mac," Goo sighed sharply. "It's not the weather I'm talking about. It's--"
And her voice trailed off again. Mac's face could no longer remained mixed; with direct somberness, he latched onto both of her hands and tugged her face straight up--it was here that they at last met eye-to-eye.
The gaze was brief but everlasting. Mac saw a poor, vulnerable little girl with wrinkles of torment across her innocent face. Goo saw a kind boy her same age, yet with uncommon maturity and a sincere desire to help out others. They were both pained and fractured.
"It's Frankie, isn't it."
Frankie. The very uttering of that word arrived with all the force of an asteroid. Those seven letters... they swirled sickly through her frail mind, punctuated with blurs of a young woman with red hair--and that very unfortunate encounter..
- - -
"Frances, I--"
"Please tell me. How can I be selfish if this is the best I can manage after all my years of effort? All my dreams, all my ambitions, all those degrees I've gotten and all those I wanted, my future--AND I'M SPENDING IT AS YOUR SLAVE, IN THIS GODFORSAKEN SHITHOLE!"
"Que!"
"Oh dear..."
"For the love of god, please stop, they're here--"
"No, do let them hear us. It'd be pretty tragic if your wonderful imaginary friends never learn the truth about yours truly. Which is what I'll do right now: THANKS FOR NOTHING, YOU UNGRATEFUL BUMS!"
"Frankie, please--"
"But feel free to kick me out, and feel free to permanently deny I was ever your granddaughter. Just don't be surprised if this joint then goes bankrupt and you're forced to join me on the streets, JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE INCAPABLE OF DEALING WITH ABOUT SEVEN HUNDRED CRETINS CREATED BY SOME STUPID RETARDED GIRL!"
- - -
Goo found it impossible to speak, much less shake off those memories. She folded both of her arms at shoulder level and shrivelled frantically, and her eyes grew wishy-washy once more. Her frail body began tipping face first into the rugged mattress, but was interrupted by the boy's hands--which promptly clasped around her tummy, very tightly and for a few good seconds.
When they finally pulled off, Mac saw tears streaming down her face.
"I guess I should tell you this right now." he began. "Goo... Frankie is not a bad person."
Goo winced without speaking, and Mac could tell she had trouble believing those last few words. Nonetheless, he continued.
"Far from it. Frankie's the sole caretaker of this entire place; she's always working her back off, without any time for fun... and she's like a big sister to me. Very kind to me ever since I arrived, far more than my ignorant mother or jerk brother combined. She just tends to get stressed out; Mr. Herriman's oppresive attitude doesn't help much."
Utter silence. The boy grew weary.
"Frankie hasn't had it spectacularly well as of late. And I don't just mean your--no offense, but your overactive imagination. That punk McGee... the whole fiasco over the tickets to Europe..." he snorted scornfully. "How would you feel if you'd also have to deal with seven-hundred imaginary beings?"
Still no response from Goo. Mac threw his arms up and turned towards her with the index finger raised, about to speak in a far more firm tone--but nothing came out of his wide-opened mouth. Internally diffusing, he scrunched up and writhed in defeat.
"Look, Goo." he sighed. "What I'm trying to say is, and feel free to reject it if you want, but--" he was about to finish when he felt a familiar hand land softly across his mouth. If marginally, Mac felt the iron clench in his heart loosen when she saw the girl carrying a faint smile.
"That me and Frankie have a bit in common."
