Author's Note: Okay guys, here's a little bonus. I wanna let you know though, from now on I'll update about once a week.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. God help me if I did.
As soon as you close the door to your house you know that your Ma knows about her.
You can feel her struggling, trying to give your mind privacy and stop herself from entering without permission. You also know your mother better than anyone else, and you know no matter how hard she tries, she just can't stop herself. Unless you close the connection.
On any other day, you would have done so. You would have fought back for the privacy of your thoughts.
But today?
Today you're just tired.
You don't even know her name.
You didn't even talk to her and you're already trying to keep yourself together.
You don't even know her name and you're already failing.
Failing.
And falling.
You don't know what's worse.
You go into the kitchen and the smell of Cannolis fills your lungs. You let yourself float for a moment and forget everything about today.
Your first day back to school, after one year.
You should have been a senior, but the recovery kept you away from school, or any other human interaction besides your family for that matter.
You forget how the teachers looked at you from under their eyes lashes when they read your paper and your medical files.
You forget about the condescending tone in their voices when they addressed you.
You forget about everything.
Everything, but the golden girl you saw when you were half listening to a dumbass that called himself a Physical Education teacher talking about how he is so honored to have a Softball star on his team. Talking like he didn't despise you like every other teacher that worked in that school.
But that girl. With her grace and elegance and her hazel eyes and the way the wind managed to get her hair all messy and how she made you want to reach out to her.
How she made your mind reach out to her and how she almost made you smile.
Only by standing there, in the middle of a group of crazed teenage girls that so desperately craved your brother's attention, looking at you.
That moment, you felt it again. The familiar tingling at the base of your spine. A warm sensation coursing through your body. It momentarily took over the constant dull ache that has been your best friend for longer than you care to remember.
It was the same sensation you had around Emma.
Only now it was stronger.
With Emma, it took you months to open up, even more to reach out to her. And when you did, the warm sensation resembled drinking hot chocolate. It was warm and sweet and it made you feel a pleasant something in your stomach.
With this golden girl, all it took was finding her gaze and holding it for a few seconds. And it was like standing underneath the spray of a hot shower - attacking all your senses all at once. Making you feel like you disappeared in another galaxy where nothing hurts.
Liberating.
Leaving you craving for more.
"How was school, Janie?"
Only after hearing your mother's voice you realise you have been standing in the kitchen's doorframe for the last couple of minutes. You fully enter the room and sit down at one of the bar stools situated at the kitchen island.
"Well, y'know, like any first day of school. Nothin' special…"
"Really, you haven't made any friends?"
Tease.
"I have, actually."
She turns to look at you, eyebrows up in anticipation.
"A boy, his name is Frost. Barry Frost."
Something she hasn't yet found out in your head, simply because you haven't thought about him since the moment he introduced himself outside school.
Oh, how you wanted in that moment to beat him senseless for ruining your chance of speaking with the golden girl. Fortunately for him, he turned out to be a really cool guy to be around.
You could almost like him.
Your mother places in front of you a plate full of cannolis that just got out of the oven. You throw her a grateful look before digging in, letting the conversation you are sure to come wait until later.
…
It's the middle of the night, and you're still on your back porch, watching the stars.
You have been doing a lot of that, lately.
Sitting up all night, thinking what would have happened if Hoyt hadn't ruined your life.
If maybe you could've had a chance at living normally.
At having a normal family.
Wondering if you'd still be alive if not for Emma.
Wondering if you will ever be able to look at the scars in your palms and not see her face.
Frankie walks out silently and sits down next to you, letting your shoulders brush.
He is the only one that is still allowed physical contact with you. He is also the only one that doesn't try to enter your mind without consent. You don't have to fight around him. You don't have to try.
Maybe that's why you love him so much.
Or maybe it is because he is trying to have a normal brother-sister relationship with you.
Or maybe it is because he is the only one that has stood up for you, since Tommy left two years ago.
Or maybe you love him without having an explanation as to why you'd die for him.
You just do.
And that's okay because he is Frankie and he won't make you talk about your feelings unless you want to.
Except one thing.
A question he has asked you every day, for one year.
A question he will ask you for the rest of your life.
"Does it still hurt?"
You've had this conversation so frequently you've already played it in your head at least 20 times.
"You know I don't care if my hands still hurt."
"You know I'm not talking about your hands."
He looks at you. Just like he did yesterday. And the day before that.
You look up, talk to the stars.
"It hurts to know I will never be able to use them again."
Same answer.
Even after one year, your voice is still raw with emotion when you say those words.
You don't know if that will ever change.
He puts his hands on your back gently, making sure not to touch the marks tattooed on your skin.
You love him for that, too.
He leans in and kisses your temple, but doesn't say anything.
Simply because there's nothing left to say.
You lean into his touch and put you head on his shoulder.
You can feel him smile and close his eyes for a moment.
You don't feel yourself falling asleep.
…
Helplessness.
Fear.
No.
Terror.
There's someone hovering over you, but all you can focus on is the fierce pain you feel in the palm of your hands.
And between your shoulder blades.
They have spread out the moment the last remains of self-control you had had left, flying out the window.
And now they're black.
They're black and burning and you want to move them but your lungs can't get enough air and you feel yourself fainting again.
You're on fire.
You're on fire because you can feel yourself degrading.
Fading away.
You don't remember exactly what that bastard did to you, except pinning your hands with scalpels and injecting something at your pulse point.
And watching you.
Watching you the way a lion watches his prey give its last breath.
Hungry.
Hungry and dominant and terrifying and you've never been scared of anything in your life but then you had wet your pants 3 times in 5 minutes.
And you had fallen asleep because the pain was just too much to handle awake.
And now someone is hovering over you, cupping your cheek but it's not him because you'd recognize her hands anywhere.
And it's soft and smooth and for a moment all you can see is her beautiful face and the way her blue eyes smile at you despite the moment because you're still alive.
You're still alive and you still have her and her beautiful auburn hair and her playful voice and her heart and you love her.
You know that because she has just saved your life by tazing that sick son of a bitch and she has seen you weak and frightened and you're not ashamed for not being stronger.
And you drown in that love for a moment praying the police will be here soon and that by the time they're here your marks will be back on your body so they won't shoot you too for being a freak.
And you're stupid because all you can see is her and you forget your surroundings so you don't see the way Hoyt reaches weakly for his gun or the way he points it with a still trembling hand at Emma.
You don't see it.
You don't see it but the next fraction of a second you are deaf and you scream because the most beautiful eyes you have ever seen are now lifeless and the mouth you have tasted a million times is now hanging open and she falls next to you and she's gone.
She's gone and she has taken with her all your hope and strength and now you wish you had a gun so you can shoot your brains out.
…
It's dawn.
Rays on light begin to trace the sky and you're still on your back porch all sweaty and lost and you can't speak because your throat is raw from all the screaming.
You look around you but everything is still hazy and you can't decipher the details.
You turn around and see Frankie sitting in the old wooden rocker you have, with teary eyes and clenched teeth looking at you.
And you know.
You know from the way he holds himself he tried to wake you.
Just like he did every night for a whole year.
And you know that he still couldn't come across and win over your twisted mind and sick memories.
You didn't hear him.
You didn't feel him.
And you don't know who is hurting more because of it.
"How long?"
You mouth the words because your voice still isn't back but you have to know. You have to know for how long you have been screaming loud enough for the whole city to hear you without being able to wake up.
"About twenty minutes."
You don't recognize his voice either.
He stands up and moves over before kneeling right in front of you.
Your eyes are on the same level without you looking down or him lifting his chin up.
He throws his arms around your neck.
He squeezes you until you are out of air and then some.
He squeezes you until you forget.
He squeezes you until his arms hurt and then loosens them but keeps them secured around your neck.
He tilts his head and whispers into your ear before barely touching your temple with his lips.
"I'm here, Janie. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."
And you know.
That's why you love him so much.