[8. WEDNESDAY]

...

Frankie and Miles are back on their bench. It's becoming a sort of tradition, at this point, they've been doing it almost every day; when Hunter is off to class they grab themselves a coffee from the campus shop and come here. It's still quite cold outside, but the sun is shining and it's a beautiful day. Yet, not many other people are daring to venture outdoors in this late February weather, so the whole place is pretty quiet. Which is just what they need.

"This sun is amazing, isn't it?" Frankie says. She balances her latte haphazardly on the bench next to her and she shuffles to move her scarf away from her face, soaking in the warm rays. She reaches into her pocket and picks out her new phone, identical to the one Hunter smashed the other night on the terrace. She checks quickly for new messages, finds none, and dumps it back into the depths of her bag.

"Is that the apology present?" Miles jokes, motioning towards her.

Frankie smiles. "He just felt bad for breaking it, so he replaced it." Her face falls a little and she looks sheepishly at him. "Don't worry," she says, "Hunter made me block him. His number, and all socials. Like, he made me do it in front of him," she stresses.

"Good," Miles says, and she rolls her eyes at him. But she's smiling a little. It's nice to see that.

Frankie picks back up her cup of coffee, settling into a comfortable position and sipping through the rest of her drink. Miles follows suit, enjoying it while it's hot.

"Can I ask you something unpleasant?" Frankie then says, after a minute. She's stalling, hesitant, so Miles turns his head in her direction, nodding his permission. She still seems unsure, her fingers twitching in her lap, her eyes elusive. She finally takes a deep breath, and looks straight at him. "How did you get over Dad's abuse?"

The words startle him more than he'd like to admit. She's never asked, they never talk about it — never have. Miles forces himself to hide his sudden discomfort from her, though, because it's not fair. She should be free to ask questions without him falling apart in front of her. Over the years he's become better at dealing with that part of his life, but even so, he's still incredibly uncomfortable discussing the details. With his siblings, especially. However, Miles would be lying if he said he hasn't thought about it, these past few days, how striking the similarities. How he wishes he never had to have this conversation with her.

"Time, I guess. And a lot of therapy," he answers honestly. He wishes he could do something more to help, but there's nothing that can be done, not really.

"I know it's not the same," says Frankie, "You were a lot younger, for starters, and you couldn't exactly move out of the house. But I keep thinking that… both of us got hurt by the very people who were supposed to love us, and care for us…"

Miles's heart skips a beat, at that, his sister's words instantly forcing him back to that awful time in his life. How desperately he wanted to please his father. How much any little kind word meant, and how deeply everything else hurt. Truth is, he's still not over it. A part of him never will.

He glances at her, and she looks so small. He never wanted his little sister to know this feeling, and yet here they are.

"You know none of this is your fault, right?" he asks, but he's only met with silence. "Frankie?"

She's hugging her knees, curled up on the bench, her eyes decidedly on the tips of her sneakers.

"Yeah, I know," she finally says. "Although… I don't know. I keep thinking that maybe I could have done something differently, you know? To avoid things escalating as they did?"

Miles stares at her wordlessly for a moment, his heart dropping in his chest. He thinks back to her words just a few days ago, how she kept excusing Max's behaviour, even blamed herself for not reacting when he struck her. He feels a fuming rage growing inside him at the thought, and it takes more than he would like to admit for him not to try and shake some sense into her. But it's not Frankie he's mad at, he knows that. So he closes his eyes for a brief moment. Takes a deep breath. Pulls his own legs up on the bench, mirroring her.

"I used to think that too, you know?" he admits, as gently as he can. "I used to think there had to be something wrong with me, for Dad to be constantly disappointed."

Frankie turns towards him, very slowly. "We all made you think that," she whispers, so quietly he barely hears her.

"And then you all sided with me, when you found out the truth. Don't think I forgot that," he comes back, firmly.

It's been a long time, and it feels even longer. Miles didn't bring this up to make Frankie feel guilty, on the contrary. Yeah, at the time he might have resented his siblings a bit, but he's long made peace with it. They were just kids. They couldn't know.

He gently pulls his sister close and presses a kiss on her temple. "Come on, Frankie. You're smart, and beautiful, and kind. Some people are just… angry. And they take it out on those who have the misfortune to love them. You should never think it was on you to stop him. Okay?"

She nods feebly against his shoulder, and he can feel her chest moving shakily up and down with each breath she takes. They sit in silence, letting the gentle breeze caress their hair and listening to the soothing sound of the branches swooshing above their heads. Out of nowhere, he feels the uncomfortable sting of tears behind his eyes, burning to be let out, and he wonders for a split second if she feels the same. He pushes them back — he's not a cryer, Miles — and he shakes himself out of it, disentangling his limbs from his sister's.

"Jesus," he exclaims, overdramatically, "I definitely need a smoke, after this."

He reaches into his pocket for a cigarette, partly to try and lighten the mood, and partly because this conversation clearly calls for one. He turns to look at her as he detects her burning glare on his skin, and he's met with a frown he knows all too well.

"You know that smoking is really, really bad for you, right?" she scolds him.

Miles raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile at the familiar, annoying tone of her voice. She sounds like the Frankie he knows, now, more than she has ever since he got here.

"Want a drag?" he jokes.

Frankie considers his offer for a second, and then she takes him completely by surprise, nodding briefly.

"Sure, why not."

He looks at her very eloquently as he passes over the cigarette in silence, a smirk curving his lips. She looks dead serious as she inhales, but if Miles ever had any doubt Frankie had smoked before, they are immediately gone the moment she starts coughing her soul out in the most comical of ways.

"Easy!" Miles says with an amused chuckle, taking back the cigarette and patting her on the back. He gives her a sympathetic smile as she slowly starts breathing properly again. "You know, smoking is really, really bad for you!" he mocks her, earning himself a glaring look from her part.

The way she's trying to look threatening cracks him up completely, given her face is all red and puffy and her eyes are watering from her one drag of smoke. Luckily, she seems to see the irony in it, too, and soon they're both laughing — snorting, even. It gets so loud that a random couple walking by turn around at the noise, and they have to hold their bellies with both hands so as not to fall from the bench.

And it feels really damn good.