1|Madman broke into my apartment? No, it's just Frank Castle all bloodied up.

I watched the old clock tick achingly slow. The Midnight Diner wasn't in any way marked degree popular, except for the occasional customer. Which displayed sketchy individuals that just stare at me, but I learned to roll with it. It
was a quarter till eleven, my shift ended at eleven forty.

I worked at a diner that had fluorescent lights flickering from above, like they were going to run out of juice at any moment. It was easy to grow comfortable with the smell of bitter coffee, noting that a close friend of mine practically ran on
the stuff. The aroma had made a home in my sunflower yellow uniform, the collared dress reaching above my knees. An apron, ruffles at the edges was tied around my waist.

I jolt from where I'm seated at a booth, as a plate filled with familiar goodness I'd dropped before me. But of course, something I hadn't ordered, like usual. My gaze abandons the clock and trails it's way up to s familiar pair of blue eyes, looking
at me from behind spectacles.

"Charles, I've told you, you don't have to do this." I say, even though my mouth waters at the sight of the burger and fries.

"Youblady, if you think I'd ever send you away on an empty stomach your mistaken," the grey haired man insists.

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't put up such a fight with him, he does this all the time," A sweet, polite voice hollers from behind the counter, where she was pouring coffee for acustomer.

Denise and Charles Stokes owned the Midnight Diner. One of the sweetest old married couples I have come to meet in Hell's Kitchen. I've worked with them for the past two years, and they actually make working so much more entertaining.

"This is coming from the lady who argued earlier about her special sause." I tease her, as I nibble on a fry. Denise didn't want to admit it, but her so called special sauce was created with two condiments: mayo and ketchup.

"Emily Andrews! Don't even start with me missy!" Denise threatens. I hold back a snort, and take a bite from the greasy goodness that I call heaven.

"Thanks," I said, through a mouthful of burger. Charles nods m, giving me a pat on the shoulder and walks back into the kitchen.

As I busy myself with my food, Denise sits from across me. The sixty year old woman has high cheekbones, her eyes gray and filled with curiosity. Her hair gray with streaks of white from old age and stress. Denise's fragile hands are clasped together
on the table.

"So how's the blog going?" Her soothing voice questions. I raise an eyebrow and let out a sigh.

"You know it takes a while to come up with things to write." I answer.

"What was that one you wrote about with that incident involving that cruel man?"

"Wilson Fisk?"

"Yeah, I still can't believe he turned out to be such a vile man."

"I thought so as well, but sadly one of the flaws of this city is that it may be vile."

Denise sighs, "I'm just happy he's behind bares where he belongs."

"I think everyone feels the same."


My shift had finally ended, and I couldn't wait until I reached my apartment. The thought of sleeping in until the afternoon and watching tv brought a smile to my face. I wrapped my coat tighter around me as the chilly night air skimmed my
cheeks. The sound of police sirens echoed through the night. I had seemed to have gone numb to the sudden noise that would make me jump six feet in the air.

I've lived in this city for a very long time, it had grown on me. The walk didn't last much longer as I reached my apartment building. I entered the building and made my way down the hall, and up the stairs.

As I way fishing my key from my coat pocket, the hairs onthe back of my neck stand up. My door was cracked open, but I remembered closing it.

Unwanted memories start to resurface, the sound of glass shattering and shouts repeat in my head. But, as swiftly as they came I shook them away.

There was no hiding that I was afraid of what or who was waiting for me behind that door. Lifting a trembling hand I shoved the door open. I make a face as the door squeaks at the sudden force. Walking into the apartment was probably the hardest
thing I've done. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure the intruder was already alerted of my presence. As I reached the end of the darkened hallwa, I peaked around the corner. I noticed a silhouette slouched on my couch.

Did a homeless person break into my apartment? How? Only way in this building is with a key or someone had to buzz you in.

I find myself grabbing a wooden baseball bat that I kept in the hallway closet. Fingers gripping the handle so tightly they start to turn white. I stride up to the unknown figure, getting ready to swing if I saw any sign of movement until
a voice stopped me.

"Put the bat down, Emily."

My eyes widen in surprise at the sudden voice. The figure moves and suddenly the lamp beside the couch is switched on.

The bat slips from my hands, my face grows hot from anger.

"Frank! What the hell is wrong with you?! I thought-"

Frank groaned, "Enough with the shouting, I'm not exactly in the greatest shape for you to try and hit me with a bat."

I opened my mouth to say something, but suddenly I felt concern wash over me as I noticed Frank's current state. His shirt was stained with blood, his cheek was bruised and he had a black eye. His bottom lip had split down the middle. Red flower
from the wound.

"What happaened?! Your bleeding through your shirt!" I panicked, suddenly my heart started racing again.

"I see that," Frank snaps harshly. "Could you-"

"Help you? You don't even need to ask. What has been going on with you? You've been so distant."

"I have my reasons."

"I have my reasons as why I want to know what happened."

"I don't care,"

Realizing that I wasn't getting anywhere with him, I start gathering first aid from my bathroom. I return with gauze, a bowl of water, and cloth. Frank had removed his shirt to reveal a gash across his musceled chest. The sight made me even more
suspicious as to what he was getting involved in.

"God, Frank," I utter in dismay. "I've known you since sophomore year of high school, you got into fist fights but you never turned out like this."

Frank grumbles, "Just tend to the wound already."

I became appalled by the sudden command, but obeyed but as I washed the wound I made sure to purposely apply pressure. Which he'd groan in pain and send me a deathly glare, and I would roll my eyes in return.

I finished tenunf to the chest wound, and casually sat next to him to get better access as I applied ointment to the laceration.

"You're lucky you don't need stitches," I declare, grabbing a roll of gauze.

He doesn't answer.

"So is this what's going to happen every night? You show up bloodied and bruised, while I play nurse?" I fumed. I toss the left over gauze aside and roughly grab Frank's chin, and start to examine his split lip. Frank knocks my hand away, I protest
angrily.

"I'll try not to," He states. I take notice of a few scars that litter his abdomen and around his chest.

"Try? So you've been stitching yourself up?!" I shout. "You're telling me that at night, you're out there possibly bleeding to death, and choosing to stitch yourself up? And that I have no idea whether your still alive!"

"Yes."

"God damn it Frank!"

Before I could go on any further, Frank had rose to his feet.

"Hey-"

"I'm fine, Andrews," he agitatedly says.

"Well, I find that hard to believe Castle,"

Frank ignores me as he pulls on his bloodied shirt. Then starts walking towards the door.

"Frank."

He sighs, "What?"

"I won't hesitate to hit you with the bat next time."

Frank doesn't hide his smirk, "I don't doubt it."

I know this is short! But I'm trying my best! Please leave a comment on what you think.