Petrichor - e.mikaelson

Prologue

tw: domestic violence

Francesca Rossi wasn't someone who needed help. She'd been the one in control of her life since she was nine years old and her mum pissed off and sent her packing to live with her dad who she'd never met.

Her father, whilst somewhat accomodating, had contributed to Francesca's creation as a result of an extramarital affair in the midst of a trying time in his marriage. While he took her in and cared for her, he wasn't exactly happy about his family being broken up by her presence.

Regardless, Francesca was thrust into life as part of the Saltzman clan with a Step-Mother who was kind but not fond of her, and a brother who was ten years older than her and struggled at first to relate to this new child in his life.

It wasn't an unhappy childhood, she wasn't treated poorly or hurt, but there was always a sense than she wasn't exactly part of their plan. She had come to terms with it though, it wasn't something that bothered her in fact sometimes she almost believed she liked it, she was independent, she was in charge of her life.

By fifteen Francesca was Frankie and there were two constants in her life, her little black notebook and her skateboard, the two things in her life that made her feel like she could really breathe and were with her every second of the day. By eighteen Frankie's four piercings had multiplied into eight and she'd moved across the country to attend art school, not exactly the safest of choices in the current economy, but it was what made her happy.

She wasn't close with her parents but as she grew into herself, she did grow close to her brother. He had gone through some nasty stuff with his wife when she passed away and the company of family helped him get through it. Frankie wasn't one to pry, she figured when people wanted to talk about things they would, but she could tell her brother, Alaric, needed the company.

She'd walked by his room a little before midnight when they'd come home for thanksgiving the first year after his wife had died and heard him crying. With a knock on the door, Frankie didn't address his red face nor tear filled eyes, instead she held up her pipe and offered to get him high.

One wouldn't expect it, but even with a decade between them, getting Ric extraordinarily stoned helped them bond. 

Frankie and Ric didn't talk as much as they would've liked, they were on different paths in life, but she knew the gist of what was going on in his life and he knew about hers.

While they knew about each other's dating lives, at times it could be a point of contention, never believing a partner good enough for one another. He'd met her boyfriend, Mitch, only a half a dozen times despite them dating for more than two years and each time he made it clear she was too good for him.

Frankie and Mitch had met in the same elective ceramics class. He was cute with that heroin chic boy which was really the tumblr craze when she was younger, he skated and he got stoned a lot. Really, they seemed like the perfect couple.

Ric didn't like him but that was only because he was old and jaded and bitter and he didn't trust him, he just didn't understand.

They fought like crazy and that's how Frankie knew they were in love, it was the kind of love that you'd read poetry about. Passion spewing forth from one another as they argued then made up then argued then made up. Sometimes she was sure they could kill each other if they weren't careful they could get so mad.

The first time he hit her they'd been arguing and really it'd been her fault, she'd pushed him too far. Of course he'd retaliate when she spoke to him like that.

They were in love.

He only let it happen because he loved her so much he couldn't control it. The second time it happened they came back from a game night and he was mad because she'd embarrassed him, she'd been so busy fawning over one of the other guys she'd practically ignored him the whole night.

Frankie knew she needed to leave the night it graduated from a slap or a shove to a closed fist across her cheek. She didn't know how she'd descended into this, someone who was escaping in the night from the great Francesca Rossi who turned heads when she walked by.

She loved him, that was why she needed to run. She knew if she tried to tell him she was leaving he'd convince her to stay. He'd make her stay through his words or his hands and she needed to get out before she got deeper.

It took her a week to plan her escape, by then his fist had hit her twice, her lip was split and her eye was black. Finally Thursday came and he had to work late, Frankie didn't take much, she had a backpack filled with her little black notebook and some clothes, and her board and she was off.

There weren't many places to go, they shared all the same friends and her parents didn't exactly have space for her. Her brother was really the best option, he lived in a small enough town that Mitch wouldn't exactly bump into her and she was sure Alaric wouldn't mind her crashing on his couch for a bit until she figured herself out.

It took four busses and three days for her to make it from Southern California to Virginia. Alaric wasn't answering his phone but he wasn't always the best at technology and she was pretty sure he had a new girlfriend. Frankie wasn't exactly keen for the inevitable conversation that would join her appearance so she wasn't exactly in a rush to talk to him.

Mitch hadn't exactly been pleased with her disappearance, over the three days of her journey he called sixty four times and she'd answered exactly once. Overall, the journey was long, pretty boring and left her exhausted despite spending most of her time sleeping or staring out the window.

Eventually she made it to Virginia and there she took another bus which took her to Mystic Falls. Getting off the bus, she could see a restaurant called the Mystic Grill and whilst she was dying for a snack, first off she wanted to shower and dump her stuff. She'd essentially been wearing the same clothes for her entire journey and she figured under the piles of perfume she'd doused herself in, that she stunk.

It wasn't tricky to find her brothers apartment, she'd visited a few times and with the help of google maps and her skateboard she eventually made her way over and up the stairs.

Frankie was pretty sure her brother was going to flip once he saw her, her black eye was almost gone and could possibly be passed off as a really bad night's sleep but her lip was still split and she had finger marks on her wrist from where he'd grabbed her to pull her out of his way the night before she left.

Knocking on the door, Frankie had expected Ric would be surprised by her presence certainly, but the way his jaw fell open in shock as he'd stared speechless at her shook her a little.

"Hey Ric," Frankie said more nervously than she'd expected herself to feel, "can I crash for a bit. I've got myself into a bit of a mess."

It took a moment for her brother to catch his breath and even then he still seemed struck. His eyes were stuck on her face as though he hadn't seen her in a century and although it confused her she supposed her bruise was more noticeable than she'd hoped.

"Francesca?" he stuttered out after several beats too long, holding the door open to let her in.