Echoes of Eclipsed Fears (Frerard)

3. (He only thinks in the form of) Crunching Numbers

Frank trudged back up the stairs to his shabby apartment, thankful to find his key still in the pocket of his jeans. He felt the heavy deadbolt click out of place as he turned the key, letting himself inside. He'd better have breakfast, he thought to himself. Frank lazily opened his bare-looking pantry, searching for the cereal.

Son of a bitch, he thought. The cereal was nowhere to be seen. Frank turned around to spy the empty box of cornflakes sitting on the counter, waiting for him to take it out to the recycling. Toast it is, then.

Frank thought back to the cornflakes Gerard had left on the counter, presumably for him. He wondered if the man would be offended that he didn't stop to eat them. Oh well, Gerard had drunk his blood, after all, and Frank panicked. But what if that was just payment for staying the night at his place? Frank recalled the tall vampire's kindness; he had washed his clothes for him, Christ. He scratched his neck, deciding to go check it out in a mirror. Frank had expected a fat hickey or a bruise, but there was barely any mark at all, just two small dots.

Ding!

Frank made his way back to the kitchen to smother his toast in peanut butter, munching on it hungrily as he paced his apartment. He couldn't stop thinking about Gerard; the man had to be a vampire, that much was obvious, but why had he spared Frank's life? Maybe that's just what real vampires do, Frank thought. The bite itself hadn't even hurt, really. Frank's eyes wandered around his drab apartment; the three-legged couch in his living room was sagging against the pile of magazines which supported the broken corner. He sighed, remembering Gerard's lush carpets and warm wallpapers. I should go back, he mused. He ought to say thank you for Gerard's hospitality. Frank shook his head. God, what was he thinking?

He spent the morning strumming his unplugged electric guitar; the strings were fine, it was just the pickups that were causing him strife. Frank eyed the clock while he did so, waiting for an acceptable hour to start walking to work. His lousy job took place at a Walmart. As much as he hated it nowadays, he had enjoyed it when he first started working there at age nineteen. Now that he was twenty-two, however, it was starting to become as dull as the rest of his life. Frank pulled on his work uniform and filled up his water bottle, locking his apartment door behind him as he trekked down the road to the bus stop. The cool autumn breeze swirled about him as he walked, carrying dead leaves and litter down the street.

Frank's shift was mostly uneventful until his manager, Brian, came into the store. God, Frank fucking hated it when Brian came in. His body language felt so unnatural when he worked in the presence of his manager; he was just scared that he was going to fuck something up. Brian hovered around as Frank stacked the shelves, observing silently as he wobbled on the top step of the ladder.

"Frank, could I speak to you for a minute?"

Frank's blood ran cold. What had he done now? He hastily made his way down the ladder, planting both his feet on the stable linoleum floor. He swallowed nervously.

"Hey Brian, how are you?"

"Well thank you, yourself?" Brian said, not pausing for an answer. "I just wanted to check in with you about your plans for the Christmas period. I know it's only October now, but I'd just like plenty of notice if you're going to take time off like you did last year."

I took time off last Christmas because my best friend fucking DIED, Frank wanted to retort, but he kept his mouth shut. It was no use talking back to Brian; any remarks or critique just fell on deaf ears.

"Uh... Well, no, I don't plan to take time off this year," Frank stammered. "I understand that Christmas is our busiest period."

"That's the other thing," Brian began. "I'm planning on having all employees over eighteen re-submit their availability this month."

"Why's that?"

"Well," Brian explained, "it's more of a cutting-costs thing. We're forecasting our busiest year yet - next year, that is. And I'd just like to start giving more hours to our younger employees. You've been here over two years now, Frank."

"So what are you saying?" Frank asked. He already knew where this was going, and he could feel himself getting hot-headed. "You're going to cut back my hours because we got a bunch of fourteen year-olds this year who are willing to work for cheaper wages?"

Brian nodded.

"That's the gist of it."

Frank sighed.

"I need this job, man. I can't even pay rent at the moment. Surely you understand."

"I understand, Frank, it's just not good for the business. Surely you understand that?"

"Oh well," Frank grumbled. "See if the jobs get done half as well when you've got a bunch of kids running the place."

Brian furrowed his brow, affronted.

"I don't appreciate you speaking to me like that, Frank."

"It's 10:30," Frank huffed, moving past Brian. He made his way behind the counter to write his initials in the schedule book, officially signing off for the night. He stormed out the door. "Have a good night, Brian."

✽

Gerard's pale, slender fingers brushed the beads of condensation forming on the milk bottle. He sighed; Frank hadn't eaten his breakfast. Understandably so, he concluded. The boy must have been frightened.

Gracefully gliding up the stairs, Gerard made his way to the spare bedroom Frank had slept in. He gathered the loaned clothes off the floor; his black t-shirt still smelled like Frank. That made him wonder... no, he mustn't. He shouldn't... Gerard tossed up the ideas that were rattling about in his head, sifting through his thoughts to try and settle on a conclusion.

He could and he will.