~ Goldfish. Don't. Jump. ~
"Grandpa?" I whispered through the drowning tears as I snapped my cell phone shut and dropped it to the floor, letting the tiny pieces of it shatter across the asphalt. Rain poured down on me as I shook my now unconscious beloved grandfather.
It seemed as if the warm and inviting summer days had drained and became a scene straight out of little girl's nightmare, just after those last dreadful seconds. Once the trigger had been pulled, my hero had crashed and burned. I sniffled once and shook him again, hoping for at least one response.
"Grandpa, wake up!" I yelled in his face, waiting for him to reply. Anger and pain filled throughout me as I pounded on his chest, sobbing into his dark colored t-shirt that was already drenched with rain and tears.
The blood just kept pouring out of the gun wound in his stomach like there was no tomorrow, but the urge to puke that I had earlier was shoved down my throat and the pain took over. If it was just the loss of blood or the rough landing on his head, my grandpa would only have a one in a million chance of surviving.
"Please!" The pain for him over whelmed me, urging me to break down.
I hollered, reaching out to my grandpa as I fell back onto the hard floor. He just lay there...
My feelings wrapped around me like a cold blanket, giving me chills all throughout my body. Finally the help that I had waited for came, but every siren, every call, every tap on my shoulder...I didn't hear or feel. Everything had washed past me.
Guilt. Greif. Betrayal. Loathe. Regret. All of those feelings blocked every scent from registering my mind, but only one thing shook in my head.
They were all too late... He was gone.
Dead.
Finished.
Over.
And it was my fault.
A year later, and only the worst of my past had stuck to my side.
"Frances Connors?" Questioned the usual lady in front of me. I sighed and set my books down on the desk, running a hand through my auburn hair.
"Is Frankie too hard to pronounce?" I asked sharply, annoyed that nobody in this world seemed to get a hang of the nickname.
"Oh." She huffed while flipping through the series of notebooks in front of me and drummed her fingers against the desk, raising her eye brows. I nodded my head once. The receptionist's lips turned up in a fake smile and gestured toward the opposite seat from her.
"Please sit down, Mrs. Connors."
"It's Frankie." I grumbled as I took the uncomfortable seat and plopped down in it.
"Right," She said with a sigh and folded her hands. Hm, she had a ring on one of her fingers. I feel bad for the husband...
"So, apart from what brought you here today. You're...seventeen, am I correct?" She asked and I sighed, rolling my eyes.
"No. No I'm two." I replied sarcastically but she ignored the remark and looked down into one of the books.
"It says you're in school still...But there's nothing in the space provided?"
"I go to OSA." I mumbled under my breath, almost inaudible.
"Pardon me?"
"Ohio School of the Arts." I said in a louder tone, sinking down into the chair. She narrowed her eyebrows skeptically again, leaning forward into one of the notebooks that I didn't recognize.
"Isn't that supposed to be a very...wealthy school?" Well that was quite rude.
"Yes. Is that such a surprise to you? Look lady, I'm only here to see my brother, and here you are asking me a bunch of bullshit on my life when you have a husband and possibly kids and you could be at home spending quality time with them?"
My words were a mad rush and the woman had an astounded look on her face. It hardened up and she leaned in closely.
"Frances, I'm only doing this because I need some information on you as well. From what I'm reading you're not exactly the perfect child either." I rolled my eyes again and she sat back down in her chair, reading some more of the informatical notebook.
"It says here that your parents left you orphaned with your brother and you stayed with several fosters...One for each month. Obviously some problems with these adults." Her tone was weird now, almost as if she was expecting this.
"True." I replied unenthusiastically and completely ignoring her attitude, sticking out my lower lip and blowing a strand of hair out of my eyes. She nodded to herself, still not taking her eyes off the book from the beginning and flipped to the next page.
"And you are apart of a...gang?" I laughed once to myself and sat up in the seat.
"Is there a problem with that?"
"I'm the one questioning here."
"Yeah, but they seem pretty personal for a fucking receptionist in a Looney Bin."
"Please, Frances, no vulgar language in here."
"It's FRANKIE!" I yelled at her and stood up, snatching my notebooks out of her hands. She went back in her seat, keeping her long distance away from me after my outburst and I could feel her stare bore into my back.
I grunted and pulled up my hood as I pushed open the side doors to the main room. Unfortunately, she didn't get very threatened.
"Frances Connors." She called sternly, but my only reply was my oh-so-famous finger that I seem to have to use every time I come here.
I held it up long enough for her to walk away and I continued past all of the drop outs, screw ups, druggies, alcoholics, gangbangers, and last but not least, my brother.
