Battling the loss you live for (Frerard)

Part three - I'd say thanks for the memories, but I really don't appreciate them

Chapter three - I'd say thanks for the memories, but I really don't appreciate them

Ugh, life is hard. (Like my dick.) (I'm sorry, I had to.)

I have a goddamn headache again. I feel like I'm never going to have a chance to calm down and feel better. Everything is draining me.

Sorry for bringing you all down. I'm just feeling yuck as fuck. Permanently. Hopefully my doctor will be giving me some meds that actually work soon, and my brain will quieten down and stop being such a bitch to me.

Anyway. Read on, my little whores. And stay sexy. (Yeah, making hundreds of sex references and innuendos is how I keep myself happy.)

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When Frank arrived at Skye’s, he had barely got the door open before he was attacked by a shrieking, happy Rosie. She threw her arms around him and he laughed, lifting her up so she could hug him better.

“Daddy!” she squealed.

“Hi,” he laughed. “I came to see you.”

“It’s been ages since you’ve been here! You have to see my room!”

“Uh, okay,” he said as she started dragging him up the stairs. “I’d just– I’d just like to talk to your mommy first, okay?”

Rosie pulled a face but reluctantly let him go, and he slipped into the living room, looking around. There was nobody there.

“Skye?” he called confusedly.

“Frank?” a distant voice replied.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Basement! I’ll just be a minute.”

There were clatters from downstairs and then the sound of clicking heels on the hardwood floor as Skye hurried up the stairs and across the corridor. She appeared in the living room doorway moments later, looking a little bit of a mess.

She was wearing her favourite dress, the vintage blue one with short sleeves that showed off her tattoos. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a bun that was already coming apart, chocolate strands falling over her blue eyes. She had splodges of red paint on her hands, and a pencil jammed into her bun.

“Sorry,” she said. “I said I was working.”

“Hi,” Frank said. “Uh. How are you?”

“Oh, tired. I’ve been painting for five hours.”

Frank laughed. “Right. So, I’m just going to go upstairs for a little bit. And then, um, I might take Rose to the park. If that’s alright with you.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I was going to be busy today and I felt bad that I wouldn’t have much time for her.”

Frank smiled. "Lucky, huh?"

“Yeah. I’ve got to get back to work, though, now, I guess.”

“Daddy, can you come see my room now?” Rosie piped up.

“Yes, I can,” Frank grinned.

Skye smiled and Rosie grabbed Frank’s arm and pulled him up the stairs. As they walked along the hall to Rosie’s room, Frank stopped to look at the paintings hung up on the walls. They were definitely Skye’s. Dark and vibrant at the same time. Half abstract, half undeniably realistic.