T H I R T E E N
midsummer night's nightmare.
I have a few problems with edibles, one being they don't hit quick enough, and two they always taste so fucking good. These issues combined mean I don't think the edible is strong enough, so I eat a little more, then I realise it's delicious and eat it all, and then I'm destroyed for hours.
After I took the Plan B my stomach hurt. Now, it is listed as a common side effect, but I diagnosed myself with stage three metastatic bowel cancer and started having a panic attack, so I made pot brownies. Naturally.
Life is good. Like really, really good.
So what JJ got arrested? It's his own damn fault. So what I got a little emotional eating the Toberlone he stole for me? I'm probably going to start my period.
So what everything.
The kitchen smells like vanilla cleaner, and the aftershave-esque candle stinks up the rest of the house. No weed smell at all. So I'm relaxing in my room.
I stare at the show playing on the TV in front of me, the characters dance across the screen, all while blood squirts out of someone's neck.
The door to my room opens, and I sit up like I've been struck by lightning.
"Are you trying to learn German?" My mother asks me.
I stare at her blankly, she just spawned out of nowhere. She wasn't meant to be home for hours. I look at the clock sat on my desk. Nope, she's right on time. How the fuck did six hours go by so fast? "What?" I ask, tipping my head to the side, completely lost in the question. My brain swims in confusion. And THC. Especially THC.
"The movie, it's in German," she points to the TV.
I look at it, and finally, the speech I thought I understood suddenly sounds a lot like German-sounding gibberish. I swear I understood that. "Language learning is a passion project," I tell her with a wide smile.
She nods, "Well I came in to give you your dress, we leave in an hour and a half. A nap may serve you well," she smiles at me and walks out, leaving the dress on the hook on the back of my door.
"Ciao," I mumble as the door clicks shut.
I don't think she realised I'm high, I've always been good at acting sober.
Laying back in my bed that feels more comfortable than usual I stare at my roof, free of black mould and with a creak-free fan. There are no bubbles of paint on my doors, or water stains in the corner of my roof, the carpet has no stains and no coils from the mattress poke through the top, threatening to give me tetanus. I find myself wondering what jail looks like. It probably has a lot more concrete and brickwork than my room, and of course, bars cover the windows. Kind of like shark cage diving, the inmates being the sharks, and the being the general populous being humans watching the show. Or a zoo, that one makes more sense. A lot less long-winded.
Getting out my bed I walk over to my desk and rub my face with moisturiser hard, trying to sober myself up. I took the brownies about three hours ago, give or take a few hours, so they should be wearing off, depending on how many hours you give or take.
I get ready messily, and, by the end, I look a little questionable. I don't feel like Frankie, or Mabel or whoever people want me to be. Dressed in a silky beige, floral dress, I feel weird— although that may have to do with the prickly feeling of the hairs on my leg catching the material, it's very off-putting.
A knock on my door scares me, I mumble a come in, and my Mum walks in. She, as always, looks great. Like she belongs in nice dresses, with her hair done to perfection, and makeup flawless.
Usually, I'm good at makeup, but I had to do it twice after I put eyedrops in to stop my eyes from being bloodshot. The second time was a little sloppy.
"How was your weekend?" She asks, walking over to me, and gesturing for me to turn around. I do as I'm instructed.
"Alright, didn't do much." I lie.
I feel her fiddle with my hair, the prickly sensation makes my eyes shut. She takes it out of the ponytail, she begins braiding it loosely.
"Getting stoned tonight wasn't the best idea, Frankie," she says very calmly. "You're awful at pretending to be sober, maybe just lean into being stoned."
My eyes widen, her gentle tone doesn't show any frustration. "It was a rash decision, sorry. I thought I had cancer."
I hear her laugh, "You don't have cancer, trust me." She tugs on the end of my plait, the little signal she was done. I turn to look at her. "Are you okay?"
"Right now? Yeah." I nod.
"People talk on this island," she tucks a piece of shorter hair that escaped the plait back, behind my ear. "I need you to know you can trust me, I'm always on your side. Always."
I nod, "You're not mad?"
She shakes her head, "Be sensible, that's all I ask. We're heading out in ten. Don't wear your trainers, they're so ugly."
"That's fair," I mumble as she walks out.
When I walk down ten minutes later, with my teeth scrubbed, having chugged a Diet Coke and eaten a piece of bread. Getting into the car I realise my Dad isn't in the car.
"He went a little while ago. Had a temper tantrum about his tie," my Mum explains calmly as she pulls out the driveway and toward the party.
"You know, I broke up with Rak—Rafe, right?" I ask her, twiddling my thumbs I forgot to wipe the thin coat of chipped blue, sparkly nail polish.
She nods, "I also know you apparently are with a boy Robbie got out of jail."
I cringe slightly, "I'm not with him, for the record. But Robbie did get him out of jail time."
"I know, I talked to him about it. He's in jail again, right?" She glances over at me.
"He's a little rough around the edges, and makes awful choices," I acknowledge.
"But Robbie said he's nice, better than Rake, as he insists on calling him." She shakes her head with a smile.
I hum in agreement, he is nice. And he is better than Rafe. But he is in jail, which definitely isn't great. "Dad's gonna be mad," I refer to both the breaking up with Rafe, and the boy from The Cut currently getting charged with a felony, being seen with me. Not amazing for the good ol' image.
"Yes, he is. But he is slow on the uptake, so you have time to make decisions on how you want to handle this."
"I'm not getting back with him," I decide immediately.
"I know that, but you're a smart girl. You figure out if you want to tell him, or just wait for him to find out," she explains one of the many choices I have to make.
I'm going to get choice paralysis soon.
"And what to do about JJ, right?" I look across at her as she parks. "That's a choice I need to make."
She nods, "It is. But do what makes you happy, you're young, don't worry about the stuff your parents are meant to worry about." I think she talks about how Rafe and the Camerons and intertwined with the income of my family.
I nod and we both get out of the car, as the venue comes into view I appreciate how gorgeous it is; as always. But this year, it all feels a lot ickier. Agatha decimated half the island, where people's houses were destroyed and they went without power. But here Figure Eight is, ignoring that and throwing parties about menial shit. It's just to show off how expensive your dress is, your new face-lift—that you obviously deny—and how they started walking and doing yoga every day and magically halved their body weight when we all know they're pumped full of Ozempic. But no one says anything, you just smile and say they look good and turn around to someone else and say they look like a hag.
After a peck on the cheek my Mum disappears, leaving me stoned and alone.
Standing very awkwardly I look around the party, begging to see someone I know and who doesn't want me dead or in a mental institution. Tucked in the corner of the event is Pope, in a hideous shirt. As I walk over quickly I dodge people who stare, I wonder which drama they heard about. Or perhaps I need more eye drops. Kie stands in front of the table Pope mans.
"'Cause, it might mess up my costume," Kie puts on an awful English accent that no doubt would send the Queen further into death. Rest in peace, Liz.
Pope smiles back at her, replying in his own version of an accent that barely resembles an English accent. "We wouldn't want that now, would we?"
"That was very bad," I laugh.
Kie smiles when she sees me and pulls me in for a hug. "Good to see you, are you okay?" She asks, letting go.
"Fab, really, terrific one may say. Awesome. Weird word. Awesome. Obviously comes from the word awe." I ramble.
"Are you stone?" Kie asks, analysing my face.
"Psh, no." I wave her off.
She grabs my chin and angles my face to her, "You're so stoned. Look, Pope," I am directed toward Pope who nods.
"You do look pretty stoned, Frankie." He agrees with Kie, whether that's because he's hopelessly in love with her or because he actually thinks that is up for debate.
"I got scared I had bowel cancer and may have eaten an edible to make me feel better, in hindsight, not one of my better choices," I admit.
Kie scoffs in amusement, "You don't make many good choices."
I shrug and lean against the table, brushing the pieces of hair that fell out my plait back again. The fuckers are trying to be inhaled.
"Ever seen this many Kooks in one place?" Kie asks.
"Yes, ma'am. Last year. That... was a complete shit show," I cringe at the memory.
"Was pretty fun to watch Rafe get beat up, though," Pope reminds me of the event that really was not fun to watch last year.
It was one of the few times Rafe didn't punch down, he tried to go after someone on a similar level socially. Not only that, he went after the one guy that competed in the state championship. He didn't win, but he was better than Rafe, that's for sure. The entire thing was a blur in my mind, fists were thrown, blood dripped out of Rafe's nose, staining his shirt and the guy's fists. The guy didn't even want to fight him, he tried to get Rafe to fuck off, but he wouldn't, and he wasn't about to let himself get beat up, so while Rafe started the fight, the guy sure as hell finished it.
Rafe was itching to beat someone up, and when the guy bumped into me, it was game on.
And when I tried scrubbing the blood from the crisp, white shirt, I tried ignoring how Rafe screamed that I broke his nose. Like I was the one who punched him or made him pick a fight.
Kie sighs, "We're in the lion's den," she comments. The three of us look around the room filled with tens of thousands of dollars worth of suits and dresses that no doubt cost more than the average mortgage on The Cut.
Pope looks across at me, "Have you heard from JJ?" He asks me. I shake my head, looking down at my feet covered in a pair of sandals I have never worn and almost immediately regretted wearing. My floral dress blows in the wind, tickling my ankles.
"Nope. My brother called me, but I was crying because I thought I had bowel cancer," I admit.
Kie holds her hand above her eyebrows, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looks at Pope and me. "He'll be alright, he's got the survival instincts of a cockroach." She assures.
I would add he also has a death wish, but I don't know if that's comforting. I doubt it.
"It's all my fault," Pope sighs, leaning forward on the table, placing all the blame on himself.
"You didn't do this, Pope. Topper almost killed you. Remember?" Kie comforts him. I can hear clapping starting from inside the venue. I look across and see the Camerons entering in all their rich glory. All the sycophants almost fall to their knees as they walk inside.
Pushing off from the table I smile at the two, "I need to go and talk to Sarah," I tell them.
Kie rolls her eyes, her face goes sour. "You're seriously still friends with her?" She scoffs.
I take a deep breath, I think if I wasn't stoned out of my mind I'd snap. "I'm Switzerland, Kiara. I like her, I like you. I am Swiss." I smile and walk away.
On my way across the party, heading toward Sarah, I steal two flutes of champagne. Downing one before I even get to her. Seems like I'm looking to get white girl crossfaded.
Sarah spots me and smiles, "You look gorgeous," she compliments. I do a twirl that is more coordinated than it should be, and I then hand her the other glass of champagne. "And you give me alcohol, you are perfect, Frankie."
"You look great, too," I look her up and down. Behind her is a man holding a tray of flutes, I slip past Sarah and grab two more. "Thank you," I smile at the waiter.
When I stand back in front of my blonde friend she looks a little more severe. "How are you?" She asks. "Rafe told— well, he shouted at me that you're fucking insane, and I think that means you broke up." She surmises.
"I am a single lady," I confirm. "And you know what's funny, I still check my phone, expecting to see a bombardment of texts detailing everything I've done wrong since I last saw him." It's true, every buzz of my phone makes my heart drop, my body not catching up to the fact Rake and I are over.
Sarah wraps a hand loosely around my waist and guides me out to the outdoor area of the venue, tucked away from view. Mostly out of earshot, unless you walk outside. I sit down, getting comfortable and chugging the champagne. It's getting to the point the alcohol doesn't make me want to vomit.
"I'm glad you broke up with him, you were so sad with him. You never talked about it either, that was perhaps the most scary part," she explains.
I nod, "Your brother is an awful boyfriend. But, then again, I am an awful girlfriend."
"Did you actually cheat on him? Or did someone make that up?" She asks, free of judgement.
I take a second, wishing I brought another brownie. "Yes, I did. Sorry," I apologise.
"You could've cheated on him for months and still would've been a better girlfriend," she hits a little too close to home. I decide not to say I did cheat on him for months, leaving her to believe it was for however long she thinks. "Do you have any weed on you? Or did you do it all already?"
I look across at her, "Why does everyone know?" I ask bewildered.
"I think it's just the people that know you, you get this spacey look, and when you think too hard your eye twitches."
I sit up, "My eye does not twitch!"
She grins, "It most certainly does."
"I'm going to break this glass and stab my neck, I am doing weed again. I'll stick to vodka," I huff.
"The other stuff that's being said, how much is real?" She asks delicately.
"Probably all of it," I stare at the water. Fragments of sunlight bounce off the water like a mirror, turning the surface into gorgeous warm colours. The wind disturbs the top slightly, creating small ripples that change the colours.
"So you're pregnant?"
"What! No!"
"What about the one you cheated on him with Ms Janice, you know, the English tutor with big boobs?" Apparently, most of the rumours are massive lies.
"Oh my God, no. I mean, I would, but no. It was not her," I shake my head, slightly in shock at how that rumour started.
"Who was it, then? One of John B's friends, I know you started hanging out with them." When she says that I immediately realise why the rumour of my being pregnant started. Probably the cunty worker at the pharmacy. "It wasn't Kie, was it?"
"No, it wasn't Kie. It's the blond one," I admit after drinking half the second flute.
"Didn't he just get arrested?" She tips her head to the side, part amusement, part curiosity.
I nod, "Yep. I have great taste."
Sarah smiles, "Jesus, you sure do know how to pick them. Are you with him?"
"Nope, I broke up with my long-term boyfriend less than a week ago," I shake my head.
"But it was hardly a relationship, more like a prison," she points out. "How well do you know John B?" She asks after realising I don't want to continue the topic.
"I don't know his social security number, or his birthday, but I have met him a few times."
She looks at me weirdly but moves on. "What do you think of him?" She presses. Taking a sip of her drink and trying to seem uninterested.
"He's nice. Why do you ask?"
"I kissed him."
"Really?"
"Really. It was weird. But a good weird." She smiles, seeming to be reminiscing. "What do you think?"
"I mean it wasn't on my Sarah's Boyfriend's bingo card," I tell her.
"JJ Maybank wasn't really in my Frankie Boyfriend bingo card," she retorts.
"No more boy talk, it's giving me a headache," I shake my head, grabbing my nose for dramatic effect.
"Maybe you need to drink more water," Sarah smiles.
As the night progresses, Sarah and I move indoors. We dance, her playing the female part, and me the male. We laugh, standing between loved-up couples. I twirl her, and she steals my champagne. I can feel Rafe and Topper staring at us. And Kelce, because he isn't more than three feet away at any given time. We switch rolls, I grin as Sarah spins me around, and my head tips back, a laugh escaping.
I feel light and breezy. Everything that weighs me down drops out the back of my head, it'll all hit me soon, so I enjoy every second.
After downing my seventh flute Sarah cuts me off, so we dance holding hands. She tries teaching me to waltz, but it doesn't go well. I step on her toes, she keeps trying. Looking up from my feet after I tried in her toes for the fiftieth time, she obviously sees something that catches her attention. "JJ?" She asks. I stare at her face, wondering if I should turn around.
Sarah stomps in my toes and I turn around. Sure enough, the JJ she seemed to refer to, was the same one I know too well. My eyebrows furrow as I stare at him, "Aren't you meant to be in jail?" The question comes out of my mouth before I have thought I shouldn't say that.
He grins, "You look amazing, Mabel." I look down and see a folded piece of white paper in his hand. "But I came here to give Sarah a note, from Vlad," he hands it over to her.
Turning back to my blonde friend I see her face light up with a smile, "Vlad? Who the fuck is Vlad?" I question, surely I'd remember someone called Vlad amongst all the Perers and Davids I know.
"From Vlad?" Sarah asks again. JJ nods with a knowing smirk.
"Oh, Vlad. Like Jo—"
"Bingo, aren't you smart." He grins at me, then looks at Sarah, "Mind if I steal Mabel here?"
"Go for it," she grins when JJ grabs my hand and begins pulling me away I look back at Sarah, 'Mabel?' she mouths, weirded out by the use of my first name. I shrug.
"Okay, sweetcheeks. We gotta power walk out before your psycho ex-boyfriend wants to kill me," JJ explains as he moves through the crowd of happy, dancing couples.
"Don't call me that in public," I mumble.
He glances across at me, "So I can in private?"
"You know what I meant, dickhead."
"Your brother is so much like you, he called me a dickhead about thirty times. Except for the fact I want to fu—"
"I'll scream murderer, people will believe me. You just got out of jail and are dragging me through a crowd." I look at him seriously.
We make it to the edge of the party where Pope is serving people, and Kie is keeping him company. "We gotta go," JJ tells them both. Pope glances back at his father, who gives him a warning look, one that says not to test him.
Pope does more than test him, he takes off his apron and we all begin walking away.
"Drama," I grin at JJ. I've lost all reason. JJ just smirks at me and shakes his head.
•
I hate this chapter. I did it twice, but it still gives me bad vibes. Plus it is very Mabel no JJ heavy, which we don't appreciate.
I need to vent about a story that had an update schedule of every two weeks, where the couple broke up, and she has not seen nor spoken to him in four chapters, it's driving me crazy, I haven't read an interaction of the main couple for two months (weirdly I don't care if someone updates every two months if the main characters actually interact.) Every time they release a chapter it's about side characters or a cat or a therapist. I swear on my Nan's grave if the next chapter (two and a half months after the last interaction) is not a reunion I will give up. It's driving me crazy and no one else mentions it (not that I have! I don't comment unless it is inherently positive.) Thank you for listening.
I also go to the dentist tomorrow and I have convinced myself I have tooth cancer or some shit. (If you haven't put it together Mabel is very representative of irl Gushy, I did diagnose myself with bowel cancer a few weeks ago after one stomach ache)
Onto the topic of HMOTC, last time the majority did not agree with me. So, I'm feeling like I want people to agree with me today.
Introducing... Charlie Hunnam!
He's only a little over forty, so those disturbed that Danny Trejo was 79 don't get your knickers in a twist.
The all-important evidence:
So... what do we think? I think he's got the hot criminal thing down pat, and even in real life he still is hot. He's also about six foot, for those who need that knowledge to make an informed decision.
I recently watched all of Sons of Anarchy solely because he looked gorgeous. And my God he lucked out in the gene pool. What's weird (especially when you consider who this ff is about,) is I am not a blond girly, I tend to like brunet boys. (And on the train of SOA, they did Tara so dirty with her post-prison haircut. RIP Tara)
Stay safe, my dude, and don't hold your pee for too long!