FRANK, FOR THE first time in a while, felt proud of himself.
He had made it, he made managed to not just get up by himself- but use his crutches to walk to the kitchen.
Sure, he had maybe fallen over and banged his cast against his desk and dropped a small figurine Ray had given him a few years ago, but that almost felt like a minuscule price to pay for the success of being able to gain just a bit of independence. He was on the right road, the road back to normality and living the way he used to.
The hope of knowing he would soon be able to return back to work and take care of himself spread across his skin like dew on spring grass. Frank could practically feel it in his blood. If formed such perfect spheres, each one like a tiny world of its own.
Frank had previously built so many brick walls around himself, keeping them as his cocoon for the years he needed their sanctuary so he never really felt that kind of hope. And he supposed he thanked them irrespective of that. Hell, he could practically see them, his eyes wandering their rugged clay surface, their rosy color bright yet earthen. Though the walls blocked out the warmth of the sun that always threatened to elevate his spirits, it had always made sure he was safe. But maybe a part of Frank didn't need them anymore. He was ready to live without that safety net.
And at that moment he swore he could feel the sunlight. He could feel... self forgiveness, almost.
Though soon Frank entered the kitchen and Bob was by the stove as usual. He had left Frank his pain medication on the counter like he usually did, and he hadn't really bothered turning around until he heard shuffling coming from Frank's untrained feet. They felt weak and limp, but Frank was doing it- he was doing it all by himself.
"Hey, wheel-boy. I made scrambled e—" Bob stopped ad he turned around, finally taking notice of Frank's elevated height and the crutches tucked under his arms.
Then he smiled.
Though wasn't the kind of smile Frank's co-workers wore when they saw him and his wheelchair, it was the kind of smile a mother bestowed on her child when they helped pick up a friend who had fallen. It was not a smile that belonged on Bob's usually sour face.
Frank could practically feel the warm glow of his happiness, "Well, would you look at that!"
Frank kept his proud smile stretched across his lips as he nodded as if to silently answer his unasked questions.
"Did you get up by yourself too?" Bob asked, and Frank suppressed another smile to instead give him a funny look.
"No, some guy named Casper came in and gave me a hand." Frank rolled his eyes, and Bob just chuckled at him as he focused back on cooking.
"How many weeks you got until you're going back to work?" Bob asked after a while, getting two plates from the cabinets.
Frank took a seat on his usual stool, setting his crutches beside him as he leaned his head on his palm, "Dr Pelissier's only clearing me after my right leg's healed."
Frank glanced down at his leg that wasn't wrapped up in a cast, his eyes glaring at the black sweatpants covering the tidy wrapping.
"Almost back to being a pain-in-the-ass cop, aren't ya?" Bob asked playfully as he set down the plate of eggs in front of Frank.
Frank bitterly smiled at him and tucked into his breakfast, "Thanks. Great take on the guy who pays a majority of the rent."
"Psh, careful swinging that fifty-two percent dick around, especially this early in the morning." Bob muttered, and he was weirdly quiet for a few minutes while Frank ate.
"I wasn't really... going to bring this up, but," Bob sighed quietly, "Your folks called this morning."
Frank stopped chewing as he stared at his plate blankly.
"What... did they say?" Frank asked almost inaudibly, trying to regain any type of appetite he had once had.
Him and his parents had never had the greatest relationship. Sure, they were parents and he supposed they did love him, but that didn't make their emotional connection any stronger. To Frank, even from a young age, he knew they all brought out the worst of each other. Each of them backing up the other's vices as if they were virtues.
Of course they were good people who cared, who gave Frank enough food and clothes. But every time he saw a cut flower he knew how it felt. It had no roots at all, nothing to anchor it to this world; yet was still expected to give its beauty, to flourish and warm the hearts of others. And growing up no one could see Frank's vulnerability; they couldn't see the roots he lacked.
Frank had always felt alienated in his own home, which wasn't exactly a rare theme in growing kids, especially teenagers, but there was just such a strong... mistrust in their home, that affected all three of them. Frank's father never trusted his mother to go out by herself, making her feel controlled, whilst Frank's mother never let Frank go to any parties or social gatherings without Bob or parental supervision. That was what really differentiated Frank from his peers.
He was... the sensible one in high school. He was the bitter student with straight A's and a reputation for threatening to rat out the bad kids, and he even did so various times- with no regard for his own safety since he knew he would get beat up for doing it.
Not to mention Frank's parents were the reason he rarely had friends, and rarely fucking left the house. And that had resonated with him, it had made him feel like he didn't need to have friends or get out, and all he did need was his own approval.
And for that, honestly, Frank hated his parents.
Well, a level of hate where he could still passively love them but still want to shun them completely.
Bob was quiet for a moment, the silence making Frank feel all that much more on edge. "They... They want you to retire, Frank."
Frank scoffed, dropping his fork with a loud noise as he put his head in his hands. "Typical."
Because it was typical of them. It was typical for his parents to intervene in his life— even when they hadn't even had the fucking decency to show up to his hospital when he got shot, knowing they lived only forty minutes away. And it wasn't if they resorted to calling either, because they hadn't.
Frank wasn't even worth a phone call to his parents.
"I know, Frank," Bob mumbled, clearly on edge around a dismissive Frank. "But—"
Frank's head snapped up to look at Bob, who's body was shuffling around like it always did when he wanted to say something but was fighting himself not to.
"But what?" Frank asked, "You agree with 'em or something?"
Bob sighed again, "Frank, I'm just worried about your mental health—"
"Who gives a shit about my mental health? This city needs all the decent cops it can get and I'm not about to give up on it because I got a little hurt." Frank said loudly, his eyes bleeding with aggression, his usual mode of anger taking over. The mode that always made sure he was unable to listen to any rational ideas and instead anger himself to the point where he wants to snap his own neck off.
Bob scoffed at that, "Do you hear yourself sometimes, Frank?"
"You— You can barely walk or sleep at night and here you are talking about how your mental health can go eat dog shit?" Bob asked.
"I'm not gonna retire so I can spend my life slacking around working in retail stores." Frank said, ignoring Bob's words completely.
"Frank, grow the fuck up!" Bob yelled all of the sudden, Frank flinching at the shock that zapped down his spine. "Do you not fucking remember how hysterical you were a few nights ago?"
Frank swallowed, "That has nothing to do with-"
"It has everything to do with what we're talking about," Bob interrupted as he clenched his jaw, "Look, I've been patient with you, Frank. I've fucking seen your dick around twenty times now too, so you need to fucking trust me when I tell you that you should hear your family out. Alright?"
Frank stayed quiet, looking back down at his uneaten eggs.
"I don't wanna stop being a cop," Frank finally whispered, and Bob seemed to sigh at that.
"I'm not saying you have to stop being a cop, I'm saying you should at least consider the fact that it's gonna be a hell of a lot harder for you to continue to be one." Bob said quietly, and Frank found himself nodding softly.
"Okay," Bob said, "Now eat your breakfast, I gotta get to work."
Frank nodded again, like a child that was being grounded. Though before Bob left, he turned back to him.
"Look, I... I am proud of you, alright?" Bob said quietly when he noticed the saddened looked across Frank's face, "I really am, you're doing fuckin' amazing, Frank. But you can't ignore the fact that you need some serious help."
Frank didn't answer as he blankly ate his food, his eyes cast down as he heard Bob sigh again and grab his things. He didn't say another word as he left the apartment, slamming the door as he did so.
And the moment he did, Frank threw the fucking useless plate of eggs on the ground.
✩ ✩
Frank glared at the wall, trying his hardest to stay calm as he waited for his mother to arrive.
He had invited her over after Bob's words had sunk in enough, and although it had stung that his father had chosen some business dinner over seeing his own son, he knew he had to at least get his point across. It didn't matter that this would be the first time he saw his mother in five months, he was going to get her to understand his decision one way or another.
And not too long after, he was opening the door to a short black haired woman in a drench coat.
It had been hard at first, especially since Frank had to keep his balance with his crutches, but he managed it.
She had greeted him like how she would greet her clients at work, not her son that had nearly died in an ambulance.
He didn't bother returning the gesture.
Though now they were sat on the couch, well, Frank was sat on the couch. His mother had taken a seat on the loveseat that was practically across from him.
"So," She said quietly, her awkward tone piercing the silence, "How are you, Frankie?"
Frank couldn't help the way his staring shifted into a cold glare, "Alive."
She nodded at that, her eyes trailing around the apartment.
"You... said you wanted to talk?" She mumbled, and Frank let his glare still for a moment as he nodded.
Frank was quiet before his soft tone filled the room, "Where were you?"
She looked perplexed at his question, "What do you mean, Frankie?"
"Don't fucking call me Frankie like I'm still in middle school. I'm not a fucking kid anymore." Frank said sharply, his words harsh and clearly taking his mother aback.
Though for a split second, she seemed almost angered by his words. "Don't talk to me like that, Frank. I might not see you a lot but I am still your mother."
Frank couldn't help the laugh that followed her words, "Yeah, Mother of the year, clearly."
"Hey—"
"What? Did you have something to add to that?" Frank asked challengingly, making her almost cower back in her seat.
That was just how things went between them, Frank would get angry and she would take whatever he was giving her, and at the last second, she'd completely lose her shit.
"Yeah, I really didn't thinks so." Frank muttered, leaning back against the back of the couch, watching as she fiddled with her handbag.
She stayed silent for a moment before speaking up weakly, "Why are you being like this- you never acted out as a child."
"This is acting out?" Frank asked with a raised eyebrow, gritting his teeth to stop from yelling. He had to pace himself, he knew that he wanted answers above anything else.
"Well, you—"
"I what?" Frank was losing his composure, "Am I being too harsh, mommy?"
"What is going on with you?" She finally yelled, and he knew now that her anger was kicking in, which was never a good combination mixed with his own.
Though that was when it happened for Frank. Like a chemical reaction, something inside of Frank snapped as he sat straighter and leaned closer to her.
"You sure you have the fucking time to listen to your son or is Dad calling you for his business dinner?" His words pierced through the silence.
"On the phone you said you were fine with your father not comi—"
"I say a lot of things," Frank said, "And apparently so do you, Mom, since you're sat here acting like you don't know why I'm angry."
"I don't know!" She retaliated quickly, Frank's anger issues definitely having been passed down from his mother.
"You didn't show up!" Frank screamed at her.
And she faltered in her seat as she flinched, looking scared of Frank. Though above fear, there was definitely guilt.
"You didn't fucking show up," Frank said just above a whisper, his volume having no bearing on his anger. "I could be dead, or paralyzed, and you didn't even..."
She swallowed, "Frank, me and your father where in the Poco—"
"You didn't show up to my hospital room because you were on vacation?" Frank couldn't help the way his voice quivered as he spoke.
She looked down, "We... We didn't know until after we came ba—"
"You're lying," Frank cut her off with a whisper, his voice weak and almost defeated. "Ray said Hurley called you the night it happened."
"Just admit I wasn't important enough," Frank said quietly, his throat aching from emotion.
"You know that's not true, Frankie." His mother said, but he just shook his head.
"How the fuck am I supposed to know? You didn't call me, you didn't visit me— for all you knew I could have been fucking dead. And you didn't even care."
His mother looked close to tears now as she shook her head, "Of course we did- do... I-I'm so sorry, Frankie. We were just scared to see you beca—"
"You were scared?" Frank asked, "You couldn't make sure I was alive because you were scared?"
"I—"
"Get out." Frank said plainly, swallowing his own tears down as he pointed at the door.
"What?" His mother asked, "Frankie, why—"
"I said, get out." Frank grit through his teeth, "Get out, you selfish fucking—"
Frank was cut off by a stinging sensation across his face.
The slap was as loud as a clap and stung the side of Frank's face. It had been an open-handed smack and it had left a red welt behind. Just below his eye was a small cut where the ring had caught him.
The action felt like a knife piercing his chest brutally.
"Don't speak to me like that." She said lowly, but Frank just shook his head.
He swallowed, hoping to keep his tone stern as he spoke.
"You have two minutes before I escort you out with my badge and gun." Frank mumbled, and sure, he knew he was bluffing, he knew he couldn't be ten feet near a gun without wanting to cry, but if the lie got her to leave then so be it.
"Frank..."
"I'm not joking," Another lie, "I want you to get the fuck out of my apartment- get the fuck out of my life."
Frank ignored the pained look across his mother's face as she stared at him. And he really shouldn't have been as hurt as he was by her getting up.
She grabbed her bag, not sparing Frank a single word as she rushed out.
And the second he heard the click of the door close, he broke down.
//—//
the next chapter is nice i promise 😌 you won't have to keep suffering like this
★ not edited ★