Bob's Point of View
I shove my hands into my pockets as I walk down the sidewalk, raising my jacket collar to help block the cool wind.
Several people that pass me stare. I imagine myself in their eyes.
My hair is lanky on top of my head, going in wild directions in the moving gusts. Circles under my eyes tell the tale of my insomnia over the past week, and my clenched hands give off the feeling of either being shielded or shielding from the outside world.
I can feel my feet moving towards the direction of the wind, sending myself on an unknown journey.
I end up at a park. A broken park.
Seems perfect.
I walk over to one of the limp swings, the seat cracked from age and use.
I don't dare to sit down, I know that my weight will break it.
The wind pushes the broken pieces forward, touching my leg like a dog begging to be played with.
I step away from the swing set and go to the slide. There is a long, large rusted crack blemishing the glimmering silver.
I move on, sane enough to know that the slide is going to collapse on itself at any moment.
My foot finds purchase on a worn, but not broken, merry-go-round.
I lift the rest of my weight onto the contraption and sit, pushing my hand against the ground to spin a little.
My head swims with memories of Frank. Our first kiss. Our first night together. All of our jokes.
I look at the cracking red paint underneath my feet, thrust into memories inside of Frank's red car.
"Come on baby, let me do it! I heard it's fun, and you'll love it, I'm sure," Frank said excitedly, leaning into me for dramatic effect.
I pushed him away, laughing at his eagerness to please.
"But what if I hit a bump? I'll choke you."
We were talking about Frank giving me head while driving, which he tried and failed miserably at.
It felt good for the whole thirty seconds it lasted though.
The smile, that I didn't know I had, fades as I gaze at the setting sun.
A sigh behind me brings my attention to the figure standing near the broken slide.
The merry-go-round is still swaying slightly, it brings me to a stop directly in the eyesight of the stranger.
"Why do you always want to watch the sun set alone?" Frank asks me, coming closer to lean against the railing, making the ride whine under his slight weight.
I don't answer. I can't answer.
What is there to say?
He turns toward me, his eyes shielded by large sunglasses. His cadet hat is pulled low over his face, further obscuring his visage from my eyes.
"Can we watch together?" he asks quietly, setting a foot onto the fading paint.
I nod as a response.
"I miss you," Frank blurts suddenly, barely sitting by my side.
"I-I miss you too," I stutter back.
A smirk appears on his face and he reaches up to take off the glasses.
"But, I don't know if I can handle your...profession." He puts the glasses into his shirt pocket.
"I can't get out of it Frank. I have to finish what I have to or else they'll kill me. Or worse...you," I attempt in explanation.
"How many do you have?" His eyes wander to mine in question.
"Eleven," I whisper.
He nods thoughtfully, leaning back against a rail to digest the information.
"Could you, you know, quit?" He states the obvious.
I laugh.
"No, that never crossed my mind," I comment sarcastically.
He gives me an apologetic look.
"So this Gerard guy is serious business, huh?"
I laugh again and nod.
"I'm sorry you got caught up in it," he says sincerely, resting his hand on my shoulder.
"So, are we...okay?" I venture carefully after ten long minutes of awkward silence.
Frank slides his hand off of my shoulder and stuffs it into his jacket pocket.
"I, um, I don't know Bob. Death is a serious business, and you're in it. I couldn't imagine you killing someone, you're so...not murder-y like." A smile splays across his face at the new word. He turns somber quickly.
"I understand what you mean. I wouldn't put it past you if you ended up hating me for the rest of my life," I mutter.
Despair clouds his face as he looks over at me.
"I don't hate you."
The words catch me off guard and I turn to see the man who uttered them.
He smiles at me and then moves his eyes to the chipped red paint.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just...I didn't want you to think I was that guy. I didn't even want to join them, but they threatened you. No way was I going to let them kill you Frank. My Frankie. My Frankie. Not anyone else's. I love you, you're mine. Always," I ramble.
He shushes me softly, pulling my head to his chest. He strokes my head, moving his fingers through my lanky hair.
"You're a mess Bob," he states.
I nod, letting him fawn over the bags under my eyes and the mess of my hair.
"I'm sorry Bob, but I just can't come back yet." He pulls away, looking off in the distance.
I nod, shifting my weight to get up.
"I'll see you around," I whisper, getting up to head back to my house.
Frank nods and watches me leave, pain crossing over his features.
I feel horrible, worse than when I came here.
Suddenly, I hear feet pound against the ground behind me. Frank appears at my side.
"Need a ride?"
I wear this on my sleeve
Give me a reason to believe
<3
