I was going to sleep now. I hadn't seen Frankie all day, since the incident in the library.
He had had dinner in his room and had told Linda that he wanted to be alone.
So now I lay in my over sized bed, under the puffy black covers and stare at the black canopy.
I can't sleep, not that that's new. But tonight it's different.
I don't want to sleep, even though I'm tired. I want to see Frankie. I want to make sure he's okay. He was very upset when he left. I don't want him to be mad at me.
And I especially want to tell him that he is pretty, very pretty. I wonder what could make him think otherwise?

Whatever the reason, he was very wrong.
It was no use, I wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. I might as well go down to the library.
I grabbed the bag with all my drawing stuff in it and walked down to the library.
Once there I sat at my usual chair and started to draw.

I didn't even think about what I was going to draw I just let my hand dance around the paper.
And sure enough 35 minutes later I had another portrait of Frankie.
This time he was on the swings. He was at the highest point, his hair swirling in the wind, his eyes closed and head thrown back, he was smiling.
Why the hell do I keep drawing him? That 'perfect structure' excuse isn't valid anymore, so why do I keep drawing him?

Maybe it's because of his innocence and happiness. Of how he looks so young. Maybe because of how he sees the world? He probably doesn't know about all the scum in this world. He doesn't know that all the misery and hate will kill us all.
The world is ugly. Oh, so very ugly. And rotten.

But Frankie is beautiful and innocent. Maybe that's why I care about him so much; he's so child-like and I don't want his innocence to be stained.

Yes, that's it. I was about to go back to drawing when I heard the door of the library open.
What? No one ever comes here. I wonder who it is.
I listened intently to the light footsteps, "Gee-rawrd?"

Frankie.

I stood up and walked to where I thought he was. He was standing in the middle of an aisle, looking angelic if slightly worried.

"Frankie? Why are you up?"
It was dark in here, darker than in the rest of the house. Maybe that's why he looks worried? He thinks he's lost?

"I w-was g-gonna say s-sorry." He walked towards me, stopping when there was less thhan a foot of distance between us. His proximity was strangely comforting.

"For what, hun?" I felt my heart stop I had just called him 'hun'. What the fuck was going through my head?!

He looked up at me with a strange glint in his eyes and a soft smile playing on his lips, "'C-cause I c-called you n-names."


"It's okay, Frankie, don't worry."


"N-no, I w-was mean." he furrowed his brow, looking angry at himself.


"You were upset, I get it."


He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around me. I'm not one for hugs but there was something about Frankie that made me want to hug him and never let go.
So when he hugged me I reincorporated.


"I'm a-a meanie." he mumbled.


"No, you're not...everyone gets upset."


He pulled away and looked up at me, confused.


"Y-you get u-upset, t-too?"


"Of course I get upset."


"W-why?"


I walked back to the armchair and sat down, "For a lot of stuff, it's normal to get upset."


He sat down on the floor in front of me, legs crossed, "M-mom said t-that only b-bad people g-get u-upset."


Linda is so stupid. I can't imagine how awful it must have been to have been raised by that crazy bitch.
"That's not true. I'm sure your mom gets mad all the time."


He pondered this but the shook his head, "S-she's a-always sm-smiling."


"To smile isn't the same to being happy."
He looked even more confused.


"W-why?"


"Because sometimes people pretend to be happy so that other people don't worry about them, or just because they don't want to explain why they're upset."


He furrowed his brow, "I'm u-upset." he stated firmly.


This took me by surprise, I had thought that what had happened in the morning was only a tantrum. Not that he would still be upset because of it.

"What are you upset about?"


"N-not being p-pretty." he said immediately.
It didn't seem like he was talking about something that was worrying him since recently. No, it sounded like he had always had this problem.

Was that it? Had this beautiful angel grown up thinking he wasn't even pretty?
"Frankie, why do you think that?"


"...b-because I'm n-not. I k-know I-I'm u-ugly."


"Who told you that?" I was very angry now. Who would say that to him? Who dare question his beauty?


He looked at me in the eyes, "The mirror."


He didn't stutter and never broke eye contact. And during that time he didn't seem like an-always-happy-ten-year-old, no, he looked like what he was. A teenager.
A troubled teenager with very low self esteem that has made a habit of covering his problems with a smile.


"Frankie, believe me, you are anything but ugly," I got off the chair and kneeled down next to him, "You're very, very beautiful."


He looked at me with a strange expression, then he got up and walked to the door of the library. He opened the door and was halfway out when he turns and speaks again, "I w-wish I w-was p-pretty l-like y-you."

What the hell just happened?

Notes

This chapters shorter :/

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