Everything was perfect. I know, I know, that's cheesy as fuck, but I truly couldn't think of anything wrong. It had been two weeks since Frank and I made our declarations of love, and everything was... well, like I said, perfect. We'd fallen into a comfortable routine. Frank worked three days a week, so on those days I stayed at his house and worked on my Danger Days comic. One character was beginning to look suspiciously like Frank, but with long black hair as opposed to Frank's current haircut. I also continued to write in the notebook that guy - Ray? - had given me in the diner. It was a slightly weird gesture, the whole book-giving thing, but I found myself becoming more and more grateful. I wrote and wrote, always lyrics. The words were often rough and completely filled with emotion. It was, I found, an excellent outlet. On the days when Frank didn't work, we spent time together, the two of us. Sometimes we went out, sometimes we stayed in. But the best part of it all, was the dreams. Or, well, lack thereof. I hadn't had a single dream for the two weeks. I hadn't seen the girl, or the shadows, since Frank told me he loved me. Man, I'm starting to sound like something out of those cheesy romance flicks that I totally do not watch when no-ones around. Right now I was in Frank's kitchen, staring hopelessy at all the... stuff. I didn't have names for most of the utensils in front of me. But I needed to learn, fast. Frank had called me from work, saying he was having to put in overtime because of some event at the store or something. Which gave me the perfect opportunity to treat him. I'd decided on dinner, all romantic and cute with candles on the table and... I really do need to lay off the romance flicks. Anyway, all of that led to my current predicament - I can't cook for shit. I sighed, rolling up my sleeves, and looked at the paper in front of me - a step-by-step recipe for vegetarian lasagna. Thinking about it, I probably should have picked a less complex meal choice, but I knew how Frank loved Italian food and I wanted to make this special, so I figured good food was a pretty solid start. "Here goes nothing..." I muttered to myself, and began messily attempting to create some kind of culinary masterpiece. Or at least something edible. It took almost two hours, but I managed to get a decent looking lasagna in the oven. I wiped my hands, proud of myself, and then took another hour cleaning up the horrendous mess I'd made. I glanced at the clock as I finished scrubbing the last dish. 5pm. Frank got off work in an hour, and it took him ten minutes to get home. I dashed upstairs, changed my clothes, looked at myself in the mirror, and changed them again. I fussed with my hair and eyeliner nervously, and than practically ran back down the stairs again, careful not to muss up my carefully-selected outfit. I got the lasagna sat in two clean plates and set them on opposite ends of the table. Then, I lit the candles I'd found in the back of a cluttered drawer, and I placed them directly in the middle of the table. After a moments consideration, I flicked off the light. The candlelight, along with the fading sunlight coming from the window, meant the room was dimly lit and flickering gently. I wiped my forehead, and breathed out heavily. I was actually pretty proud of myself. The food smelled good, the table set-up was pretty sweet, and my clothes weren't terrible. The final touch was the gift I had for Frank, wrapped in layers of delicate tissue paper and ribbon, against the wall by my chair. Positioned precisely so he wouldn't notice it, and I could pick it up and present it at the  right moment. I glanced up. Frank would be here in about 15 minutes. I slipped into the living room and sat on the sofa, pulling my knees up and watching some mindless program while I waited to hear his knock in the door. But to my horror, I heard something very different. A quiet little-girl's sobbing. My heartbeat stuttered, and then picked up double-time. The noise came from another room... The kitchen? No, she couldn't be in the kitchen, I was there a minute ago. But... I had left the window open a little. I rose slowly and, against my common sense, I followed the sound. I crept to the kitchen, and lingered in the doorway carefully. Sure enough, there she was, curled up and crying. I remained still and silent, hoping she wouldn't notice my presence. A vain hope. Before I even realised it, she was in front of me, small and yet deadly with her scarlet glowing eyes and the bloodlust marking her youthful face. She screamed suddenly, and I clasped my hands over my ears. The noise was shrill, penetrating my mind despite my hands, and rattling the windows. I curled on the floor, sobbing now, trying to block the noise out of my head. I crouched pathetically, silently begging for her to be gone. All at once, the noise stopped. I looked up at her, and she leant down until her face was level with mine. "It's over," she hissed ferociously, and she just... vanished. Dissappeared completely. Before I could process that, I heard a knock at the door. I ran to it, praying Frank would make sense of all this. But it wasn't Frank on my doorstep. It was a uniformed police officer. And behind him, was Dr Lee. I stared at the two of them in utter horror. Dr Lee smiled at me, and I saw the sadistic glow in his face. "Hello, Gerard."

Notes

Uh-ohhhh. Time for some real drama. By the way, the next chapter will be Frank's POV. I don't change around very often but it feels necessary. Until next time, Paranoia Violence out xø