The Angel In My Attic

*Frank’s P.O.V.*

“Frank get in the goddamn car! I am not playing, you are going to school and that’s that!” his mum yelled at him.

“Fine! Why the hell did we have to move here anyway?!” He retorted. It’s not like where he had come from was any better but he had gotten used to the pattern his life had begun to follow.

“I got a new job Frank! Now stop arguing with me and get your ass in the fucking car! I am in no mood to fight right now!” She screamed at him as she walked out to the car. I was so mad at her. She didn’t even care if I had wanted to move. She only cared about herself. She didn't even care when dad- No no no I am not going to think about him right now, my life already sucks I don’t need to remember right now.

I just couldn’t wait to see what hellhole I was put in now. The last one was okay, it wasn’t the best but I could easily purchase alcohol from a guy I knew and also any other drug you could think of. It wasn’t that bad because I was so high and my thoughts were elsewhere. I got bullied a little bit due to my appearance, smart mouth, attitude, and everything else about me. I could deal with it, I had ways to cope with it. It was hard at times though. Last night was hard. Everything was ripped from me and I was uprooted and moved to a different town. It’s not like I had friends back there but I did have my “friends,” if you know what I mean, and now I doubt I could even get a hold of a pack of cigarettes.

Mum dropped me off in front of the busy school and drove off quickly without even saying goodbye. People starred at me as I walked to the front office. I guess they had never really seen a kid dressed in a black hoodie, with the hood up, black skinny jeans, black converse and a band shirt on. Maybe it was the tattoos… His mum had always hated them but he didn’t care, they were kind of a “fuck you” to her because she was never around. They also were relaxing and always there so they gave him comfort while nothing in his life did.

I got my schedule from the office and made my way to my first class. English. Yay. All my classes went by slowly, when lunch came it felt like I had been in this school for an eternity and a half. I had already been spit balled in every class, tripped a thousand times in the hallways and had been called fag and other insults a million times. I decided I need to smoke. Taking my last pack of cigarettes out I made my way out to the side of the school to find a place to smoke in peace. When I found one I threw my stuff down and lit one up taking a greedy breath in of the bitter smoke, instantly relaxing me. I quickly finished the first and lit a second. When I finished I figured I should go back in and make my way to music class. As I walked down the hall I instantly felt that something was wrong.

I walked a little faster trying to get to my destination before anything happened. Unfortunately, right as I was turning the corner two jocks grabbed me and pushed me up against the lockers. They were much taller than me, though most people were.

“Well hello little faggot! We’d thought we’d teach you a lesson since it’s your first day at school here!” Upon saying that douchebag one punched me in my stomach while the other pinned me against the lockers so I didn’t fall. Douchebag two them punched me in my face causing my face to snap hard against the lockers. This time they let me fall to the ground. As I crumpled to the floor they began to kick me hard in my stomach and in my head, causing the breath to be taken from my lungs. Finally they left leaving me in a bloody heap on the floor, laughing as they went. I slowly got up barely able to stand. I gave up on the rest of my classes and decided to go home. On my way home I felt I needed some beer or any sort of liquor. I saw a homeless man sitting on the corner and bribed him to get me some alcohol. When he returned he gave me two bottles of beer and a bottle of really cheap vodka. Atleast, I thought, this would help numb me for a while. I then continued my walk home finishing both of the beers before I walked in to my new “house.”

I grabbed the bottle of vodka from my bag and went to my room. I took a few gulps of the harsh liquor then proceeded to look for my music to play really loudly. I finally found it and put it on as loud as I could. I just wanted today to end and never have to go back to that fucking shithole of a school.

I finally couldn’t deal with it anymore I had to cut. I had to rip my skin open and feel the warm blood pour out of the wound. I needed it to relax, it comforted me, it made me numb, even more than all the booze I had just chugged down. I had done it before, multiple times, it wasn’t new to me. There were scars on my arms and legs. I grabbed my razor and vodka and made my way to the bathroom. I took off my hoodie to look upon my scars. I pressed the blade down upon my forearm and dragged it across, the crimson liquid flowing to the top of the fresh cut. After a few seconds I was on to my next cut on my arm.

“Stop! Please stop!” I looked in the mirror to see a boy about my age with longish black hair and beautiful hazel eyes crying and pleading for me to not cut again.

“Why should I stop? I don’t even know why the fuck you are in my house!”

“You should stop because you are better than this. You don’t need to drag a blade against your beautiful skin. You are not alone no matter what you think! Please please don’t hurt yourself!” And with that the boy disappeared through the wall to leave me alone. I felt warmth running down my cheeks and quickly wiped the tears away from my face. I don’t know why I was crying but, as this guy spoke I could tell he was sincere with everything he said. I then washed my cut and the blade and grabbed my vodka and went to my room. I put my blade away and changed into a sweatshirt and pajama pants and went down stairs, vodka in hand.

I don’t even know how I remained got down the stairs without falling, I felt so dizzy and I hurt everywhere. I couldn’t process what just happened. How did that guy get in my house?

“I know you’re sssstill here! Get th-the fuck out he-here!” I slurred.

He suddenly appeared through one of the walls. I must be hallucinating. His eyes were red rimmed from crying.

“Who th-the fuck are you!” I stammered out, god I was so drunk.

“I live here. More like I can’t leave here. Before you ask my name I don’t know it. I don’t know why I am here in this house. I have been here for more than six months, or at least thats all I can remember.” He said, his eyes never wavering from my own.

“Are you dead?” Wow I probably should have thought before I said that but, oh well!

“I don’t know” He admitted looking down at his feet, “I’ve thought about it so many times, I don’t remember dying. I think I would remember that. I think if I was dead I would atleast remember something of my life before but, I don’t remember anything.” He looked on the verge of tears again. I felt really bad for him, though a hallucination was all I really thought he was.

“Why did you stop me?” I said actually not stumbling over my words.

“I couldn’t watch you do it. I felt your pain and I understood why you wanted to hurt yourself, but I just couldn’t watch you do it. I knew I had to help you. I knew you felt alone, I know you hate yourself, I know how you feel and I don’t want you to feel that way. I will be here for you even if you don’t want me.” He looked at me and smiled. Coming closer he tried to wipe away the tears that had again begun to fall down my cheeks. He wasn’t successful, he couldn’t touch me his hand just felt like a cold burst of air against me. He smiled sadly at me and stepped back from me.

“I’m here for you uh-uh”

“Frank, I’m Frank” I answered quickly.

He smiled “I’m here for you Frankie.” And with that he turned and left disappearing through a wall.

Notes

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