I'm always sitting at home alone, and I honestly don't get out of the house much because the sun bothers me. I have the darkest hair and palest skin in the family. My plain brown eyes seem black sometimes and honestly I pretend nobody else exists because nobody seems to understand me, besides my music. My dad is the richest man I know, yet he won't get me a V.I.P pass to Green Day, *sigh*
Also I just live in a really rich neighborhood and we always have workers outside perfecting our house and they start talking to me and, no offense. but ew I don't to talk to them. We have this really weird neighbor who apparently thinks I love like 50 million types of food that I've never heard of and she offers it to me hoping I'll babysit her 7 kids. yeah, no thanks. She says she'll give me 100 dollars per hour. That is not normal okay, 100 fucking dollars per HOUR. I mean my dad gives me enough money anyway hoping I'll buy some new clothes that aren't so dark and punk. oh dad... anyway so back to the kids; I'll probably make them emo and not all parents want that. just saying.
My family doesn't really notice me much since they're always gone and I'm usually just discovering new bands and listening to my favorites of all time. I don't really mind, but I'd wish my dad could try to hook me up with some cool friends and not some rich kids who wear suits to school and use big ass words that I don't understand. and well when I get extremely lonely maybe attempt suicide, but I mean some worker always hears my yelps when I cut since it feels so good, and then when the cuts don't work I overdose. Sadly, they always come in to see why I was yelling.
That may also be the reason why they're so protective over me and always ask me how I am and try to converse with me.
Luckily they're pretty easy to shake off by saying I'm going to get them fired because they aren't focusing on their jobs. I'm so happy they don't know the fact that when I try to talk to my dad he always says he's busy or he makes we work and he's on the phone. Honestly, I thought 14 attempts at suicide in one week was enough to get him to the hospital to even ask me if I was okay. Guess not, he went on a business trip to New York.
My dad barely ever comes to the house since he's always so busy, and when he does he never even talks to me since he just checks up on the house, and what can be better and to organize folders and papers. And it's not like I could find him anyway if I did know he was home and he wasn't so busy 24/7.
Our house is probably the largest in the area, which I dislike because there's just too much room. I'd rather live by myself in a small shack and just keep everything dark and messy like my soul.
But noo, we need to live in an organized, white, lots of light (many floor to ceiling windows), three-story house. ugh.

Notes

so here is my first chapter ever and it's probably gonna suck, make sure to comment and subscribe if you like it.
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so this chapter exists mostly just to tell the general plot of this story and to kind of get you thinking about how big this house is and how alone Frankie always is.
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well, comment and subscribe 'n shit, and well. freradthough. xx