Frank
I end the call with Sarah feeling worse than I did before I spoke to her, which is a first and one more giant fuck you in a day full of fuck yous. Talking to Sarah always makes me feel better. Tonight though, there was too much pity in her voice. Too much worry.
“I’m not the one who needs saving,” I mumble as I pour myself another glass of whiskey. “I’m the one who does the saving.”
Sarah told me to get rid of the liquor.
She didn’t tell me how.
Might as well finish the bottle while I can.
I bring the glass to my lips and survey the wreckage of my apartment. The contents of the box from the office are scattered across the floor. I tried to fit everything onto a shelf here in the living room, but there wasn’t enough space. The things I did manage to find a place for looked so wrong sitting next to the things I keep at home. They reminded me of a life that’s no longer mine. In a fit, I pulled it all down.
All of it.
The things from the office.
The things already on the shelf.
The shelf itself.
A pizza box sits open on the counter, crusts strewn across the lid. Next to it, a half-empty two-liter of Diet Coke. And beside that, one open bottle of Jameson and two more, yet to be opened. It’s been so long since I’ve had more than one drink and it’s all gone straight to my head. I snort, realizing I’m a lightweight.
A knock startles me and I spin, scowling at the front door. I don’t remember ordering any more food, but drunk Frank does love to eat. The room tilts on its axis as I find my way to the door and throw it open. A lightning bolt of rage stabs through me when I see Bree standing there in her work clothes, wringing her hands and chewing her bottom lip.
“The fuck are you doing here?” I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not welcome in my home,” I say as I start to swing the door closed.
Bree steps forward. “Frank, wait,” she says, and stupid me, I pause just long enough for Bree to push past me, right into my apartment. “I came to apologize.” Her eyes find the mess on the floor and she scowls. “You have to believe me when I say that I had no intention of getting you fired.”
How could she possibly think I want anything to do with her after what she’s done? I should have slammed the door in her face as soon as I opened it. “How are you even here right now?”
Bree shrugs. “There aren’t that many Francis Wildes out there. It was easy to find your address.”
“That’s not what I was asking. What I mean is, how are you even here right now?” I know I’m repeating myself, but I don’t think I could be clearer if I tried. “I mean, what’s going on in that weird little brain of yours that would make you think I ever want to see you again?”
She steps toward me. “I came to apologize…”
“Good God woman!” I widen my eyes, spittle flying from my lips as I speak. I wipe at my chin. “How crazy do you have to be? I can’t imagine I could have been more direct about my feelings for you!”
Her eyes dart to the glass in my hand. The bottles on the counter. Understanding dawns in her eyes, but she continues on, undeterred. “I just want to apologize. This didn’t work out the way I thought it would.”
“And just what did you think would happen? You’d get Sarah out of my life and then waltz right in? How many screws do you have loose up there?” I point a finger at my temple, then take a wobbly drink.
“Frank…” Bree puts her hands on my chest and I lurch backwards.
“I’ve tried being patient. I’ve tried being professional. I’ve tried being understanding. But now that we don’t have to work together, I’m done trying.” I set my glass on the counter and fold my arms across my chest. “There’s nothing between us, Bree. Nothing. Never was. Never will be. How can you not understand that? Any sane person would have gotten the hint by now because God knows I’ve not been subtle.”
Bree steps toward me. “Please. Just listen to me.” She grips my arms and steps even closer, her body touching mine. The contact repulses me, but damn it, I will not put my hands on her.
I step out of her grasp. “No. You listen to me. Get the fuck out of my house.”
Damn if the woman doesn’t try to close the gap again. “Frank…”
“Go!” I point at the door, but the crazy bitch isn’t listening.
“I can’t just leave without finding out what it feels like to have you…” She puts her hands on me again and finally, I push her back. She stumbles, her ankle twisting in her high heels. One shoe flies off and she cries out but catches her balance before she falls.
I thunder past her and yank open the front door. “Out! Now!” I cry as I shove her over the threshold. “Do not come back. Do not contact me again. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Oh, and I’m calling the police!” I scream as I slam the door in her crazy face.