Chapter three - I'd say thanks for the memories, but I really don't appreciate them

Ugh, life is hard. (Like my dick.) (I'm sorry, I had to.)

I have a goddamn headache again. I feel like I'm never going to have a chance to calm down and feel better. Everything is draining me.

Sorry for bringing you all down. I'm just feeling yuck as fuck. Permanently. Hopefully my doctor will be giving me some meds that actually work soon, and my brain will quieten down and stop being such a bitch to me.

Anyway. Read on, my little whores. And stay sexy. (Yeah, making hundreds of sex references and innuendos is how I keep myself happy.)

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When Frank arrived at Skye’s, he had barely got the door open before he was attacked by a shrieking, happy Rosie. She threw her arms around him and he laughed, lifting her up so she could hug him better.

“Daddy!” she squealed.

“Hi,” he laughed. “I came to see you.”

“It’s been ages since you’ve been here! You have to see my room!”

“Uh, okay,” he said as she started dragging him up the stairs. “I’d just– I’d just like to talk to your mommy first, okay?”

Rosie pulled a face but reluctantly let him go, and he slipped into the living room, looking around. There was nobody there.

“Skye?” he called confusedly.

“Frank?” a distant voice replied.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Basement! I’ll just be a minute.”

There were clatters from downstairs and then the sound of clicking heels on the hardwood floor as Skye hurried up the stairs and across the corridor. She appeared in the living room doorway moments later, looking a little bit of a mess.

She was wearing her favourite dress, the vintage blue one with short sleeves that showed off her tattoos. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a bun that was already coming apart, chocolate strands falling over her blue eyes. She had splodges of red paint on her hands, and a pencil jammed into her bun.

“Sorry,” she said. “I said I was working.”

“Hi,” Frank said. “Uh. How are you?”

“Oh, tired. I’ve been painting for five hours.”

Frank laughed. “Right. So, I’m just going to go upstairs for a little bit. And then, um, I might take Rose to the park. If that’s alright with you.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I was going to be busy today and I felt bad that I wouldn’t have much time for her.”

Frank smiled. "Lucky, huh?"

“Yeah. I’ve got to get back to work, though, now, I guess.”

“Daddy, can you come see my room now?” Rosie piped up.

“Yes, I can,” Frank grinned.

Skye smiled and Rosie grabbed Frank’s arm and pulled him up the stairs. As they walked along the hall to Rosie’s room, Frank stopped to look at the paintings hung up on the walls. They were definitely Skye’s. Dark and vibrant at the same time. Half abstract, half undeniably realistic.

“Look! Dad!” Rosie whined, noticing that he was no longer concentrating on her.

“Huh?”

“Look at my sign! I made it. It says Rosie.” She pointed at the wonky sign sellotaped to her door. Her name was hand-written in a rainbow of crayons, and pictures of roses were dotted around the page.

“That’s lovely,” Frank smiled.

Rosie beamed up at him and pulled him into her bedroom. Drawings of unicorns covered the walls, and her bookshelf was filled with fantasy books. Even at five, Rosie was an avid reader, and had already accumulated quite the collection of literature.

As intelligent as she was when it came to reading, though, she still had Dora and Spongebob posters all over her walls. Her violin sat in the corner of the room, along with a box of toys and a chest of drawers full of princess dresses, and on her bedside table stood a framed picture of Frank.

His heart hurt with how much he loved her, and he just pulled her into his arms and squished her into a hug.

“Do you like my room?” she mumbled.

“It’s wonderful,” he replied without hesitation.

----

Frank spent the whole day with Rosie, and in that time, he came to the sad realisation that he didn’t even know his own daughter.

Sure, he knew that she liked to play violin and dress up as Snow White, but really, he had no idea what else she did in her spare time.

He didn’t know all these weird little quirks a parent should know, like to always serve pizza with vinegar for dipping, or to never tickle her feet but to always tickle her neck. He had learned a few things in the six hours he had spent with his daughter, but he still felt like he was a bad father to not even know his own kid.

He left Skye’s to go home after dinner (vinegary pizza), and he could already feel the last of his good mood slipping away as he opened the front door. He dropped his keys on the table with a loud ‘clink’ that rang out through the whole house, and that was when he realised how empty his home was.

It used to be a good thing. He used to like the silence, the peace and quiet, but after five years, he was just lonely. He missed having someone in the house with him, someone to talk to, to laugh with, to cuddle. He wasn’t quite sure if what he wanted was for Rosie to be over more often, or if he wanted a partner.

The last relationship he’d been in had ended around two years ago. Pete had been a nice person to have around the house with him. He was warm at night, and he would talk to Frank and make him coffee while he worked. They could listen to Black Flag together and go to shows at weekends.

But at some point Pete started to get really depressed, saying life had no purpose. He started drinking. He scared Rosie. About a month later, he checked into rehab and told Frank they couldn’t be together anymore.

Frank shook his head, trying to shake away the memories of Pete slowly destroying himself. It was eight o’clock, and Frank supposed that he could get ahead with his work even though he was supposed to be sick, but he was tired and lonely and thinking about things he didn’t want to think about, so he just went to bed.

He laid awake for a while, just curled up on the left side of the bed, cold and alone. It had never been something he thought about; how lonely it was. But now that it had crossed his mind, he couldn’t get it out.

He forced himself to think of other things, but all that came into his head were more depressing realisations like that he didn’t even have any friends. He decided that he was going to go out tomorrow, maybe after spending some more time with Rosie, and that he was going to make a friend or get a date or whatever if it killed him.

Maybe this was the reason he just felt so fucking empty all the time. He was alone.

Oh well. Maybe he’d be happier tomorrow and in a better mood to go meet people.

Hopefully.

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*Awkward laugh*

This chapter was a little shorter than anticipated... I'm sorry .__.

To make up for it, please have this poem, written by me just now:

Frerard is a thing that i will ship for all my life
If you tell me otherwise i'll cut you with a knife
Frankie he is beautiful and gerard he is hot
Frerard is my otp and i ship it a lot

xoxo