12 Christian
After Frankie goes to her room, no one follows.
We all want to. Hell, every instinct in me screams to go after her- but Gram convinces us she needs space.
So we give it to her.
Ryan hovers in the hallway for a long time, before finally retreating back across the street.
Jamie storms out onto the front porch and chain-smokes until he runs out of things to smoke, and then he disappears.
Gram goes to bed early, exhausted and pale, murmuring that things will look different in the morning.
I stay up.
I stay exactly where I am, sitting on the couch, staring at nothing, listening for movement from her room that never comes.
At some point, I move back to my side of the duplex, but sleep never even comes close.
I keep replaying Jamie's outburst and, more specifically, Frankie's reaction to it.
I always assumed she knew.
Maybe not every detail. Maybe not the extent of it. But I figured she knew enough about how we all felt.
Apparently I was wrong because the shock on her face was real.
And now she's going to spend days thinking about it. I know exactly how her mind works because I've spent years watching it.
And that's what bothers me most about tonight.
Not that Jamie finally said it.
Not even that she knows.
It's that she's going to think our feelings are now her responsibility.
They're not.
What we feel for her has never come with conditions. None of us started showing up because we expected something in return. We showed up because she needed people in her corner. Because somewhere along the way, helping her, protecting her, making her laugh became as natural as breathing.
I need to make it clear that our feelings are not her responsibility. That nothing is expected of her. That no one is asking for anything in return. That what we feel doesn’t come with conditions or consequences.
That right now, all we want is to keep her safe.
And Gary… Gary oddly made that part easier tonight.
Because money?
That I can handle. That’s a tangible solution to a problem that thus far has been impossible to tame.
I wait until 7:00 a.m. before texting the group.
Me: Morning. Who’s up for breakfast?
Ryan responds immediately.
Ryan: Be right over.
A few minutes pass, and I keep watching the thread, waiting for her name to appear- for the three little dots, for anything.
Nothing.
I tell myself it’s nothing, that she’s probably still asleep after last night, but the thought doesn’t sit right. I push to my feet anyway and head down the hall, knocking once before opening Jamie’s door.
“Ugh… fuck you. It’s too early,” he groans from his bed.
“She hasn’t texted,” I say, glancing at my phone again like that might change something.
Jamie stretches, yawning, completely unbothered. “It’s seven on a weekend. She’s a teenager. She had a shitty night.”
I don’t respond. I just hit call, lifting the phone to my ear. It rings once, then goes straight to voicemail, and something tightens in my chest.
“Maybe her phone died,” I say, already moving, even as I know that’s not it.
Francesca doesn’t forget things like that.
I’m out the front door before Jamie can say anything else, crossing the porch in a few quick steps and knocking hard against hers. “Francesca?” I call. “Are you up?”
Nothing.
I wait, listening, the quiet stretching too long, too empty.
“Francesca,” I try again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
When I turn, Ryan and Jamie are both there, uneasy looks on their faces.
I knock again, harder. “Francesca. Open the door.”
“Frankie!” Jamie calls, sharper now.
Ryan’s already pulling out his keys, and he unlocks and opens the door.
“Gram? Frankie?” he calls as we push inside.
“I’ll be right out!” Gram answers from down the hall, but we don’t respond. Because we are all frozen in the doorway of Francesca’s room.
The bed is made, pristine. Like it hasn’t been slept in.
And right in the center of it, there’s a piece of paper. Folded. A heart drawn on the front.
For a second, none of it makes sense.
Then Jamie moves, crossing the room in a few long strides and grabbing the paper, unfolding it without hesitation.
I watch his face as he reads.
His expression doesn’t change so much as it just… empties. His shoulders drop, and he sinks down onto the edge of the bed like something inside him gave out, the paper slipping from his hand.
“What is it?” Ryan asks. “What’s going on?”
Jamie doesn’t answer so Ryan bends, picks up the paper, and I step in close enough to read over his shoulder.
If I’m gone, he can’t hurt you guys.Thank you for everything.Please take care of Gram.I love you.- F
Gram wheels down the hallway a moment later, her voice cutting through the silence as she takes in the three of us in her room, without her.
“Where is she?” she asks, already unsteady. “What’s going on?”
Her gaze moves from us to the bed, to the empty space, to the paper still clutched in Ryan’s hand, and I see the moment it starts to become clear.
I open my mouth to answer her.
Nothing comes out.
My throat tightens, locking around the words, because saying it- actually saying it- makes it real in a way it isn’t yet.
“She’s gone,” Jamie says.
It’s barely more than a breath.
He swallows, staring at nothing, and repeats it.
“She’s gone.”