Work Text:
“I’m sorry.”
“She’d want you to move on.”
“Here are some flowers, your aunt passes on her condolences.”
That’s how it all starts. It starts with the sympathetic looks, the squeeze of the hands, the hugs. It was all Frank had at the funeral.
Both families attended, his family were most of the guests, which competed with the number of friends that came. His girlfriend was a popular woman who made friends with everyone and, during parties, made sure to greet them, but this time, he was making the rounds.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay heading home by yourself?” His mom asked him, her eyes round and soft and holding some of Mel’s favourite flowers in a sweet little bouquet. “I can stay over, help you with everything.”
He wants to say yes. He wants the touch of his mother again, the arms that held him while he cried. “No, I'm okay,” he promised, but even he could see that it was an empty one
Everybody kept asking if he’d be okay, and by the end, he was sick of it but still smiled, his bony hands deep in his pockets. His friends offered everything under the sun; her family offered to help pay for the apartment, so he had less to think about, and even his boss texted him, telling him to take the next week off.
He didn’t want to, but he did, purely so he could stay around the house, basking in the memories of his girlfriend and imagining that she wasn’t gone but instead just away from the apartment. That she was out grocery shopping and soon would come back to fill his empty cupboards. That she’d come around the corner from the laundry room any minute, arms wrapped around their bedding and laughing when Frank would hug her back, squashing the warm bedding between them.
The week went by slowly. People came over to check on him, but that soon stopped when people processed her death and went back to work. Frank never stopped, he never stopped loving her, dreaming of her, wishing for her.
Her stuff was still scattered around, but most of it had already been taken by Becca. She’d come over earlier in the week, barely saying a word and just shuffling around him when he answered the door. He understood the grief, the look in the social worker's eyes as they met. He understood the wobble of his sister in law’s bottom lip when she grabbed the framed photo of the King sisters at the beach the year before, before Mel got sick, before the end was inevitable.
“I’ll call you,” Becca says when she’s half out of the door. “To keep in touch, my therapist says that’s good.”
He forces himself to nod, to swallow and wave her goodbye as she walks down the hallway. He doesn’t bother with a reply; he knows they’ll both let the connection dwindle until she’s just a contact in his phone that he skips past.
The memories are the most challenging part; she’s there at every corner. He remembers the sad times, the happy ones, the tough ones.
He remembers carrying her over the threshold when he finally bought this place after months of waiting. Bringing her breakfast after she was awarded the promotion at her work, resulting in a late morning nap and his dog pawing them awake.
But he couldn’t be in the apartment for long these days. He just came home, dropped his things and headed back out again; he didn’t care where. He often found himself at the park, sitting on the swings and listening to the laughter of families nearby. It made him remember all the old times, all the times he brought Mel here for walks with his dog, when they got Tanner and Millie here and let them play to tire them out.
Today was the longest he’d been awake, and in the apartment, someone get him a fucking medal.
He blamed the exhaustion while his body refused sleep, or maybe the fact that a book fell off the bookshelf when he was angrily packing her stuff away the night before. It sprang him back to the nights spent on the couch, Mel reading some boring medical journal while Frank played with her hair and clicked through the TV channels. He didn’t dare leave after packing some of her things in the box; he didn’t want to stay angry, never at Mel, never at her memories.
Now, he stared off into the mirror in the bathroom, voices echoing in his head.
Sunday morning dance parties while they brushed their teeth, early morning conversations while Mel sat in the bath, and he sat diligently by her side, watching her like he did the stars in the sky. Arguments held near the mirror, passionate shouts until one of them apologised.
It was all too much.
Too much.
Too soon.
He felt the searing pain in his fist, blood splashing onto the porcelain sink and glass clattering around him. The wound itself was gnarly, with little pieces of glass stuck inside, and he knew it would take a bit with his tweezers to get it all out. Mel used to be the one who patched him up.
“Fuck.” He mutters, scratching his other hand through his hair and looking around him. He didn’t care that the glass cut up his feet, the pieces crunching underneath his knees as he crouched down.
His hands burned in the fit of rage, the pain in his left hand and the shakiness as he attempted to clean up the mess on the floor, but it was no use, too small of shards to pick up with his fingers, and the cuts on his knuckles were already too much
His good hand reaches up blindly, tapping against the small glass table that sat just off from where he was kneeling. It was a piece of furniture that Mel insisted on, telling him it was beautiful and that she’d make use of it somehow.
And his girl did.
He ached to find the spare towels that were usually stacked there, but his hand found something even more precious. His hand curls around the frame of her glasses, her spare ones that she barely wore, but he loved so much. She hated them, saying they made her look alienated, but he thought they made her look beautiful.
He brings the glasses to his chest, tears splashing down on the tiles as his forehead meets the cool flooring and his body shakes with the force of his sobs.
-
“You can’t go out without glasses on, sweetheart. You need to be able to actually see the kids on stage.” He laughs, holding them out.
Mel was dressed to the nines for this Christmas show, something the kids’ school had thrown together at the last minute. Her hair was curled, a rare makeup day, and her dress hugged every curve (tasteful but appropriate), and honestly, he thought she’d look even better with her accessory.
“It doesn’t go with the outfit, Francis. I don’t know where my others are, but I thought I'd just be able to guess which child is Millie and Tanner.”
“That’s a horrible plan,” but follows her out of the door. He doesn’t tell her that he kept her glasses in his pocket the entire night, only revealing when he wordlessly hands them over once she started struggling to read the menu over dinner.
-
He must’ve spaced out because he wakes suddenly to the sound of a horn outside, and the once grey sky is dark. His hands are still shaking, and her glasses are digging into his skin, creating little indents, and honestly, he’s numb to the pain. He barely even feels a twinge when he opens his fist, the dried blood flaking and clotting, and the wound angrily staring up at him.
There’s an urge he feels, an urge to see Mel again, smell her, touch her, kiss her. He knows it wasn’t a dream; this whole damn thing wasn’t a dream. She’d never let him sleep alone on the floor. She’d coax him up and lead him to the bedroom or join him, curled by his side and holding his hand.
He looks up into the broken mirror, and his eyes slide down to the sink. The his-and-hers sinks that Mel loved the first time she saw them. She loved standing side by side, doing their morning routine together, with her carefully picked-out clothes and a specific order for skincare, hair, and brushing her teeth. Her makeup (that she rarely even wore) and her beauty products were still laid out, uncharacteristically messy. He knows the last time she was here, she was in a rush to leave on time for work. He promised he’d clean it up, but to no avail, he failed her on that occasion.
He finds his footing and moves to where he knew all the medications were. Mel adopted the nickname ‘Pharmacy’ because she was well-prepared for every occasion. The benzodiazepines sat precariously off to the side, waiting for the days when his back was in agony, and he couldn’t move an inch without gritting his teeth. His girlfriend begged him to go to the doctor again, to demand they do something about it, but he always put it off.
Frank snatches the bottle off the shelf, cracking the lid open and pouring the pills into his mouth without a second thought. They get washed down with some water from the sink, making him gag a little, but he forces it down. He hangs over the sink, eyes closed and hands clutching the sides
“I’ll be with you soon, baby. Don’t you worry.” He whispers, allowing himself to make a slow descent back onto the cold bathroom tiles and his eyes to close with her glasses still clutched in his grip.
The next time he opens his eyes, there’s a cool breeze coming from his left, and the sound of water fills his senses. The sky is a pretty blue, one that reminds Mel of his eyes, which she mentioned countless times. Her glasses are still in his hands, but instead of the bathroom tiles, it’s grass. The sounds of birds make him sit up, make him look around and let out a breath when he realises he’s not in his cold, empty apartment anymore but must’ve ventured outside before he passed out.
The sting of his hand is still there as he stands up, dusting off his shirt from the dirt and tucking the glasses into his back pocket while he gets his bearings. He was suddenly dressed differently from before, his hazy mind noting the shoes, jeans and shirt.
It’s a beautiful area, much different from the busy streets of Pittsburgh, and his immediate thought is that Mel would love it. She’d love the peacefulness, the birds, the views, and he ached to have her with him to experience this.
He makes his way down the path, leaves crunching under his shoes and the sun beating down on him, but it’s all ignored when he can smell the scent of Mel’s familiar shampoo lurking.
“What did you do?” Her voice is like angels singing, and he couldn’t stop the sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging, and a broken sob leaving his lips.
He turns around, a smile already on his face and his hands reaching out for her. “Mel,” he breathes.
She looks beautiful in this light, dressed like the last day he saw her, but her face is fuller, her lips not chapped, and her eyes crinkling in the way he adores.
His girl reaches forward, taking his hands in hers, which have stopped shaking now. Mel’s fingers dance over the broken skin on his left knuckles, bringing them up to press a kiss to them. “You can’t stay here.”
“I did this for you, to be here, with you.” He whispers, begging her to meet his eyes, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek. “Baby, we can be together again.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Frank. You can’t stay here, you have to go back.” She tells him, her voice quiet. “You still have time.”
He tries to hold on to her as she steps back, but something in him forces him to step back too. He feels a strong pull to move away, eyes never leaving hers as she walks away, into the distance.
His shoulders move, hands shaking again. They press through his hair, his throat closing up. “What’s happening?” He asks nobody in particular, not expecting a response. Frank’s knees meet the earth, hands moving to catch his fall, and he’s gagging. He sees the memories flash through, all the moments leading up to now, and he knows Mel is right. He knows he should go back; he should live.
His fingers go to the back of his throat, his body jerking forward. He pleads for the world to give him another chance, for the pills not to have settled yet, for somebody to find him at home before he wills himself to try again.
Frank closes his eyes, moving his fingers further back before he’s sick on the bathroom tiles of his apartment.
The early morning light is filtering through the windows now, bathing the room in a light dusting of yellow, and he feels suddenly at peace. The sun almost feels like a greeting; his girl was always the epitome of the sun, after all, and now it was her way of making sure he came back home.
“I’ll make you proud, Mel.” He croaks, wiping his mouth and sitting up on his knees. “I won’t forget you, ever.”
The sun goes back behind the clouds, and in this moment, it feels like acceptance as a knock is heard against his front door and the voices of his friends are echoing through the air.