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"My face is full of spiderwebs, all tender, yellow, blue
And still with one eye open, well, all I see is you."
Mel King spends her free evenings at the cemetery. Saying it like that, it does sound quite depressing, admittedly. Those hours, however, are the least dismal of her day. She likes to sit in her parents' company — which is very quiet, due to the tiny fact that they are both very much dead. It seems to frighten people when she mentions this, she noticed. Their faces twist, either turning awkwardly soft with pity, or into a disturbed, unbelieving frown. ("You're an orphan?")
Dana did the first reaction, with a well-meant shoulder-pat, and Javadi did the second one, with eyes like saucers in a very loud tone she later apologized for. Santos kinda fell out of line by saying she wished her own mother was dead. But to each their own.
Understandably, Mel has referred from telling any of her colleagues of her frequent visits at St. Peter Cemetery. When — and this was seldom — her coworkers invited her to an after shift cool off at a local bar to chuck margaritas, Mel lied and said she already made plans with her friend Peter.
The unusually warm end-of-September sunlight streams through the canopy of trees onto her patch of grass. Mel sits with her back against her father's headstone, The Cure on the headphones and her tattered copy of Interview with the Vampire resting on her knees. As a kid, she sat like this very often, leaning on her dad who brushed and braided her damp-from-the-shower hair while watching the evening news. Becca always clung to their mother's coattails, but Mel was a daddy's girl through and through.
It's very peaceful, maybe because her mother was the last person to be buried here, and that's only because Mel bribed the groundskeeper so her parents could rest in peace next to each other. A few months later, the groundskeeper had passed, and the cemetery slowly fell into oblivion. Now, wild poison ivy twins around the birch trees and weeds are sprouting from the undergrowth. Mel likes it that way. In some way it's beautiful to watch nature claim its space again.
Mel puts her bookmark between the pages before pulling her headphones off. Birds chirp in the trees.
"I need to go now. Oh, by the way, Dr. Langdon was really sweet again today. At noon, he told me to take a break and brought me a soda and some crackers. Sorry, I mean, Frank. His name is Frank, and he told me it's okay to call him that. I wanted to ask him about his favorite books, or if he doesn't read, but we got interrupted by an incoming code blue."
She scrambles up and brushes the dirt off her jeans.
"Becca and I want to order pizza and watch that Lindsay Lohan movie again. Better than Elf, am I right? I'll see you tomorrow probably. Bye!"
Mel steps out of the changing room to the locker hallway. She has changed into her denim skirt with black tights, her funky knitted sweater and the oversized denim jacket, her full backpack slung over her shoulder and clutching her Penguin Classics copy of Frankenstein that didn't fit in without suffering creases.
"Hey there, Melly Shelley." Frank stands by their lockers, spraying deodorant under his arms. His sweatshirt has slid up, revealing dark brown hair in a trail over his belt.
"Dr. Frankenstein," she replies with a nod.
Frank grins and tosses the deodorant into his backpack. "Headed to the graveyard?"
Her cheeks blush deep red before she figures it to be a continuation of their joke. They've been joking a lot since he came back.
"Oh." She laughs and taps the novel in her hands. "Ha. Good one. You?"
"No, I got a warning for digging up to many dead bodies." He clicks his tongue in disappointment, and she bites her lip, smiling hard. "Jokes aside," he moves on (she loves him for saying that) and shoulders his bag. "Are you coming with us to howl at the moon?"
The first time someone asked her that was last year around late October, and Mel was half-convinced her coworkers would reveal their secret werewolf identities to her. (Had she already warmed up to them so much they were willing to share such an intimate detail with her? How nice!) That was, until they reached the bar. Howl at the Moon turned out to be an establishment across the river, most known for live music performed by small Pennsylvanian boy bands and girl groups, and alcoholic drinks named by someone with a love for puns. Most notably: The Sex on the Moon bucket, the Howlin' margarita, and the Moon Me cocktail.
While Mel's social anxiety made her order a sparkling water, please and thank you, the Social Battery Refresher mocktail had made her giggle. Too bad she hadn't been invited again after that first initial hangout to order the drink.
She shrugs her shoulders at Frank's question and looks down at her outfit. "I — I don't think so, no. Are you?" She asks curiously.
"I wasn't sure yet. I'd much rather go if you're going as well. It'd be more fun."
An obnoxiously loud laugh escapes her. She slaps a hand in front of her mouth. "Is that a joke?"
"No," he says simply.
"Oh. Well, I had some plans, but those can be postponed." The good thing about dead parents is that you can leave them waiting. They've got nowhere else to go.
"Cool. Garcia's blowing up my phone to drive, so we better get going."
"Are you not drinking?"
"My sponsor advised me not to. Best not to slip into another addiction while in recovery, right?" They exit through the ambulance bay. The air is filled with a pleasant autumn chill but the days are still long enough to walk home in sunlight.
"That makes sense. They have very funny named mocktails I've wanted to try." She tells him about the social battery one and earns a hearty laugh. Since last year October, she knew he would find them funny. "Oh," she adds, when they reach the parking garage and she spots Garcia, Samira and Jesse waiting by Frank's car. "I call shotgun."
"In the time you take to put on your jeans I could've saved three more lives," Garcia calls over the parking lot as they come closer. "I call shotgun."
"Too late." Frank points at Mel unlocks his car. He holds the passenger door open for her.
"Come on, what the fuck?" Garcia throws her hands up. "Our little Jane Eyre here is clearly built for the middle seat! Look at her legs, now look at mine!"
Frank ushers Mel into the front seat nonetheless. "It's a five minute drive, you'll survive it."
Garcia scrunches her nose up and turns to the other two. "I'm not sitting in the middle."
"Me neither," says Jesse and tosses his cigarette stump to the asphalt, stepping it out with his black boot.
Samira sighs. "I'll do it. Can we get going now? I'm dying for a shot."
The bar hasn't changed much since the last and only time Mel set foot inside. A disco ball hangs from between the industrial pipes and sparkles light over the black high tables on the sides. The middle of the room is occupied by a stage with two grand pianos and more instruments, and the band is already playing some 90s song Mel recognizes from the radio.
The seats are filled, the floor is filling with college kids and a group of bridesmaids, dozens of people who are craving a night out or just got off shift like herself, and Mel remembers why she hasn't come back here in over a year. To be completely honest, she was invited two more times after the sparkling water disaster, but the atmosphere had been so overwhelming, she chickened out. Around the same time, the lie about her friend Peter was born.
Dana waves them over to a group of tables the hospital dayshift has claimed.
"Have you been here before?" She shouts over the loud music at Frank. He has to bent down to understand her.
"Yeah, quite a lot actually during my third year in residency. You?"
"Couple times." The white lie slips over her lips unprompted, and is immediately crushed upon the surprised exclamations of her coworkers.
"You think she got lost on the way to the book club?" Someone snickers.
"I doubt you'll be needing that tonight," McKay notes, nodding at the book Mel is still clutching.
Mel quickly hides it behind her back. Her feet ache to turn away and run to the graveyard. At least no one's mocking her there.
Frank leans down to whisper in her ear. "Can you save me a seat? First round of N.A. drinks is on me." He gently squeezes her upper arm, a sign of reassurance between them ever since his first day back, and smiles at her. She nods and watches him make his way to the bar. The crowd naturally parts for a man his height.
Their coworkers have already lost interest in her, or at least Mel hopes they are not making any more jokes on her costs she can't hear. She climbs onto a bar chair by a sticky table on the edge of the group and puts her backpack on the other chair before squeezing her book inside, accepting the unavoidable creases. Better that than someone's beer spilled over it.
Mel folds her hands in her lap and lets her eyes wander over the other people. Garcia and Santos are arguing (or flirting? Mel can never decipher their body language), Dana is telling an animated story that Mel missed the start of, and Javadi is showing Whitaker something on her phone. Mel tries to catch a glimpse but gives up quickly and takes her own phone out to act busy.
She scrolls on her home screen, pretending to answer the many texts she got during her shift. In reality, she got zero notifications the past ten hours.
When a large round tray hits her table, she looks up.
Frank has bought… well, by the looks of it, everything.
"Oh, God," she laughs, overwhelmed.
"I'm sorry, I didn't even ask what you want!" He shouts over the music. "Those are all without alcohol, and I asked them to put notes on them so we know which is which. Oh, and dinner!" He puts a large bowl of nachos with guacamole, cheese and sour cream in front of her.
"Thank you!"
"Of course. Cheers!" He hands her the large drink labeled with Social Battery Ref.
She takes a sip through the straw. It's stickily sweet and leaves a lemony aftertaste in her mouth.
"Nachos? I'm starving. Jack!" Samira appears at the table, with Abbot in tow.
"Do we share?" Frank asks Mel.
Without being invited to, Abbot dips some tortilla chips in the sour cream. "Of course you share. I'm your boss."
Samira laughs a little too loud at that in Mel's opinion. He isn't that funny. But their company is alright, Mel thinks, right before Abbot feeds Samira some nachos and kisses the cheese from her chin.
Mel stares at them, dumbfounded, then looks away in shame. When the hell did that happen? How much did she miss on all the nights she didn't spend with her coworkers? Foolishly, she had considered Samira to be one of the people she was closest with in the department. Apparently not.
She dares a glance towards Frank, who takes a big gulp from his beer. He changes his uneasy expression to a funny grimace when he notices Mel looking over.
"You're not really a club girl, are you?" He has to lean over again. She stares at his lips to understand what he's saying.
"Can you tell?" She slides a hand under her sweater and rubs over her elbow. It's very humid in here.
"It's okay." He tugs a napkin out from under the nacho basket. "Here, you wanna write down a song? They take suggestions," he adds upon her confused look.
"Oh, right!" She googled the definition of a dueling piano bar on the toilet last year. The pianists aren't actual rivals, but they take requests from the audience. Right now, they are playing some country song. Of course, Mel also looked up the best dueling piano songs, even if she had no intention on coming back. Preparation is key.
She doesn't have to think long what song to write down. "Good?"
Frank chuckles. "Very good. Go on."
The flock of bridesmaids comes to life upon the first notes of Kelly Clarkson's Since U Been Gone. Mel wants to sneak back to her chair, but Samira, drunk either from the shots she was craving or from being love, pulls her to the stage. The crowd howls more than they are singing but for a while, Mel forgets how uncomfortable the place makes her. She catches Frank's eyes, who grins at her, but then she gets swallowed by the dancing women again.
She tries really hard to become a part of them. But where is she supposed to put her hands? And how come everybody seems to know how to move their feet? As she jumps, she tries to analyze what's wrong with her. Is it the lack of experience? Maybe it's the outfit. Maybe she would blend in better with black skinny jeans and a short top, a dash of glitter on her eyelids.
Five songs later, Mel returns to their table to drink something.
"Where's Fr— Dr. Langdon?" Mel asks out of breath.
Abbot points his thumb at the door. "Just stepped out with Jesse and Dana."
Mel checks her phone and grabs her backpack. It's 8:34 p.m. Her feet hurt and sweat pearls between her breasts. If she is completely honest, she wants to go home, with a quick detour to the cemetery. It's been a long day.
"I think I'll go out for a…" When she looks up, Abbot has turned away. Mel empties her drink and slips past Santos and Garcia bickering (making out?).
Frank, Jesse and Dana are by a table outside; the latter two are smoking. Mel goes up to them.
"Hi, kiddo. You having fun?" Dana asks her, as if Mel didn't already feel like a school girl in her skirt and with the full backpack. The head nurse puts out her cigarette in the ashtray. "I'm heading back in, it's freezing."
Jesse follows Dana. Mel on the other hand is glad for the cool breeze. She knows her cheeks are flushed and her hair is on the verge of falling out of her braid. Frank stays were he is.
"Are you having fun?"
"Oh, yes. I wish I had put on something else. These clothes aren't very… bar suited."
"I have some spare shirts in my car. If you want I can grab one for y—"
"No! Don't worry about. I, uhm, I actually wanted to leave anyway."
His smile loses some of his brightness. "Oh. Right, your other plans."
"Yes, I'm, uhm, meeting with this friend of mine, Peter," she explains. "But if… if you want to come along, you could…?" She adds with an air of hopefulness. Inviting someone to hang out on a graveyard doesn't sound like the best idea, but maybe she can explain it on the way.
Frank scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know. Wouldn't that get in the way of the date?"
"What? No. Wait, I…" She squeezes her eyes shut to sort her thoughts. The music is still hammering in her ears. "This is not a date."
"You think this is a date?" His finger weakly gestures back and forth between them.
"You think I'm dating a guy named Peter?" This is absurd. Who is she, Gwen Stacy?
He furrows his brows, mirroring her confusion. "Everyone says you are!"
A lot of questions pop up in her head, mainly who made the stupid and clearly false conclusion her (made-up) friend Peter she was seeing after shift was her boyfriend, but she has to circle back to what Frank said to her before that.
"Then why did you think this was a date?"
"I didn't. No." He shakes his head. "You —"
"You asked me," she cuts him off.
"No, you asked me. Just now. I — Okay, yes, I asked you earlier, but in a friendly, like, coworker-appropriate way. Right?"
Panic wells up inside of her. "Yes. I can confirm it wasn't romantic. I mean, maybe someone else would have interpreted it as something romantic, but only because those people don't have a very high sense for romance in their lives. Like, if you look at Santos and Garcia, they have a very straightforward yet uncommitted way of communicating their feelings, and while I don't have much experience in that department, I wouldn't think of it as romantic per se.
Becca says I have read too many books that raised my expectations, and of course, I don't anticipate someone who is potentially interested to — to bring the stars down from the sky for me or give me their heart or their blood in a pendant on a necklace. But I see nothing wrong in thinking a handwritten letter is much more personal and sentimental than a drunk text message at three in the morning."
Mel takes a deep breath and looks away. Did she seriously just say all of that to Frank? She shouldn't have asked him to come along — she had just reached a state of normalcy in his eyes. Now that is ruined, too.
"I— I mean, I…," she stammers. What had she babbled about a necklace and blood? "I'm sorry."
Frank clears his throat, and she risks a glance up at him. He nods once quickly, not meeting her eyes. This is bad. For the first time since meeting him, she feels that thin sheet of glass between them that she always feels with everyone else, but never with him.
"Don't apologize. I must've misunderstood something. You're not seeing someone?"
"No. Definitely not. Not in the way you think."
His eyebrows rise up slightly, but he doesn't pry. "Just for the record, Melissa. If I were to ask you on a date, it wouldn't be in a bar with all our coworkers." Her mouth falls open, but no words come out. "Do you know how to get home?" Incapable of speaking, she just nods. "Good night then, Melly Shelley," he says before disappearing back into the bar.
Stars shine out of Mel's locker. Glow-in-the-dark stars, meticulously stuck to the walls and ceiling. It's a few minutes to seven in the morning, and for a moment, she thinks she's hallucinating. She closes the door, takes a deep breath, and reopens it.
Full of stars.
Next to her stack of protein bars and spare scrubs, she finds an envelope.
Dearest Melly Shelley,
I must apologize for invading your personal space without asking first. I hope you can forgive me? It was meant in the best intention.
You said you couldn't expect a suitor to bring down the stars for you. To be quite frank (I am repressing the urge to draw a smiley for the sake of accuracy, but just know I am thinking my wordplay to be funny), I don't think it's too much to ask at all. If anything, you should think bigger and ask for the moon as well. (Unfortunately, that wasn't included in the HomeGoods set – wait, sorry. What is HomeGoods?)
You would make me a very happy man if you joined me for dinner tonight. Or whenever it suits you best.
Hopefully yours,
Dr. Frankenstein
P.S.: This is, very much, not a joke.
P.P.S.: If I misread our conversation, please burn this and never speak to me again. I'll suffer in silence.
A post-it note is stuck to the back, also wearing Frank's handwriting: Who knew writing letters is so underrated? (You did, apparently.) I feel the need to say that I wrote that all by myself. Sexy, huh? ;)
A huge smile spreads over Mel's face. She doesn't even try to contain it, she just buries her face in his letter. If she could, she'd crawl into her locker and live in the pure bliss running through her veins right now, forever staring at his stars. She has never felt this way before.
But a letter requires an answer.
To my Dr. Frankenstein,
I was delighted by your surprise, and so of course I will forgive you for invading my space. Though I can hardly call it 'invading' since you have left it more beautiful than you came across it.
Nobody has ever done something this thoughtful for me.
I'd be overjoyed to have dinner with you. Tonight sounds perfect. I will be thinking about it for the rest of the day, so I hope you can forgive me if I don't meet your eyes as often as usual. It is only to hide the obvious from curious eyes.
Soon-to-be-yours,
Melly Shelley
P.S.: Though not a joke, your words did make me smile.
P.P.S.: You did not misread it at all. If anything, I appreciate it greatly that you understand my oftentimes tangled way of speaking.
She hides the letter in between the pages of her Frankenstein novel and puts it in his locker.
"If I had known you weren't dating anyone, I would have asked you out earlier, you know?" Frank's hand crawls across the table, one long finger reaching out to draw across her knuckles.
Blushing, Mel bites down on her lip to hide her grin. "I wasn't even aware that people were saying that." She looks back up at him.
He's wearing a black button up shirt that fits tight around his arms. Some strands of hair have fallen in his face, and the skin around his eyes crinkles whenever he smiles at her. (He hasn't stopped smiling since he discovered her letter, not even when they were working over bleeding bodies in the trauma rooms.)
The dim light reflects off the golden chair legs, and burgundy, fancy wallpapers color the room dark. Dried roses hang from the ceiling. Her only two request for the restaurant were romantic and not too fancy dishes.
"You are quite the mystery, Melissa King."
"I highly doubt that."
"That's the general consensus," he insists.
"The general consensus?" She echoes him. "I'm a boring going-on-thirty year old who doesn't date or drink, and I read horror novels to fall asleep. I plead guilty for weird, but not mysterious."
He laughs. "Objection! You are dating, a hot doctor nonetheless." He winks at her. "I don't drink either, which isn't weird, we're just very conscious of our health."
She tilts her head. "You —"
"No." He puts a finger over her lips. "You chose one the most demanding career paths and you execute it flawlessly everyday. I'm not joking. And — do you really read horror novels before going to bed? In that case, I say… interesting with a hint of strange."
She sticks her tongue out against his finger. He pokes the tip of her nose and drops his hand back on the table next to hers.
"What's your favorite ghost story?" He asks.
A smile lights up her pale face. "Frankenstein."
A human heart awaits Mel in her locker. Not from an actual human, of course, though with the right connections plus working at the hospital, you could be able to get one in less than an hour. But Frank's already being watched with hawk eyes, so she doesn't blame him for not stealing an organ for her.
At least not a real one. This here is clearly stolen from the training dummy that Al-Hashimi keeps ordering and that keep disappearing under mysterious circumstances.
Under the heart, Mel discovers a new letter.
My loveliest Melly Shelley,
is it too soon to admit you've made yourself a home in my heart?
Last night was better than I could've hoped for. At the risk of sounding insatiable, I must ask you for a second rendezvous at your earliest convenience. There is a very exclusive screening of Guillermo del Toro's Frankenstein happening at my place, and lucky for you, my sofa is the perfect size for the two of us.
I hope you can forgive me if I speak with you even more than usually. I can't help myself but feel drawn to you, however obvious it will become for bystanders.
Only yours,
Dr. Frankenstein
Before Mel can revel much in happiness, she gets interrupted by her attending.
"Dr. King, you've found the heart! I've been looking for it all over the place." Al-Hashimi heads to her with firm steps. "Any idea on who the thief could be?"
"Uh. No. Just found it."
"I'll take it back."
Al-Hashimi reaches out to take the heart from her, but Mel presses it close to her chest.
"No! No, I… I'll bring it back. You have more important stuff to do."
Her attending nods. "Well, thank you. I'll see you at hand-off," she replies and walks away.
Mel waits until she's alone again and hides the heart in the back corner of her locker, under spare scrubs. Then she picks up a pen.
My Dr. Frankenstein,
if your confession came to soon, I'd have to lie about the space you've conquered in my heart, and if you sound insatiable, I must house a bottomless hungry pit in my stomach.
I accept your invitation with the greatest pleasure. Your company is one I cherish over most other people.
I can only forgive you if you promise your interest to keep talking to me won't dwindle over the day, but thrive the more words we exchange. You see, I can't help myself either.
From your heart,
Melly Shelley
Underneath the music of the end credits, Mel hears Frank's heart beating. Her head is resting on his chest. His hand lies on the back of her head, massaging her scalp where her braid has torn at her roots. The tears on her cheeks have dried — she always cries during the movie, always sees a bit of herself in the creature.
She cries during most horror films, not for fear, but because they are so terribly human.
For the longest time, horror stories were the only way for her to feel anything. The daily swallowed antidepressants after both her parents had passed numbed her up so much, she felt nothing at all most days. Not on her 21st birthday, not on graduation day, not when she received the acceptance letter to work at PTMC.
But when she picked up one of the dozen Stephen King novels her father had collected, her senses came alive again. She felt her pulse rise and stumble, felt a shiver down her spine and goosebumps crawl up the back of her legs as her eyes ran across the pages, eager to feel more.
All of this to say, she has found something new that makes her feel: Frank. He is in no way horrible or scary. He has the ability to throw her one look and set her heart on fire. Make her laugh. Calm her down.
White names on black background run across his TV. Mel turns to look up at him, resting her chin on his chest. "Are you tired yet?"
"Not a bit. Why?"
"Can we drive somewhere? I want to show you something."
The black iron gate squeaks when she presses it open. An owl up high in a tree screams, and the autumn leaves rustle in the wind. It's darkest night. The moonlight shines down on St. Peter Cemetery.
"Isn't this trespassing?" Frank asks, letting the light of his flashlight travel over the gravestones. "Or disturbing the rest of the dead?"
"I come here all the time," Mel assures him and holds the gate open. "You know my parents are both dead, right? You saw it in Becca's chart when she came in." He nods. She shines her flashlight up the gate to the sign. "I visit them a lot, usually after shift."
He follows her light. "I see. Your friend Peter."
"People thinks it's scary but it's really peaceful here. Do I scare you?"
"No. Show me around."
She grants him a smile and walks ahead, telling him where to watch his step because of stinging nettles and rabbit holes, and which gravestone is the oldest. Her parents' stones are the least weathered, but overgrown nonetheless.
"I would've brought something if I had know."
"It's okay. They can't really care anymore, can they? Come on." She leads him in deeper. "Can I say something weird?" Mel asks and steps up on a fallen over tree trunk, holding out her arms for balance.
Frank catches her hand to steady her. "Always."
Carefully, she sets one foot in front of the other.
"Sometimes I feel like Frankenstein's monster. Like I was dead and someone stitched me together from a dozen dead bodies and brought me back to life. Everybody seems to have it figured out, and I'm just this weird creatures who isn't really anybody. I think that's why I like to come here. To feel less like an outsider."
They reach the end of the tree. Frank lightly tugs at her hand so she turns to him.
"You're not a monster to me, Mel. Quiet the opposite. You're a… an enrichment. In every way imaginable."
She looks down. "You don't have to say that."
He steps closer to wrap an arm around her. "Well, as Doctor Frankenstein, I can't help but feel some… admiration for my creature."
She snorts and blushes, hiding her face behind her hand. But she plays along. "You did a good job with the stitches then. I can't see a single scar."
"I'm an expert, or so I've been told," he says. "But jokes aside. I'm serious, Melissa. I like you very much."
Her heart flutters in her chest as their eyes meet. He smiles so much, his whole face lights up. She lets her fingers dance up his arms before interlocking them behind his neck. Then she leans down, forehead pressed against forehead.
Light as spring rain, he nudges his lips against hers.
"Is this inappropriate? To kiss you in front of your parents?"
"Oh, no. Their point of view is very limited… they're kind of like this…" She stiffens her body, puts her arms to her side and stares dead ahead without blinking.
Frank laughs quietly, shaking his head.
Smiling to herself, Mel takes his hands to jump down to the ground. Dry leaves and sticks crack under her shoe soles.
"What I meant to say was, you can very much kiss me."
"I figured."
He leans down and peppers her face with soft kisses. Over her forehead and eyebrows, down to the mole beneath her eye and the tip of her nose, and then, finally — she has been holding her breath in anticipation — he kisses her mouth. Their arms wrap around each other and she can't help herself but to pop up her foot from all the excitement.
She learns that even though its the first, kissing Frank is very quickly turning out to be one of her favorite things to do. She also learns that balance is very low on priorities when kissing.
In their embrace, they stumble backwards over a root and fall to the floor. Autumn leaves swirl up. Their flashlights land somewhere and the noise surely wakes some animals, but she doesn't care. She lies half on top of him, and his arm holds her there, and their lips only break apart to gasp for air. They could live and die and come back right here in the dirt, tightly holding onto the other, and Mel wouldn't utter a single complaint. In her head, The Cure is playing, and love is bubbling through her veins, and she feels alive as ever on this cemetery after midnight.
Sweetheart, honeybee —
I've missed you the past two days. I hope you don't intend to stay on the dark side indefinitely.
Without trying to bribe you, I left a gift for you to wear the coming night. Just know it was not easy to obtain, though all trouble is worth your smile.
Always and forever,
F.
My purple rain,
I already wanted to complain at the mention of your troubles, but then I found your present. I did smile; more than that, I was over the moon with joy.
It only feels right to ask if you want the same in return?
Time after time yours,
M.
P.S.: The only side I plan on staying by indefinitely is yours.
Only on October 31st, an eerie chill runs across the country and is welcomed with open arms. The one night a year it might be socially acceptable to sit on a graveyard and read The Haunting of Hill House in the light of the moon, Mel King doesn't visit her parents.
Mel views her outfit in the car window. Her light green foundation and drawn on scars, the black gothic dress she found at the thrift store completed with her black boots and two lightning bolt earrings. Her skin glows pale in the moonlight, and in her bag rests her favorite novel.
Franks gift hangs around her neck. A thin golden chain with a glass prism pendant filled with his deep red blood. She keeps it close to her heart.
"Ready to go, Miss Creature?" Frank wraps an arm around her waist and puts a kiss on her scalp — he's had to wash the green foundation off his mouth twice already, but he's learning.
He's completing her look with a white doctor's coat. A pair of funky looking scientist goggles is perched on top of his messy hair. He wears the matching jewelry to her necklace.
"Ready when you are, Doc."
"Lets scare the party people." Frank grins and takes her hand to pull her across the street towards Howl at the Moon.
"You know, Frankenstein doesn't even really like the creature in the novel."
"Good thing we're not in a book. I'm very fond of my creature."
"Right back at you, doctor."