Chapter 43: Franny-2

"You weren't the one holding the knife," I say. "You weren't the one holding my dad down and stomping on his ankle over and over again until the bone eventually snapped. You weren't the one that sliced Ethan's stomach open. You weren't the one who hit my dad's eye with a bat. You weren't the one that hit Ethan enough to make him almost choke on his own blood. You didn't do this. So stop beating yourself up about it, okay?" Tyler closes his eyes and presses his forehead against mine again. "I can't do this." "You have to," I whisper. "This isn't just about you anymore. We're all involved. And it's not just your friends that Carl's gonna hurt. You've seen what he can do." "I wish I could just run away. Forget any of this ever happened." "We only get one chance to live a life we're proud of, Tyler," I say softly. "Would you be proud if you ran away and let Carl continue to do this to everyone else?" He shakes his head. "So don't let that be an option." I rub his cheeks with my thumbs. "You've got a chance. Take it." He breathes out deeply through his nose and wraps his arms around me, burying his head in my neck. I rub his back gently. "You're stronger than me," he admits. "How come you're not freaking out like I am?" "I don't know. Guess my mind just hasn't processed it yet." Tyler pulls away and my arms drop to my sides. He caresses my cheek with his hand and slowly leans down, pressing his lips to mine with a soft, light touch. "Thank you," he murmurs against my lips. "For what?" I ask. "Being there," he answers and drops his head down against my shoulder as I carry most of his weight on me and I can't help but feel that it's much more literal than it should be. *** During my spare class I find myself stuck in an empty art room, flicking a paintbrush back and forth over a canvas. It's the canvas I bought weeks ago and never knew what to do with it. Now I waste it, brushing random color across the surface and making one big, bold mess. The lights are off and the only source of light is the natural glow coming down from the high windows. Spending the entire night in my house alone hits me like a brick. Sure, I have spent nights alone as my dad goes out gambling. But this is different. He is laying in a hospital, sleeping away the injuries he got from a near-death beating. The idea of that chills me to the core. I got home to see the police had already searched through the house, taking what they needed from the 'crime scene' and saying that I was okay to stay the night. My house is a crime scene. That just makes me feel sick. What's worse is that I know Carl walked through the house, touching the walls, clicking his shoes against the floor and leaving his imprint on something that is meant to be mine. I swipe the brush against the canvas in a particularly harsh movement and stop, staring at the mess in front of me. The colors blend disgustingly, making a dark and unappealing color that coats the whole painting. The brush strokes swirl and warp, twisting and intertwining with each other. I want to kill him. They move against the canvas and I stare blankly down at it. Carl's eyes flicker into my mind and my entire body tenses. The canvas warps until it looks like it's bulging out towards me from the middle. I frown and blink rapidly. I want to kill him so bad. Carl's eyes carve their way out of the canvas, the material stretching until it begins to form a face. A mouth appears, coated in the dark colors of my painting, open wide and screaming. I want to hurt him. Carl's face stares back through the canvas and I pick it up, smashing it down on the table over and over again until it rips open. I look down at my normal, plain canvas that is wet with paint and torn in the middle. I blink and open my mouth in shock, my body shivering. It's just in my head. Stop it. It's just in your head. "It's just in your head," Carl's voice suddenly whispers in my ear and I turn around, throwing the paintbrush with a yell. Nothing. "Franny?" I look towards the door, eyes frantic and my body heaving with every deep breath I take. Tally stands in the doorway, looking at me in shock. She slowly takes a step forward. "I..." my voice cracks and I clamp my mouth shut, the muscles in my face twitching and trembling. "Franny," Tally whispers, a few feet away from me. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay." My eyes burn. "No, it's not," I croak out, shaking my head slowly as my vision blurs. "It's never gonna..." Tally catches me just as I'm about to fall. A sob runs through my body. I shut my eyes but the tears still fall. "It's never gonna—" I sob hysterically, "—it's never gonna be okay." Tally's hand runs over my hair as she sits on the floor, trying to keep me up as my entire body breaks down and I become a crying, unresponsive mess.