| So you spilled every last penny into your car and it still won't take you where you want to go | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 21 2017, 09:20 AM (81 Views) | |
| Dahlia Gardener | Nov 21 2017, 09:20 AM Post #1 |
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Dahlia had always been a good kid, her mother and older sisters had always been quick to say it. She was a good girl who followed the rules and always did what she was suppose to and never really made waves, she was the perfect picture of a daughter. Her father, unfortunately, always seemed to think different. She didn't remember what she had done, but he was always borderline angry with her. While she copied her elder sisters almost exclusively, it was never enough. If something went wrong, it was her who had done. Dinner wasn't made right? It was always Dahlia's turn to cook. The rain had ruined the laundry? Well apparently Dahlia had control of the weather and had made it happen. Magnolia was particularly sassy one day? Dahlia had corrupted her. Dahlia was never quite sure what she had done, but her father seemed to hate her. There had even been one evening when his father said she was the road for sin and corruption. Things had been very silent at that dinner table, Dahlia left staring at her plate as she pretended she wasn't there. It was all because her name, her father had continued. He had named all his daughters have flowers, because they were to be pretty and delicate things, but Dahlia? Oh Dahlia was a sinful name, he always said. Once she had looked it up and dahlia flowers looked perfectly pretty to her and they never really seemed to be invasive flower or something that relied heavily on scandalous means to reproduce. But then she got older, she met other students and adults who had more life experiences. They asked her if she was named after Black Dahlia and she was confused. She always told them no, because it was just a flower and she had been naïve enough that she had wondered what made black dahlias so special, so she had looked it up. She hadn't been expecting a murder victim. Suddenly it made a little bit more sense why her father thought of her as awful; her mother may have named her after a pretty flower but her father knew of those murders. Everyone except her and her sisters seemed to know about the death. To her father, it wasn't the name of something pretty, but a big city name, a name that carried death and sin. She was sure her father thought having a name like Dahlia was a curse, a sign of how she was going to follow the same fate. She felt like knowing her father hated her and it was nothing she did and nothing she could do would be freeing. She felt like she should be thriving because she had no expectations to her, but that was wrong. She was still expected to marry and go off and have babies and be a stay at home wife because that was what women did. Her father, though, seemed to have less of an interest in her. She almost wished he had seen fit to marry her off as fast as he could because she was so unbelievably lonely. It shouldn't be possible with how many sisters she had, but she was. Her father kept her mother's attention and all her sisters seemed to take their cue from their father, ignoring Dahlia unless they were deciding to scold her for something she had no control over. The only one she really had was Magnolia, who was the closest in age to her and something of a black sheep herself. But even Magnolia hardly had time for her because she was always running off to the woods to play. So Dahlia made her way into town and got herself a job. Her eldest sister Iris had tried that once, wanted to make herself some extra money for her husband, and their father had hit the roof. That wasn't the woman's job, he had snapped. It didn't matter that she was working as a secretary, how would her husband feel that she was working? He'd be insulted, he'd think she thought he couldn't provide for her. What did she need money for anyway? It had been a whole thing. The most he thought the girls should be doing was maybe working in a daycare and probably for free because women were just suppose to take care of babies. But when Dahlia had started working? There wasn't even a whisper. Her father ignored her, never acknowledging what she did even when she was doing something he didn't approve of. It was hard, but working at the diner had been nice. She got to actually interact with people there. The waitresses were nice and they chatted a lot, the cook was always sweet and worried about his girls, and the patrons...well, they were a mix. Some of them were nice and just chatty or just wanted to be left to their own devices, some of them were awful and they were lecherous or had tried to cop a feel. It was just nice to talk with people again. That was how she met Frankie. Frankie was...everything. He had a strong jaw and he wasn't the tallest man in the world, but he seemed bigger. He had an easy smile and a mouth made for smiling and talking. When he had come into the diner, looking hot and tired from work, she had been a little bit smitten. When she had come over to the booth where Frankie and his coworkers were, he had focused entirely on her. She wasn't use to that; most people were pleasantly polite, but ultimately more into conversations with their friends. It made sense after all, that was why they were there. But Frankie had tuned them all out so he could talk with Dahlia and he had been so easy with compliments. What was such a pretty thing like her doing there, a vision like her must have hundreds of guys lined up waiting to even talk with her, she was so graceful had anyone told her that. She couldn't help it – she fell a little more in love. He started coming in more, coming alone, and sometimes...well, sometimes, she came to him. She brought him coffee or sometimes food all packed up because he hadn't come to the diner like he always did and he must have been awfully hungry by now. He seemed almost natural that one night he had her come over to his hotel room (the hotel he stayed in because he was a drifter, Dahlia, he didn't stay in places too long) and they had made love. She knew it was stupid, she knew it was the stupidest damn thing she had ever done, and maybe her father was right to tell her she had rocks for brains at sometimes. But he didn't run off, he didn't immediately cool to her, while at the same time he didn't jump at the whole marrying thing or anything like that. They just...existed for awhile and she was okay with that. He was still attentive and she felt loved, she felt loved for what felt like the first time in her life. She tried to tell herself that one day Frankie was going to drift off to another city and let her stay behind but...but sometimes she daydreamed. She daydreamed of Frankie coming to her and say he was leaving and she was coming with him. Sometimes she daydreamed of him saying she made him feel like this was home. The reality was different. The reality was that she had been feeling horribly sick one day and when she had gone to the doctor, the news was that she was a few weeks pregnant. Normally that wouldn't have been such a bad thing, really. Honestly that was part of her duty as a woman, wasn't it? She was suppose to get pregnant and have kids...but that was for her husband, not some drifter with a handsome smile. She had tried to figure out what to do, tried to understand what she wanted to do because this was too big for her. But the problem was that they lived in a very small town and everyone knew everyone and the doctor had understood that all the May girls were being married off and having kids and she had so helpfully been trying to chat with Dahlia's father, asking if maybe Dahlia hadn't married someone from out of their little town because she hadn't heard anything. Dahlia's father had been a storm cloud when he had come home, angry and spitting and he had grabbed Dahlia too tightly. He said she wasn't keeping the baby and Dahlia, with her head full of rocks, had said that there wasn't much she could do since an abortion was a sin, wasn't it? The storm in her father's face had become a natural disaster – a tornado and an earthquake and a forest fire all in one – and that was the first time he had ever hit her. It had dropped her hard to the floor and he had kicked her. It was in that first kick that she understood what he had meant to do. After all, it wasn't a sin to have a miscarriage, now was it? A miscarriage was just an accident and sometimes it was the woman's fault but who knew why it really happened, it was natural. She hadn't been able to really think about much, trying to curl up around her stomach because the baby in her was hers and she should have had the right to decide what to do...but then there had been a loud noise over her and when she looked up, there was Frankie. Frankie was a snarling angry mess and he looked almost feral. Even when her father decked Frankie good, Frankie was willing to fight...and Dahlia worried. She fretted because she didn't want Frankie hurt, but she also didn't want her father hurt either. She had grabbed Frankie's arm, said they should go, and for one minute, she thought that Frankie wasn't going to listen. But then he did, he grabbed her arm and pulled her away and they just disappeared into the night. They wound up at Frankie's hotel room. It wasn't exactly fancy, not five stars or anything like from a big city, but it was cozy and clean. And it was quiet. She stared at Frankie, a hundred things coming to mind to say to him. "You're bleeding, Frankie," she said instead. |
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| Frankie Gardener | Nov 21 2017, 12:27 PM Post #2 |
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Frankie was never satisfied, that was what his mother always said. He was always looking towards the horizon, as if there was something better out there. His mother always sounded tired when she said that, a subtle tone to her voice that said she knew there wasn't anything better out there. She had always been that way, as far back as he could remember. His mother had loved him, he thought, but she always just seemed tired. Then again, it was a hard life raising a kid on your own. Even at seven, Frankie had known that. He didn't remember his dad, not really. There were some vague, fuzzy things that he wasn't quite sure if they were memories of his father or just something he had produced over time - or even if they weren't some fuzzy memories of one of his mother's boyfriends being nice to him for a moment. His father had left when he was only about two or three. His mother was tight lipped about it. She never talked about why he had left, about their hopes and their dreams, about how much she loved him and missed him or even about how much she hated him. She just very firmly kept it quiet outside of once, just once, remarking that he was just like his father. She had never said that again and Frankie had been left wondering if she had meant it in a good way or a bad way... then he had decided he didn't care. His father had left and so he didn't matter. Frankie couldn't be like him because he didn't even know what the hell he was like. That thought had stayed with him for much of his life; through nights where the television was his babysitter, nights where a real person was his babysitter, times when his mother was working two or three jobs but all they could put on the table was some bread and cheese, times where she had a nice boyfriend and times where she had a not-so-nice boyfriend. Frankie was going to be his own man, he always told himself. He wasn't going to be his dad. In a way, though, he turned out to be his dad. Detroit was nothing to him. The city was disgusting, the people were disgusting, and he was chomping at the bit for something. He didn't know what, he really didn't, but he wanted to see something else. So he had packed up his bags, taken the money that he had, and he had left school, left home, and he had hit the road. He tried, constantly, to not remind himself that he was leaving his mother just like his father had. He would write, he told himself. He would call. He just couldn't be there anymore. And he had written and he had called but he knew he didn't do it enough. He knew that there were long stretches of weeks at a time where his mother was probably still working herself to the bone to be able to keep her apartment and probably wondering at the same time if her son was ever going to come home and if he was still okay, still alive. The worst part was that the guilt that he felt was the guilt of his not feeling more guilty. Maybe she had been right and he was just like his father in the end and maybe he should go home. After all, it wasn't like this life was an easy life. It wasn't much better in terms of money than it had been back home with his mother. He had his own money, sure, but he had to pay for motels. He had to pay for food. He had to either walk everywhere - which was tiring and took forever - or he had to shell out cash to take a cab or a bus to get to his next location. It was a constant journey of stopping in a town for a few weeks to a few months, earning money, and then he would move out again. He was a drifter now. He passed a year, growing a bit more, getting more accustomed to life on the road and drifting through towns. His feet took him further and further south with each trek and he wondered if he wouldn't just see every single part of the country before he finally was satisfied. He honestly didn't know how he had stumbled onto Valley Springs. It was so small it really didn't even measure on the map. The town was nothing. There were a few stores - the kind of things you saw in movies - and a diner. There was a small motel that wasn't seedy but it sure wasn't anything grand. Prices here were low, however, and it was a good chance for him to replenish his money since he'd probably make more money than he was spending since there wasn't anything to spend it on here. As he grew, as he traveled, he had started to fill out some instead of growing taller. He had muscles now and he had the extra strength of his heritage. Being a born werewolf meant he didn't have to worry about changing at the wrong time and letting people in the strange towns and potential bosses know he was a wereanimal. He could keep it to himself, mostly, and that had benefited him over the time of his travels. Construction work had been something that he had just fallen into naturally because it was pretty easy to pick up a job and work on it until completion, then move on. He hadn't really thought that there'd be much in the way of construction work here in a small town like this, but he'd been wrong. Honestly, it had been even better because while they side-eyed him some for being a stranger the rules seemed to be a lot more lax out here in the middle of nowhere. They didn't grill him about his age and what he was doing, about the fact that he'd dropped out of school. They were just pleased to have another pair of hands. So he'd started working, knowing he'd be leaving in a few months but there was something different about this place. Maybe it was the coworkers acting like he was one of them, maybe it was his boss showing him some things after he was done working, showing him how to carve wood and create furniture rather than just building a home or pouring concrete for a road... or maybe it was just the pretty girl in the diner. Frankie wasn't a virgin. He'd been on the road and through enough towns and he'd flirted with a few girls enough that he'd gotten lucky. It had never been anything major. Fun, a good stress reliever, but it was just sex. He was usually gone in the morning and off on the road again... and the girls weren't looking for more than that, either. This girl was different. He'd turned in the booth at the lunch that his coworkers had taken him to, put an arm on the back of it, to tell the waitress they were ready to order and he'd been momentarily tongue tied. She was the prettiest woman he had ever seen. Short, dainty looking, with long, gorgeous hair and bright, wide eyes. He'd been a bit love struck for a moment before his usual confidence had come back to him. Dahlia, her badge had said her name was, and she was gorgeous. He'd grinned at her, ignoring his coworkers, and just talked to her. He'd laid the compliments on pretty thick, he knew, but she was gorgeous and she seemed to like them an awful lot. It had been fun to flirt with her and it had brought him back again, alone this time. He'd kept it up, telling her how beautiful she was, how she deserved to be in the movies, how everybody must be beating down her door to get to her. The funny part was that he meant it all. He kept coming back to eat there, talking to her, grinning at her, inviting her to sit with him for a moment when the diner was slow... and one day she showed up at the construction site, a wrapped sandwich of his favorite meal in hand and a thermos of coffee in the other. He'd just stared at her before she'd said he hadn't shown up and she thought he might be hungry. No one had ever done that before and he had been floored, really. She did it a couple more times and, one time, it was right when he had gotten off of work... and so he had gently cajoled and coaxed her back to his motel room. He had intended it to just be a quick thing. They'd fuck, it'd be good for them both, then life would go back to normal for the both of them and he'd head on out with a swagger and money in his pockets. What happened, though, was that he ended up spending most of the night making love to her with great care and concern. In the morning, he didn't scoff and say he was a drifter, he was gone, babe. He didn't sneak out of his own hotel room or kick her out. He just stayed, wrapped around her, until he had to get up and get to work... and things didn't change much. He went to the diner, she brought him food. Sometimes, they went on walks together. He'd borrowed a car once and driven her to the bigger town so she could pick something up and he could take her to a movie. Out in the woods, he had shown her that he was a werewolf - something he never showed anyone - and had wondered at himself the whole time that he had done so. Maybe he should leave because things were strange, they weren't normal and he was trapped or going to be trapped, right? It was a few weeks later when that seemed to be the case because he had a letter at the front desk of the motel. He'd read it as he walked down the road, headed to work, and he'd almost crumpled it up, thrown it far away, and ran. Dahlia was pregnant. There was little doubt in his mind as to who the father was. After all, in a small town like this you kind of knew where everyone was and who they were with. He was a kid. Okay, sure, legally he was an adult but it had only happened recently. He was a kid, for Christ's sake. He had no money, no capital, he had no home. He was a drifter and he wasn't meant to be a father. If he was an absentee father, didn't that make him just as bad as his own father? Sure, he could work and send money back but then what? He still wouldn't be here. He couldn't be a father! He was too young, had a whole life ahead of him, and he couldn't be tied down to this bull shit small town with nothing in it. Anger and fear had coursed through him and he had told himself to throw the letter away and just go. Nobody would know where he had gone. Most of the people wouldn't care. Dahlia, though... Dahlia would care. That thought stopped him. She was sweet, a little naive, and trusting and this was his fault just as much as hers. She hadn't intended to get pregnant - the shaky handwriting and rambling nature of the note told him that - and she was scared. She was scared, just like him, and a part of his brain told him that Dahlia was one of the few people in the world that had made his life brighter. She deserved more, right? She deserved his being a man. She deserved him to stand up and take responsibility. Another part of his brain, a larger part, told him that she was a good mate; sturdy, hardworking, obviously fertile, and would be a good mother for pups. He shoved that away fiercely because the wolf couldn't dictate everything for the human. Despite that, though, he had let the wolf track her scent trail to her home... and he had let the wolf take over at the noises. He hadn't been fully certain what was going on except there was a man yelling and the sound of Dahlia scared and in pain. He had broken the door down to get inside, burst through it and launched himself forward. He had pulled his punch when he decked the old man and maybe that had been a mistake, honestly. The man had turned right back around and decked him hard. Frankie had dropped, but he had mostly dropped in order to cover Dahlia with his own body, snarling defiantly even when her father had hit and kicked at him. He was fairly certain his nose was bleeding, he had a black eye and the kicks were doing a pretty significant amount of damage but he let it happen because it was protecting Dahlia. Eventually, she had touched his arm and said they should go. Frankie's blood was up and he was ready to start rending and tearing anything... but he stopped. He grabbed Dahlia and he dragged her away, darting out of the house, and he had pulled her up into his arms. He had run the whole way back, carrying her despite the stinging in his ribs and the pain. He had nowhere to go except back to the hotel and he carrier her there, setting her down on the bed even as he still snarled to himself, his blood up. When Dahlia spoke, he brought his hand up to rub against his nose and then growled again. "It's fine, I heal fast," he told her, doing his best to not spit at the taste of blood in his mouth. "You don't though," he said, leaning in to look closely at her, cupping her face in his hands and searching to see if she was injured and trying to hide it. Edited by Frankie Gardener, Nov 21 2017, 12:54 PM.
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| Dahlia Gardener | Dec 27 2017, 07:48 PM Post #3 |
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She felt...shaky, she supposed was the best word. She felt shaky and just a little not all there. A part of her felt very detached from everything. One of her sister's had said that was what her life was like – she didn't like her husband and didn't seem overly fond of her kids, so she just...detached herself away and she pretended like it was all happening to someone else and she was just watching it all take place. Dahlia felt a little bit like that, but it wasn't because she chose it. It all just seemed so...outrageous, maybe. She had always, always thought her father loved her. Even when he had said she was awful and just the worst, she had thought he still loved her. It was just correcting someone, right? Making sure they knew the problem. He was always trying to help her and she just never managed it. She had always thought that deep down, he had loved her and cared about her – like one of those things that if she were in the path of a car, he would tackle her and say she could have been killed. In those moments, though, she realized that he just might have let her die. It was a weird thing and her brain couldn't quite catch up, especially when she felt like so much molasses. She felt numb as she watched Frankie rubbed at his nose. Without really thinking, she lifted her hands to his face, taking a look at the damage she could see. When Frankie had shown her what he truly was, she couldn't exactly deny she had been afraid. She'd been nervous; she loved Frankie, but this was something else entirely, wasn't it? She had been nervous because of all the stories she heard, all the people talking, and the health classes that said one touch of blood and you were doomed. But that night in the woods, she had seen only Frankie. A part of her still felt like she would shy away from him now that he was bleeding, but she didn't. "That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt," she pointed out gently, implying that the fact that he was hurting was important to her. Hadn't she also heard plenty of times that it was "okay" for certain things to happen to wereanimals? She remembered a news story months ago of some cop that happened to be a wereanimal that had been shot three times and was in the hospital and the newscasters had laughed, saying that because they weren't silver bullets so it would be okay. She had hoped silently that they had gotten into trouble, that the man's family had called them and tore right into them for their insensitivity. She blinked a tiny bit as Frankie said she didn't heal fast, cupping her face. "I'm fine...I think." She tried to think about it, she tried to take stock of herself, but it was just that horrible numbness. It was just that feeling of pain but she couldn't tell if it was her face or her stomach or the baby or if it was the knowledge that she had been more or less kicked out of her own home. She couldn't focus and that meant she couldn't decide if Frankie had anything to worry about. "I guess...I guess I could go to the doctor tomorrow and find out for sure." But that would involve finding a ride out of town, she couldn't go back to this town's doctor. She felt the people here were good sorts, but they weren't like the people from the TV shows Magnolia always like to watch. On those shows, a small town would have someone hurt and they'd go to the doctor and everyone began to look at the person's family or boyfriend. They'd say oh how awful, what terrible people that family must be. They'd take the person in, they'd protect them. But here, maybe even in the rest of the world, Dahlia felt that the doctor would maybe not necessarily blame her, but she'd say things like 'what did you do to make your father upset' or 'getting pregnant without a husband? It's no wonder he was mad'. She might tell her father that she had seen Dahlia and she might figure out where Dahlia was and he would come storming over...No, when Dahlia went to get checked out, she wanted to do it away from here. The next closest place, the hospital, something. The hospital would be good because it was close enough and it was big enough that Dahlia would just be one patient of many. It still didn't change the fact that she didn't know how she was going to get there. She was sure by now the friends she had would know she had come up pregnant, which meant they would turn on her. Nothing was worse than young women that were told all their lives that "good girls" waited until marriage for sex and waited for a little while to have babies. At least a year, maybe a month or so less. If someone went against that? They got what they deserved, obviously. They were being punished. She liked to think that maybe they would stand fast by her, that they would be loyal because they knew she wasn't "that kind of girl", but wasn't she exactly that kind of girl now? That kind of girl wasn't always obviously easy, she just let anyone have their way with her. And she had done that with Frankie. God, Frankie...she glanced at him and looked away. She hadn't really thought about Frankie in all of this. "I'm sorry," she said softly, "About the note and everything. I just...I know you're a drifter and you're only here for a little while, but I didn't know what to do." That was what he had told her on some of their first meetings; he was a drifter. He wandered from town to town just long enough to make some money, then it was off to the next. When she had asked if he had ever thought about settling down, he had given her this look that she was awfully simple and naïve. He had never answered the question and in the end, she supposed she didn't need him to answer. He was a drifter and he was only here for a little while; it was like asking the wind why it decided to blow in certain directions. It just did. There may be some deep scientific reason that it happened, but ultimately, it just "did". And Frankie was like that. She didn't think she had expected him to change his plans when he found out there was a baby, but...she supposed she had hoped. She liked Frankie. A lot. She was pretty sure she loved him in the way that movies and books talked about, the kind of thing that lasted forever and they never quite fell out of love, rather than just settling on being tolerant of each other's existence. A part of her had understood that a baby might even drive him away faster than he had before, but she had hoped. She had stupidly hoped that she would write the letter to him and he would read it and he would come to the diner. They would stare at each other and maybe she would break down crying, but he'd run over and hold her. They'd get married, quick as could be, and they would find a place to live and they would be happy. She told herself it could have happened...even when she knew the truth. It was what her father always warned about. Why did he tell them to wait for marriage? Because if a man could get the milk for free, why buy the cow? Men were odd types, he had said while not seeming to understand he was a man too, in that they didn't naturally seem inclined for domestic stuff. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, child rearing, all of that was something men didn't do (her father especially). Men would naturally balk at the idea of children if they weren't tied down. That was why you had to woo them. You had to show what a good wife you were – how dedicated you were to making sure his clothes were nice and pressed for work, making sure he had a good meal every minute of the day, making sure he came home to a nice house – and then when you had shown you could do the duty of that, you had a baby. The man wasn't expected to take care of the baby because it wasn't in his nature. She was quiet for a long time, staring down at her hands that she had unconsciously wrapped around her stomach. "I'm scared, Frankie," she finally admitted. "I dunno what to do. I...I always knew I would have kids, it's what's expected of me. But I don't know if I'm ready for them now. I don't know what to do with one and I don't-" she didn't have a husband she wanted to say. She didn't have someone who was going to do "his" part by having a job so she could focus on the baby. If she kept the baby, what kind of life would that be? She'd have to move out of town because no one would hire her. Then she'd be stuck in a city she didn't know in a place that probably cost too much, paying for a daycare she couldn't afford because she was working all the time, and then who knew what? "I don't know if I'm ready," she admitted, "but I don't think I could just...get rid of the baby." She supposed that was just years of upbringing in her. She remembered the shows Magnolia watched again, the ones that if their father ever heard the contents of he might very well never let a TV in their home again. She remembered people talking about abortions and not in the soft, hushed way while glancing around to make sure no one was listening. On the shows, there was always someone going "but it's my baby, it's my baby" and there was always someone else going "it's a bunch of cells, it's nothing yet" and listing all these facts in a way that Dahlia knew she was suppose to be agreeing with the person who said it was just cells. But she had been raised to think it was a baby. From the moment that it happened, there was a baby growing inside of her. It didn't matter that it wasn't actually a baby yet, to her it was baby. After all, it wasn't like in art class you just called a lump of clay a 'lump of clay'. Even before you started working on it, you said this is going to be a cup or a bowl. This was going to be her baby. How could she get rid of that? |
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| Frankie Gardener | Jan 5 2018, 01:10 AM Post #4 |
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He wasn't calming down and that was a bad thing. It was a curse of his. He had a temper, he'd always had a temper, but it was made dangerous by the fact that he was a werewolf. Some werewolves could control themselves, their tempers, and their changes easily. Frankie was not one of those ones. If he let himself get too worked up - too scared or too angry - he would shift and while he was usually able to keep a hold on himself in those moments there was no guarantee it would always be that way. If he got too worked up he might lose control of himself entirely and that was dangerous. It meant that he could hurt or kill someone who didn't deserve it and it also meant people would know he was a werewolf... which wasn't in and of itself a necessarily dangerous thing but when you started rampaging around people took notice. They'd know who he was and that he was a werewolf and it wouldn't take long for people to come knocking on his door with special task forces and guns and everything he didn't want. He was distracted somewhat when Dahlia reached out to very gently put her hands to his face and tilt his head this way and that, heedless of the potential danger he might represent to her and heedless of the blood that had dripped from his nose and the temporarily split lip that he'd acquired from letting himself get his ass beat. It was amazing to him, honestly, that she would do so. He was nothing, right? Just some stupid idiot who drifted from city to city and had spent some time with her, let them both feel good, and he wasn't worth much at all. Yet she had brought him lunches and notes and he'd taken her for drives to bigger cities. He'd shown her what he was when he had no reason to do so. He hadn't run when she told him she was pregnant and now here they were, with her hands on his face and telling him that just because he healed fast didn't mean it didn't hurt. "I'll be okay," he told her, a bit gruffly, a bit embarrassed. "Just don't ask me to go lifting things right now." His ribs were still tender and his nose still throbbed and he wished he healed as fast as some werewolves. They probably wouldn't have even noticed the injuries but Frankie's body certainly took its time about it at times. "I'm more worried about you." And it was true, he realized. It wasn't just lip service. She'd been hit a few times before he got there. She'd been on the ground and who knew what kind of damage that might have done and... well. He meant it emotionally, too. Frankie knew the trauma of a parent leaving you and never being there for you but he didn't know the trauma of one essentially trying to beat you senseless so you'd lose a baby. That was a whole other level of fucked up that he didn't even have words for. He didn't need extra senses to know that Dahlia was definitely not fine. She was in shock, essentially. He'd never encountered it before but he'd seen enough television programs to be able to make a guess on what was going on... and she had a look on her face that was what you might refer to as shell-shocked. He was no medical expert but it was pretty easy to put two and two together. The problem was he wasn't quite sure what to do about it. Should he do anything about it? He'd stormed in there, guns blazing so to speak, and he had saved her from her father. His instincts had roared to life and in the back of his head he had been ready to kill because someone was hurting his mate.... but out of the adrenaline and anger rush, he wasn't so sure of what they were, what this all meant for them both. Frankie had no one to talk to, no one to tell him what to do, and no one had ever discussed with him what it was like to be in love, to think of someone as your mate, or how to avoid confusing lust and happiness and the like for love. What if it wasn't love? And what if it was? His head was practically swimming with all of the thoughts and all of the possibilities in his head. His gaze sharpened somewhat at the hesitant words and statement that Dahlia guessed she could go to the doctor to find out. The dual realization that she could be hurt worse than she looked and that the baby - the baby that made his head swim and his hackles raise and yet made something deeper inside of him feel almost proud - could be hurt, too hit him hard and he growled a little. Not at her, but in an attempt to get rid of some of the stress that was building up within him. "I'll take you. Tomorrow. You gotta get checked out." He let his hands cup her face again because she did look bad. Not just from the shock, but bruises were forming and it put him on edge. He'd probably stay on edge until he knew she was okay for sure. As he stood there, still standing above her, Dahlia looked up at him and then glanced away from him quickly. When she spoke, he just licked at dry lips, trying to think of what to say. A part of wanted to just agree with her and said yes, that was it. He was a drifter. He had planned to leave earlier, honestly, but she had been sweet and kind and had made him feel good and he'd actually been enjoying the work he was doing so he had stuck around. But he was a drifter. He had no fixed address. He just wandered around from city to city, town to town, and did what he wanted to do and he was a kid. They both were kids. They didn't need to be saddled down with a baby or each other, right? There were no promises. They hadn't even said anything close to an "I love you", had they? It had just been fun and games. He dropped down onto the bed, sitting beside her for a moment before he laid back on it, scrubbing his face with a somewhat frustrated noise as he tried to simultaneously convince himself that it had just been him having fun, that he had always intended to leave and didn't give a damn at all but also that he did love her and she loved him and things would be fine, right? It certainly made for a bit of a pounding headache to have his thoughts running around in illogical circles inside of his head. "Scared the hell outta me," he commented because it was the truth. He'd probably looked like he'd been shot or electrocuted because he remembered the lady at the desk asking if he was okay, if it was bad news. He'd just given a strangled laugh and run off without explaining, which probably had been the reason he'd gotten an odd look when he'd brought Dahlia back tonight - or maybe that had been the blood and the way his eyes had changed color. Who knew. "It's okay, though. You just... did what you thought was best and you weren't thinking. Hell, I can't blame you for that." And he realized he couldn't because he certainly hadn't been thinking after he read the letter. He'd gone into his own version of shock which, apparently, meant letting the wolf take over which had lead him to Dahlia in the nick of time. Maybe the letter had been better than in person. He had been punched in the gut but there had been no chance for him to get angry or upset at her, no chance to be hurtful or accusatory; just shock and then anger at someone else that was hurting her instead of anger at her. Dahlia was quiet and he followed suit because... what the hell did he say still? Neither of them had really said what they wanted to do, maybe because they were both afraid of what the other would say. The problem was Frankie didn't even know anymore of what he was afraid of her saying. He didn't know if he wanted to move on and forget this place, if he wanted her to just get rid of the baby and continue as they had been, if he wanted to step up and be a man and raise a child. All of them seemed perfect and terrible at the same time and he just groaned at the fact that this had happened and now he had to think about it, now he had to help make a choice that would affect the both of them for the rest of their lives. He looked up at Dahlia as she spoke and he took in how small she was, how frail she looked, as she sat on the bed and wrapped her arms around herself - around her stomach - and didn't touch him or even really look at him as she admitted she was scared. Honestly, he wasn't the best person in the world he knew but he thought just about anyone would be hard pressed to not feel for her in this moments. He turned onto his side to look at her for a moment before he pushed himself back up into a sitting position. "I'm scared too," he admitted, something that cost him a bit of ego to do so but she needed to hear it. "We're two dumb kids that don't know anything about raising kids or having a family or, shit, taxes and mortgages and shit. I dunno how to be anything but what I have been." He picked at the blanket beneath his fingers for a moment as Dahlia went on to say that she didn't think that she could get rid of the baby. A part of him wanted to be frustrated because, honestly, that would be the easiest damn solution to their problems - outside of his just leaving anyways, which really solved his problem and not hers - but he couldn't say anything because they'd both gotten into this mess and he knew, at the end of the day, it was her choice in the long run. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for the moment before he reached out to finally take one of her hands, drawing it in between both of his own. "I never... thought about all that love crap before. I always felt like it was exaggerated and stuff and maybe we're two stupid kids who don't really know what love is, I dunno. You make me feel good, though. Not just sex and all that just... you make me feel like I matter and like I'm really loved for the first time ever. When you smile it makes me feel like the tallest guy around and I think I might have stuck around even without this cause like. I dunno. I feel like I got a purpose and like I matter when I'm with you. I don't feel like this kid from Detroit who didn't amount to much. I feel like you just see me and you... get me..." The words spilled out of him, more than he had ever said to anyone else before, and he was almost ashamed to hear his voice break just a bit but there was nothing he could do about that now. "What I'm sayin' is I'm staying. No. We're leaving. You and me. We're gonna leave and we're gonna get the hell outta here and find a place where we can just be us. All three of us. What I'm saying is will you marry me?" It sure as hell hadn't been his intention to go this far but it felt good and right and there was no taking the words back now. Edited by Frankie Gardener, Jan 5 2018, 02:19 AM.
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| Dahlia Gardener | Feb 8 2018, 05:57 AM Post #5 |
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Touching Frankie made her feel...grounded, she realized. If she wasn't touching him, she felt like she could just drift away. That wasn't something she wanted to do, not right now. She stroked her fingers over his cheeks and went to stand up. As much as she didn't want to, she pulled away, moved so she could go over to the small bathroom. There, she wet a wash cloth and didn't quite run back to his side. "Here, let's try and take care of it. I admit, I don't have much experience taking care of boys, but I took care of my little sister a lot and she could be a scrapper sometimes." She remembered Magnolia coming to her a lot of the time, scared because she had ripped her dress or had gotten a scrap that just wouldn't stop bleeding. Those were unladylike things, especially because Magnolia had always been a terrible liar. If she had just been able to say she was cleaning or something like that. She always wanted to create some more fantastic tale that often was too close to the truth. She always wanted to say it was some boy because she knew their father didn't approve of them with boys that weren't going to be their husbands. Then she always panicked because he'd demand what she was doing with a boy. It was easier to come to Dahlia, who was in such bad graces with their father that she would gain nothing on ratting Magnolia out. Gently she dabbed at the blood. "The only thing I'm gonna ask you to do is rest, Frankie," she said softly. Maybe what they had was temporary. Maybe he was going to abandon her tomorrow or down the road, who knew really, but he had come and saved her. He had kept her from being hurt more, he had kept her from losing the baby...which wasn't necessarily a kind thing when she didn't know where they stood. Her father had been right – it wasn't a sin to lose the baby if there was a miscarriage. But every time she thought about it, every time she thought about the baby being lost, she got so sad. It hurt her because the baby hadn't done anything, it hadn't asked for anything except to be born. How could she blame it for something it had no control over? Frankie had saved them both and that was reason enough to want to fuss and take care of him. She paused when he said he was more worried about her, fingers freezing just the tiniest bits before she focused back on the task at hand. "I'm fine," the words sounded weird to her own ears. "I'm...I'm just fine. My daddy was never really fond of me. I told you before, I'm the black sheep." It was something they had chatted about when Frankie had been on his lunch break, scarfing away at the food she had brought him. His father had left him and his mother had...tried, he said. She had told him she was the black sheep and she was never quite sure why. Maybe hitting her and kicking her had been new, but she wasn't about to say she was surprised or anything. Her head was swimming, never quite landing. She didn't know what to do, but she knew she needed to be doing something. A part of her was just whispering to herself over and over again that she should have let her father do what he had. It wasn't a sin if she miscarried, right? That would have been fine, it would have taken care of all the problems. She would be no less loved by her father than she had been before. Honestly, he probably would have gotten her married off faster and Dahlia could have gotten away from everything. She knew for a fact that her father never would have told someone that she had been pregnant, that she had slept with someone else. He would make up excuses but she knew that anything he said about her, it reflected badly on him. He couldn't talk about what an awful daughter she was without doing fancy step work to explain why he couldn't manage her. Because that was what fathers and husbands were suppose to do – they were suppose to manage daughters and sisters and wives. They were suppose to have control of them and woe be to the man that couldn't. If she had let him take care of this, she could have been shipped off to be with a husband who maybe didn't love her but she was used to the feeling, she had been use to it from day one of her life. So long as the husband put up with her. She could have been happy starting a new life and there was nothing saying that she had to see her family ever again. Her only regret would have been not getting to see Magnolia. It was a bit like selling puppies, she supposed. But having Frankie in her life...it threw a wrench into everything. For the first time in her life, she felt like she actually cared about something. It didn't matter that sometimes he could be a bit gruff or that he got cagey with her. He had been sweet and he cared and what was she going to do if she lost that? She was going to lose it, wasn't she? Her attention was drawn back to Frankie as he cupped her face, talking to her. "Are you sure? I mean...you probably got work, I can find someone else to take me." She didn't know who. Not one of her friends who would spread the gossip like wildfire. Maybe one of her sisters, but it would involve a lot of worry that they would go against their father or their husbands. She watched him as subtly as she could, watching every move he made so maybe she could read what he was feeling. She had gotten better at reading people. It had become a life skill from living with her father so many years. If she watched for when he was in a good mood, she could just exist, but if he was in a bad mood, she had to be scarce or else she knew she would be getting a scolding that would pick away at her more than she ever wanted. Frankie wasn't talking and she couldn't blame him. He was probably wondering how to let her down easy, he was sweet enough for that...or at least she thought he was sweet enough for that. He seemed to act differently with others, that was the big thing. He treated her differently from everyone else in the world and she supposed that was what made her write the letter. When he dropped onto the bed, when he lied back, she resisted the urge to crawl next to him, to crawl into his arms and hold onto him like her life depended on it. She didn't know if he'd like her climbing all over him – after all, who knew? They might have been in the process of breaking up. He was a drifter and she was pregnant, these sorts of things rarely settled into domestic bliss. She glanced away as he spoke. "I didn't mean to," she said softly, honestly. She hadn't meant to scare him, because she had been so scared herself. She had needed someone with a more level head and that had been Frankie, she thought. Frankie had always seemed so in control, taking about things with confidence like he knew everything in the entire world. She had just needed him to tell her what to do – get rid of the baby, keep the baby, or maybe even that she was just making it up because who knew, she could have been. She hadn't meant to scare him. He seemed so unshakeable. She ducked her head as he continued on, as she said she wasn't thinking and she did what she thought was best. "I don't have anyone else I could have told," she admitted softly, "All my friends would have turned on me because that's what you're suppose to do when a girl gets pregnant, you know? You think you know someone in this town and then they go and do stuff like this..." She felt her shoulders slump. It would be the hot thing to talk about because there was never anything to do. They were a small town and humans seemed so...predisposed to gossiping. Everyone always said they didn't want to hear it but the fact of the matter was they did. They wanted to hear someone losing control of their own life so that maybe there's didn't look so bad. She didn't want to be having this conversation. She wished she was stronger. She wished she could have just found out and marched herself to borrowing someone's car and taken care of the problem. Plenty of women did those things, plenty of women would have done it and they would never have to mention it and it was their own secret. Dahlia wished she were that strong because it hurt to talk about, because she didn't want to lose Frankie because of a baby, even when she knew she probably didn't have him at all. She felt the bed move as rolled about, as he sat up to get closer to her. She wanted to say that she didn't want to hear that he was scared – if she was scared and he was scared, who was going to make the choices for the baby? She glanced at him as he broke it down, as he put down into words exactly what the problem was. He was right. How were they going to be doing anything for a baby? How could she have expected him to give up...whatever he felt was important in his life for a child? This was something that was bigger than both of them. She hunched a tiny bit more down, cursing herself for not thinking. Thinking had never been Dahlia's strong suit, after all. "I always thought there'd be more of a learning curve, you know?" Because she assumed she would be with a man who knew everything. A woman was suppose to be fresh and untouched for her husband, the more...unintelligent or unworldly the better. But a man was suppose to have experience, to know the ins and outs and all of that. She had never thought for a second how a man was suppose to know these things without practice, without having gone through it multiple times. She had always just assumed her husband would know what was expected. Frankie was picking at the blanket now, not quite looking at her before he took one of her hands. She tried to resist looking at him because it was so hard to think when she stared into his pretty eyes, but when he spoke, she couldn't help it. She could feel tears wanting to gather in her eyes at the words, at the too honest and probably hard words. With her free hand, she reached up to cup his cheek. "Frankie, you do matter. At least to me. You're the sweetest man I've ever met, even when you're telling me how tough you are," she smiled slightly, but it faded just a little around the edges. "I meant what I said in the letter. You mean so much to me. It's not just that I didn't know what to do about the baby. I wanted...I just wanted to know what to do because I love you. I love you so much because you're amazing and perfect for me." She had felt whole with him. She had felt like she could do things right. She felt like she mattered and like she wasn't a mistake. She leaned in hesitantly, pressing her lips to his forehead before pulling back some. And then he spoke again, he continued on saying they were leaving. She could only stare at him dumbly for a moment as he finally spelled it out in simple words. "You..." she started, unable to quite finish the sentence. Without thinking this time, she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms so tight around his neck. "Oh Frankie! Of course I will! That isn't even a question!" Edited by Dahlia Gardener, Feb 11 2018, 03:39 PM.
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| Frankie Gardener | Feb 13 2018, 12:10 PM Post #6 |
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Frankie honestly had wished multiple times that he wasn't a werewolf. A lot of people, he found, liked their heritage. They liked being something else or they wanted to be. It wasn't so much that Frankie disliked it as he hated the fact that his temper got the better of him, he hated how worked up he got and how long it took him to calm down. He knew he was going to be up for hours after this even once things had settled. He was going to be looking out of the window, tensing at every noise, growling at the sounds of the few other people who were staying in the hotel. For most people, they forgot about frights and about situations. For Frankie, he spent hours before he finally accepted that it was over... and right now it felt even more because it wasn't something that had threatened him, but something that threatened Dahlia. It was something he was realizing very quickly - how much she mattered to him. It was only enforced when she pulled away from him and he growled in frustration. His head whipped around and he glanced around the whole room, as if something might have invaded this small, dim room of his and come to scare her away. Within seconds, though, she had returned with a wet washcloth. She dabbed at the blood, at the cuts that were already slowly healing on their own and he hissed a little at the bruising that was taking longer to heal. "Not much difference," he grumbled out as she said she didn't have much experience taking care of men. "A cut is a cut." A part of him wanted to get wildly, fiercely jealous and protective at the mere thought that she might know how to take care of someone else, some other man, but he squashed it down. He huffed a little as she very softly said all she was going to do was ask him to rest. "Yeah, I guess I can do that." It was mostly a lie because his adrenaline was still up, because he wanted to protect and defend and he couldn't do that if he were resting. He tilted his head some as he felt Dahlia's fingers freeze against his cheek, the cloth still being held there. When she spoke, her voice was almost mechanical. "I may not be the most educated guy but I ain't stupid," he told her as she said she was just fine. "You're not okay." He moved to cup her face gently, looking into her eyes and trying to ignore the way that the world just always seemed so perfect and right when he was doing that. The words he had spoken were still ringing true. Dahlia wasn't okay. He could see it in her eyes, he could see it in her pose and he could smell it on her. People always looked at you weird when you said something like that, but you didn't understand; not unless you were a wereanimal of some kind. You could smell things like tears. You could smell fear and anger and pain. There were subtle differences in scent trails of a person who was walking casually, one who was running in fear, in someone who had been injured. In his human body his nose wasn't as keen as it would have been in his wolf's body, but he could still scent things on and around her. He could smell the distress and the fear scent that still lingered, he could smell his own blood and the fact that she had been hurt and was still somewhat in pain from it. Honestly, he probably should have just stayed out of everything in this town, shouldn't he? He should have just gotten his money and dipped out before it became something different to him, before he had met Dahlia and before he had started to think of her as something more than just the girl in the diner. Everything meant something different and more now and that wasn't what he had intended... but it was what it was now. Dahlia was something important to him now even when he had never intended for it to get that way. "No," his voice felt somewhat tight as she said she could find someone else to take her. "I'm taking you. I need to know you're okay." He knew she didn't have many people to take her and that she didn't drive. She didn't own a car either. Frankie would take her and he would assure himself that she was okay, that she wasn't damaged physically in a way that was going to cause further pain and hurt. A part of him said he should be being better for her. He should be holding her, comforting her, doing something to help calm her down and let her know that he was there for her. He should be a good mate, his brain told him. The problem was he just didn't quite know what to do. He was still reeling from the shock of the note earlier, still trying to heal from his injuries, still trying to coincide the fact that Dahlia was pregnant and that she was his mate but... not. His brain was just a giant jumble and he didn't quite know what to do even when he knew there were some things he should be doing. "Yeah, I know," he said, scrubbing at his face some more. He did know that. He should be more gracious, right? He should be more comforting. Literally anyone else would probably be holding her constantly and trying to assure her but he was just... confused. Lost. He was scared, if he was honest. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring and normally that wasn't something that bothered him. That was how his life had gone for several years of wandering but, right now, it did scare him because he didn't know where they would go, what they would do. He didn't know if he would be out of the door tomorrow and never looking back, if he would be tied down, if things would go back to how they were. All he knew was that Dahlia was important to him and from there the rest of his ideas and thoughts just kind of petered out into little sparks of stressed and panicked nothingness. When she went on to say that her friends would have turned on her for this, he felt his irritation sparking up again. "What kinda friends are those?" he demanded. "What kinda backwards town is this?" He knew the answer, though. It was a small town with small beliefs. He had seen plenty of people that he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, would have run him out of town for being a werewolf if they knew. It wasn't all that surprising that there would be people who would jeer and turn their nose up at a girl who had gotten pregnant without being married here. Hell, there were still people in big cities who did that even though it was more common. He couldn't help but to give a puff of irritation at the thought of someone just turning on Dahlia just because she'd gotten pregnant. There was a part of him that honestly still wanted to bolt. No one could blame him, right? He was some kid with no credentials, no money, no real job, no home. He couldn't raise a baby. He couldn't have a family. He was nothing. Every time he thought that, though, he would look over and see Dahlia holding herself in a broken way. He would remember her bringing him food, the way she hadn't shied away from his being a werewolf, the way that even her letter hadn't said anything about making him stay. The letter had said the truth, that she was pregnant and scared but that she loved him. He couldn't just turn his back on her... and it was more than that. He would miss her, he knew. Not in the way you missed someone you got used to but more than that. He felt like his very being would miss her if she wasn't in his life anymore... but maybe he was just being stupid there. Maybe he had let himself get too swept up in everything. He huffed a little as she said she thought there'd be more of a learning curve. "I dunno. Maybe if we didn't have shit parents." It felt bad to say that because it wasn't quite true. His mother hadn't been doting and warm, but she hadn't hated him, hadn't beat him. She'd worked hard to keep him clothed and fed and he'd been the one to run out on her. His dad could fuck off, but his mom had tried at least. As far as he was concerned, Dahlia's parents could fuck off though. The things that they said to her, the way they treated her and then tonight? He couldn't ever think about forgiving someone like that. Dahlia didn't pull her hands away from him and he was pretty sure she was about to start crying - which he was not equipped to handle very well, honestly - and when she spoke he felt something like embarrassment well up in him, but more than that. Pleasure. Warmth. That feeling of something more between them that he hadn't really been able to put a finger on. Dahlia telling him he mattered did something to him, something not at all terrible but warm and pleasant. "I am tough," he grumbled the words out, a rumble deep in his chest as he tried to huff, as he tried to pretend he wasn't affected by the words. He felt his cheeks flush a tiny bit as Dahlia went on to say that she meant what she said in the letter, that she loved him. He wanted to tell her to not declare that because they were kids, right? They didn't know what love was. But he squeezed her hand in between both of his. "I love you too, Lia." And he knew he meant it. Maybe he hadn't thought it until this moment, but he meant it. Before he could bask in that revelation, though, Dahlia was staring at him in a way that made him think maybe he'd been stupid. Maybe she didn't love him that much, maybe she didn't want a forever thing... but then she was suddenly launching at him. He hadn't expected such a reaction to his rushed and out of nowhere proposal but it seemed he had done well. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly against his body, burying his face against her neck, breathing in her scent and feeling her warmth against his body. "I'm gonna take care of you, Lia," he promised her, softly. "Both of you." And he meant it. He meant it with every fiber of his being and every shred of his soul. Edited by Frankie Gardener, Feb 13 2018, 12:30 PM.
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| Dahlia Gardener | May 15 2018, 11:54 AM Post #7 |
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When she pulled away, he growled. A part of her thought she should be scared, she thought that she should be fretful and worried and to be afraid of him because that seemed natural, that seemed like something she should do. Except she didn't. When he growled, she saw the way he looked around the room and she knew it wasn't something necessarily for her. His blood was up, the same way an angry dog's might have been. She had heard stories about people with pets that got all angry that their owner had been hurt. They didn't necessarily mean to be aggressive, but they were going to be. She thought she should have been afraid, she thought that she should have felt scared of him and what he could do, but instead she felt safe. Instead she felt this relief that if her father decided to show up (unlikely, but possible), Frankie would know and he would take care of it. It made something in her chest ease just the tiniest bit as she back down and dabbed at the wounds. "You say that, but I don't think I've ever taken care of someone who pulled off the ruggedly handsome while injured thing," she teased a little. It was all a swirling pool of emotions anyway. When she had been taking care of her sisters, she had been muddled up with worry and fretting and this feeling of doom hanging in the back of her mind. When she had taken care of Magnolia, she had just continually thought to herself 'please don't let anyone notice' and 'please let me finish' because she had been scared. She had been worried that they father would come in and he would see what had happened and then suddenly Magnolia would be a black sheep too. She tread such a fine line...and now she had no one to protect her. And the thing about Frankie was that he had a cut, but it somehow...worked for him. Not that she wanted him hurting, but he pulled off the look in a way that said he was rough and tumble and it matched his stubble and his worn clothes. She gave him a smile as he said he could rest. "Good, you probably need it." He worked a lot, she knew, and he had gotten a scare (just like her, a voice whispered) and he had gotten hurt and...and he would probably do better with just lying down and not worrying about anything for a little while. When Frankie called her out, when he said he wasn't stupid and she wasn't okay, she looked away. "I'm fine," she said the words more for herself than anyone else. Even as he put a hand to her face, as they locked eyes. "I have to be fine," she said softly. Did everyone always feel like they were lost and adrift like this? She didn't know how to get her feet back onto the ground and her thoughts kept crashing in to each other. She kept finding herself thinking about one thing and trailed into another thought. They were all unfinished; they were all these half started thoughts that stopped making sense mid-way through and then they stopped completely in favor of other thoughts. She didn't know how to get her head about her and a part of her just wanted to go to sleep for hours, just curl up in the bed and if she didn't wake up again, well, that was okay too because she was just so tired. When Frankie said no, it made her look at him. It was a firm voice to the point of being tight, like he was just barely controlling some emotion in hi,. When he went on to say that he was taking her and he wanted to know she was okay, something eased a little bit more in her chest. This was something she could understand and a part of her was so grateful for someone being willing to say things so firmly. A part of her wanted to balk, just a little, because she knew well enough that she didn't need someone taking over her life, that it was her father's view point that a man should be the boss. At the same time, she didn't want the responsibility, she didn't want to have to think about these sorts of things. Let her worry about the dinners and the cleaning and making sure Frankie had shirts to wear for work the next day. Let her plan when the kids were going to get up and what other kids they could play with. "Okay, Frankie," she said. She wanted to keep asking if he was sure or tell him didn't have to, but the fact of the matter was she wanted him there. She wanted him there to hold her hand and hear the news so that if she did miscarry, she had someone to cry on immediately or to tell her things were going to be okay. She wanted him there because if the baby was okay, she knew her thoughts were going to scatter like a bunch of marbles. She hated how awkward things were. She wanted to cry at him that she wanted to go back to how things were, how easy things were, how they didn't seem to have much trouble between them. But she knew this was going to come eventually. The pregnancy had just sped things up. Eventually, he would have come to her and said that he was a wandering man, that he couldn't be tied down by anyone. He would leave and she would make up something in her head where he would have said "I would have settled down for you" or something like it. She would have built it up in her own head and no matter who her actual husband was, she'd still remember Frankie as her first love and she'd make it something sweet. The pregnancy, though, had pushed it harder than they could have ever imagined. The pregnancy had forced them to look at things. "You didn't deserve the letter, Frankie, I'm sorry," she said softly, "It was my mess and I dragged you into it." She didn't think, her father always said. She didn't think and she was stupid for not thinking. Then she had gotten Frankie all messed up and tangled in this when he could have been moving on to the next job, the next town, the next girl...and a part of Dahlia hated the next girl that Frankie would meet because she'd be better than Dahlia; smarter, sweeter, more what Frankie needed rather than a girl that needed Frankie. She looked at Frankie when he made the demand, unable to stop her eyebrow from raising. "Is it really that different in a big city, Frankie? You're telling me a girl shows up pregnant without being married or something and no one is going to talk about it?" The idea that that was true kind of unsettled Dahlia. It sounded like a problem, it sounded like it happened so often that it wasn't a big deal and that scared Dahlia more than being pregnant right now. She looked away again. "They aren't really my friends, not really. I know that and they know it. We were just some girls that happened to go to the same school and we didn't hate each other, so we were friends. Besides, everyone loves a little gossip." It was true. Everyone loved a good story of someone falling from grace. People loved hearing about someone that was so high and mighty and pure being just like everyone else. That was why those tabloid magazines were so popular, she felt. She remembered standing in line with the groceries for the week and seeing things like "Winslow Green – His Embarrassing Secrets Exposed" and "Bronson Flemming and Zora Marin – Divorce Announcement" and "August Channing Roberts – Cheating, Cocain, & Brawls". People wanted to see anyone fall down so long as it wasn't them. She was surprised they were still here, honestly. She was surprised Frankie hadn't packed up and left. This wasn't his responsibility, was it? Even as she thought it, a part of her – a nasty terrible part of her that rose up and tried to make her worse than she was – thought that he had half a hand in this and so he should have half a hand in what happened. But she couldn't bring herself to voice that. She could have taken precautions; she could have told him no like a good woman would have. Maybe Frankie was just waiting for the morning. He had been a decent sort, no matter what he said, and he wouldn't have let her be hurt, wouldn't have let her struggle to get away from her dad. He'd feel awkward leaving her now, but it might change come morning. When he spoke, she scoffed just the tiniest bit because it was almost scandalous what he was saying. "You don't really know my parents, Frankie," she pointed out, "They're not bad people. I was just a trial on them is all." She just didn't know what she had done. She had been born and it wasn't like she had asked for that. She had asked for nothing that she got, all the choices taken from her. She had seen the way her parents were with her sisters – they cared about her sisters, they spoke almost gently. Dad was always going to be harsh in his words but that was just his way, he had to be tough sometimes. Dahlia had just done something to upset them, she had done something that they couldn't forgive...she just didn't know what. She squeezed his hand. "The toughest man I know," she agreed. Frankie was...special, she had always thought. The men she had met were always "too" something – too soft, too tough, too emotional, too unemotional – for her to ever understand having feelings for. But then along came Frankie, who strutted like the cock of the walk and was so tough and confident...but she had seen his vulnerable side. She had seen his vulnerable side when he had taken her to the woods to show her what he was. She had seen his soft side when he had brought her lunch, even if she worked a diner and she had been at work. She had seen his compassionate side tonight when he had saved her. She stared at him when he spoke again, when he said the words back. Despite everything, she hadn't honestly expected him to say them back to her. She had expected him to say 'I know' or 'me too' or something where he didn't have to say the words out loud. But he just kept surprising her. She hugged onto him tighter, holding him as hard as she could especially when he said he was going to take care of her. "I'll take care of you, Frankie. Just you wait and see. You're never gonna be hungry or need clean clothes or anything like that." Edited by Dahlia Gardener, May 15 2018, 11:05 PM.
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| Frankie Gardener | May 28 2018, 10:16 PM Post #8 |
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He was too touchy and worked up, too easy to get aggressive - not with her, though. Never with her - and he knew he needed to get control of himself. If someone came to the door now Frankie would quite honestly probably go through the door, tear it off of its hinges, and maybe try to do the same to someone's head. He would shift and transform so easily right now. All it would take was one little sign that she was scared or that someone was out there and he would be in fight mode. He'd heard of some werewolves who had control, practically ice blocks who never transformed unless they wanted to. He'd heard of plenty of werewolves in various stages. Him though? He had to be cursed with a temper and a quick shift on that temper and yet equally cursed with slow healing. The most amazing thing, though, was that Dahlia wasn't flinching at his growling. She wasn't gasping, drawing in a quick breath, putting a hand to her chest or trying to back up or run away. She just stayed right where she was, as if she wasn't the least bit afraid of him and that made something in his chest swell some. It made him want to puff up, throw his chest out somewhat, lift his chin and show himself off so she knew just what kind of a fine specimen of a werewolf she was looking at. Instead, he gave another little hiss as she dabbed the wet cloth against the remaining bits of blood that were starting to dry and the wounds that were finally beginning to slowly knit together. He brought one hand up to rub at his jaw, hissing again a little as he hit a bruise that hadn't healed up just yet. "Rugged, huh?" he asked, giving her a little grin. He liked to think he was pretty good looking - he'd wooed a few girls in his travels after all - but it felt wholly different to hear her call him ruggedly handsome, especially as she was doing the human equivalent of tending to a mate after a fight. It made him feel good - really and truly good - for the first time in a long time. Maybe the first time in forever, really. "You gonna rest with me?" That probably came off as more of an innuendo than he intended but he wanted to know that she was actually going to rest. She worked pretty hard, he thought, and now there were all sorts of other issues floating around like the fact that she was undoubtedly a bit banged up and she was pregnant to boot. She should probably be resting more than Frankie should be, honestly. He couldn't stop himself from sniffing the air some, testing to see if he could catch a whiff of anything that might tell him exactly how well or poorly she was fairing. He sat up a little straighter as Dahlia looked away from him, bristling a little - not at her, but just in general at the situation. "You do gotta be fine, but you're gonna be fine because you don't have to deal with shit like that anymore." He was never going to let anyone do anything like that to her ever again. He'd rather die, honestly. Especially when he saw her looking like this. She just looked... defeated. Lost. He would probably be lying if he said she had been open and lively when they had met, but she hadn't been like this either. She looked like most of the life had been stomped out of her and he was sure that was the shock - the multiple shocks - of what had happened and he hated it. His Lia was focused, maybe nervous and shy but she looked at Frankie and her eyes focused on him and she would give him this smile that felt like it was meant only for hm. Right now her eyes were a bit glazed and her gaze kept wandering away from him. Her smile was missing and that was the worst thing of all. Despite his worry, he couldn't help but feel pleased when she agreed with him at his words. "That's right, Lia," he said, almost crooning the words out. "Let me handle it right now." It was his job to take care of her and be in charge. Right now, she needed him to get her through this and he would do that. It made him feel good, trusted, important. This was his job and he was going to see it through. Frankie was silent for a moment as Dahlia very quietly said that he didn't deserve the letter and that she was sorry. He could agree with that somewhat but, then again, it was probably better that he had gotten a letter and not her face to face. He might have said or done something rash in that moment, something he would regret. He might have actually ran. If he did that, what would have happened to her tonight? No, it had scared him but that was okay. It had still meant he was where he needed to be. When she continued on, he shook his head. She was trying to take all of the blame onto herself and maybe he would have let her do that in some other town, some other day, if she were someone else but he found that he couldn't. "Our mess. It's our mess." He wanted her to know that. It hadn't been just her. He'd been just as eager to explore her body and make love to her. He found himself wanting her in so many different ways - many of them not sexual in the least, honestly - and exploring every way, right down to just wanting to hold her hand as they took a walk in the woods. No, this was both their mess and they were both responsible for it... maybe even himself a little more than her, really. He would never have admitted that to anyone else, for anyone else, but Dahlia was different he was finding. When she looked back at him - actually challenged him a little - he found himself reflecting how beautiful she was. She always had a quiet sort of grace around her he felt but when she was fired up a little it did something to him. He gave a small bark of laughter. "I mean, kinda. Some people gossip or shake their heads but for real... most people don't give a shit. Why care about someone you're probably not ever going to see again?" He'd heard some tongues wagging in high school here and there if a girl turned up pregnant but mostly it was common enough that it just flew under the radar now. It was shocking to him that so many people would even care here. He wrinkled his nose as she went on to say the girls that she talked to weren't really her friends. "Ugh," was his comment, because what else could he say. He wanted to say it sounded lonely but, honestly, did Frankie really have many friends? He'd been on the road so much there was no one but himself. A wolf needed a pack, so the stories said, but he had only had himself for awhile now. He gave a little huff as Dahlia said that everybody loved a little gossip. He couldn't resist reaching out to put his hands to her waist, tickling just a tiny bit. Maybe it didn't have a place here right here and now, but a part of him felt good and right doing it and being so playful with her. "That right? You love gossip, huh? You're terrible." He made sure to put as much tease into his voice as he could because she'd had enough terrible things said tonight. She deserved some lightness with all she'd been through though. Things were going to come to a head soon and he knew it. They couldn't just stay like this. Dahlia would have to either decide she was staying or that she wanted to go. She was going to have to decide if she wanted to deal with him, the town, or her parents. She was going to have to decide what to do about... about the baby. There was no way they could stay in this moment for longer than a little bit and it scared the hell out of him. He was too young for this, he still wanted to scream. For the first time in ages he wanted to run home, run all the way back up to Detroit, and hide; he wanted to tell his mom she was the adult, she was in charge, and she should make the decisions. He couldn't do that, though. He was an adult, they both were adults, and this was their decision and their life and they had to step up and deal with it. When Dahlia scoffed at him, he scoffed right back. "He had you on the ground hurting you," he snapped, unable to fully curb his temper at the memory of what he had come upon as he sought her out. It made his blood boil to even begin to think about it. "You don't deserve anything like that ever. Ever." Maybe Frankie was rough and not the best guy in the world but even he knew that. It made him see literal red to think of Dahlia going through that. And maybe her mom was better but he didn't think so. The way she talked about them it sounded like they didn't like her much and that was fine. They didn't deserve her anyways in his opinion. Dahlia squeezed his hand and he squeezed back as she told him that he was the toughest man she knew. He couldn't stop himself from puffing up the tiniest bit at that. "Yeah?" he asked, the word a little gruff. He wondered if maybe he should have said anything at all. You were supposed to be a bit aloof, right? Don't go rushing in so they don't expect anything? He couldn't care though, outside of wanting to squirm a little when she stared at him. He couldn't care because he meant it. Because it was true. He loved her. He rested his hand against the back of her head, sinking his fingers into her hair as she hugged tighter to him. "I know you will, babe. We're going to watch out for each other. Nothing and nobody is going to get in our way." He'd make sure of it. He was going to give her the world, damn it. Edited by Frankie Gardener, May 28 2018, 11:24 PM.
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8:19 AM Jul 11