5 - If Memories could Burn

“I’m Emmie by the way,” the girl said, trying to strike up a conversation.

“Ok,” Frankie said, half listening. She was more focused on the refrain of her song.

“I’m going to Stubenville.”

“Mhum.”

“It’s a cool place. Trashy town, but beautiful scenery. Where did you go?”

Frankie’s breathing halted, and suddenly staggered. No—not the memory—

“You ok?”

Blood. She heard her own scream. What? Who said she could escape? No, he was stronger than her. He was the hottest, most aloof boy. Everybody wanted him. She had her sights on him all year. All she wanted was a dance, but she fell for his trick. He took her into another room, asking for her opinion on the painting down the hall. What a dark turnout for an innocent little party.

The girl helped Frankie sit as she slid to the floor. The girl’s eyes were somehow kind, concerned, and yet also deep, as though she understood without words what had happened, as though she saw through the pain into Frankie’s past. Frankie writhed.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea,” Emmie said somberly, beyond her years. “I won’t ask. But if you want to tell me to get it off your chest, no one else is listening. I promise I will never tell if that is proper.”

“No,” Frankie rasped.

“Cinnamon swirl latte, extra whipped cream!” came Avery’s call.

Emmie stood, and somehow without letting go of the sympathy she held out to Frankie, worked with quick little fingers at the order.

Frankie rasped, “I can’t.”

“I will take over,” Emmie said smoothly. “You may return when you feel better.”

With the energy of a sprite, the swift and precise girl worked away, somehow not falling far behind.

Frankie was lost in her mind. It swirled—there was no way to avoid it—That time. She had managed to escape when he was done, she called her parents. They did not understand, they scolded her for not being careful. ‘Women are sadly just weaker, so don’t go with a boy you don’t know.’ they had said. She had thrown her phone on the floor in frustration. She collapsed to the floor and wept bitterly.

That was it. It was all over. No more, no more, she would go away from where the boy was. No more, she would leave. No! She left the next morning, dropped out, snuck onto the nearest bus and went, she didn’t care where. Only when it came to the last stop that day did she slowly realize through her anger she had nowhere to go. She felt she could not depend on her parents—besides, she had been wanting to get out on her own for years. She was only eighteen, and had no one, no idea where she was.

If it had not been for Wolf, she could have been picked up by some creep. She would have been lost. But no, there he was, breathtakingly handsome under the dying sun and lantern light. He looked over her body and knew by her clothes what she was, saw her tears, and out of the kindness of his heart, let her come with him.

He was the kindest person she had ever met, and she couldn’t say how glad she was when she thought of that moment how glad she was she had him.

Her breathing eventually evened. Emmie glanced down now that she no longer hyperventilated. “Ready?” she said cheerfully. “I care. There is always hope, it is ok.”

Frankie fought inside herself, let me grovel in it, but a little hope wouldn’t hurt. She let herself smile.