From Head To Toes (30 Day Smut Challenge)

Day 7: Half-Dressed

Frank was nobody's bitch.

Well, he used to be nobody's bitch. But that changed as soon as he was caught breaking the law.

It was dumb, really- Frank was dumb.

He was a stupid nineteen-year-old who smoked pot and had an ugly haircut he did himself in front of the mirror, because he was punk like that. Frank had the illegal tattoos made in a sketchy alley, had the torn up jeans and had the band t-shirts. He was your typical punk teenager smoking pot in his mom's basement.

Frank was 'young and reckless' never thinking twice about his actions or their consequences.

Always getting into fist-fights, shoplifting cigarettes and using fake IDs with his friends to buy liquor at the shady liquor store down the block.

He never considered himself mentally unstable, and whoever said otherwise would recieve a nice punch to the face by the man in question. But after that one night, people around him -even the two friends that were there- started to think otherwise.

Pyromania is an impulse control disorder in which individuals repeatedly fail to resist impulses to deliberately start fires, in order to relieve tension or for instant gratification.

That's what the dictionaries say.

Frank was around lighters a lot, since he was fourteen and his cigarette addiction had started, even more when he was first introduced to pot.

It was odd not to see a lighter in Frank's hand, his thumb flicking the flame on and off.

It started out small, setting tiny objects on fire inside recycling bins with his friends, laughing and then putting them off. Burning old yearbooks, old clothes, just old things he found around his house.

But what landed him in the police station was the school.

He had been high, but his objective was perfectly clear. Stumbling with his friends, they bought some gasoline, something to really get the fire going, and then broke into the school at two in the morning (the judge had told Frank he had been lucky there was no one inside).

He wouldn't have been caught if he hadn't burned his hand, resulting in his already panicked friends calling an ambulance.

It was incredible how the flames licked up the body of the building, how the black smoke rose up into the air and some of the floors started melting and falling. Frank contemplated all of this in awe and pride as he got into the ambulance; the sleeved of his shirt had caught fire, resulting in some awful scarring of his forearms and wrists.

Since he was nineteen, there was a trial. He plead guilty, and was sent to prison for burning down Belleville High, the high school where he was tormented for four years of his life. He didn't regret a single thing.

His parents had been devastated, and the psychologist at the police station had labelled him a pyromaniac. Frank's fist colliding with his face didn't help his case at all.

Frank's 'friends' who where there with him got off without a scratch, and bid Frank farewell.

As aforementioned, Frank was nobody's bitch when growing up: he was a rebellious teenager who took shit from nobody.

But that was on the outside world, not in prison.

He wasn't the toughest in prison, and although he tried to be, he often got beat up, and there were real murderers in there, Frank wasn't even up to their ankles.