Taking Back the Life You Stole

Chapter 1

Frank looked out the window, glancing at the brick wall on the other side of the dingy alley. There was a certain aura that seemed to rise out of the cracked asphalt that paved the narrow patch of land between his apartment building on the bar next door. The thought of leaving his bed crossed his mind for the third time that day, but it still wasn't enough to convince him to move his aching legs. He'd fallen down the stairs the day before, drunk, and scraped up his knees pretty bad. It was not the first time it had ever happened, god, it wasn't the first time it happened since he moved into this apartment. It's not his fault he lives next door to a bar, he could blame Ray for that. It wasn't either of their first choices, but it was the cheapest, and they needed cheap. Frank heard the usual sound of digital gunshots coming from the living room and knew that Ray must be up and playing video games, which meant it had to be Sunday. Ray had a regular 9-5 type of job, and this was really the only way Frank was able to keep track of the days.

Frank scrubbed his hands over his face, the cracked skin on his palms feeling equally rough against the stubble on his jaw. He rolled his eyes and came to the consensus he would have to get out of bed, might as well do it sooner than later. He kicked his legs over the edge of the bed and tested weight on his sore knees. It hurt, but he could walk. He took a few cautious steps and then made a beeline to the bathroom. It was nearly one in the afternoon at this point and he didn't bother showering last night after his... incident. He stripped down and took a deep breath before looking down at his knees. They were still caked in blood. The blood was mixed with dirt and gravel and he knew he should have cleaned it out last night, but better late than never. He tried to brush the gravel away with his hand. It hurt a lot more than he expected. He closed his eyes, bit his bottom lip, and forced out a breath. His blood had turned into an almost sick sort of glue and trapped the small rocks against his skin. As soon as they were pushed off droplets of blood began to bead down his shins.

"Yeah, Ray," Frank mocked to himself in the mirror, "I'll be fine living next to and working in a bar. No, I'm definitely not still an alcoholic." He shook his head at himself, his long hair was stringy and dirty.

He climbed in the shower and tried to wash his legs as much as possible. The blood mixed with the water and turned the water a grim pink at his feet. He probably scrubbed harder than he needed to but he really didn't need another blood infection. In general, he liked the feeling of being clean, it made him feel like a real person. He even liked showers, the hotter the better. He swore the hotter the water the cleaner it got you. He got out after a while and reached for the darkest towel on the shelf. His knees were still bleeding a little and he didn't need to stain a towel that didn't even belong to him.

Ray had been generous enough to cover a larger portion of the rent and provide most of the furnishings for their house. Frank hadn't been in a great place when they first moved here a year ago. He had recently gotten in a series of fights with his family that ended with him being kicked out. He was able to live out of his car for a while without any of his friends becoming aware of his situation. Two, maybe three months passed and he had been fine, making cash at the restaurant he waited at. It was at this time that his drinking problem got to an all time low. He was just off work, drunk from sneaking shots in the back, and was driving to the park and ride that was just outside city limits. For a long time, he swore it wasn't his fault, the other car was the problem. The reality, that he has now since accepted, was that he started to pass out at the wheel and got hit head-on by a semi. He woke up in a hospital with no serious injuries, just a number of deep cuts across his arms and face. Ray was there, and the only other thing in the room he recognized were the two trash bags full of his only possessions in the world. Ray quickly called him out for not telling him sooner about his situation, but he also knew Frank well enough that it was more about pride and embarrassment than anything else. At that point, he had to put his pride aside and let Ray do what he did best: Take care of people.