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"Won't she hear us?"

"No, she sleeps like a fuckin' rock. Hold on, let me get in and I'll help you."

Frank took a few elbows to the small rectangular half-basement window before it popped open neatly, and he pushed it the rest of the way up before shifting down in a sitting position. The window was level to the grass, barely hidden by some poorly kept bushes and weeds.

"Will I fit?"

"Seriously? If I can fit then you can, pipsqueak. Let me get in and I'll help you."

Frank took me to his house, and despite what had just happened, it still managed to make me a little nervous. He shifted into a sitting position and slid in, gripping the top of the frame for support before disappearing into the dark room.

"Hey, come on," he whispered, nothing but his hands motioning through the window.

I nervously shifted toward the window, a dog beginning to bark a few houses over. A hesitant breath fell out of my lips, my eyes turning in every which way in search of any stalking threat. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still being followed, however unlikely.

"Just put your legs in and jump down."

I did as he said, scooting toward the opening of the window and dangling my legs down. It was too dark to tell how far down the jump was, but Frank's head was level to my knees so it at least wasn't two stories this time. He placed his hands on the side of my hips, waiting for me to jump down.

"Just drop down, I've got you."

I sighed and slid down into the window, his hands shifting up to my waist to support the landing.

"You good?" He asked, his hands still resting there as he looked at me.

I silently nodded and he kindly smirked, turning away to begin rummaging around his dark room.

"Hold on, I have matches around here somewhere."

"Frank?"

"One second Mae, I can't see," I heard him say, now camouflaged by the darkness.

"Frank, I have a flashlight," I said meekly, pulling it out of my back pocket.

"Oh."

Frank lit several candles around the room, allowing me now to get a better look at it. It felt strange being in his space, and I realized then that I never really knew what I would have expected it to look like. It seemed typical, though. A small couch facing an old television on the other side of the room, his bed in the corner. There were various band flyers and miscellaneous other things haphazardly strewn onto the wall. A well-loved coffee table covered in coffee rings and scuffs sat in the center, an ashtray with a range of fully to half smoked cigarettes resting in it. Two guitars- one resting on top of his bed and another propped in a corner.

Frank began rustling through a small dresser and pulled out a handful of clothing.

"Put these on, you need to get out of those before you get sick."

I probably looked like a pathetic wet dog standing in the middle of the room, clutching at the sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt he handed me as I trembled. Frank continued to rummage around his drawers and I just stood there. Now that the fear and anxiety had worn off- for now, at least- I felt sad. Kind of like things just kept being taken away from me and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. I missed my dad. I was mad at him, too.

"Oh yeah sorry, do you want me to go in the corner? I won't look," Frank said, facing me from the corner of the room.

"Oh," I jolted out of thought and nodded, turning around and wrestling off my wet clothing.

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