frustrations! [ ' frankie x asher]

[asf!]

Stewart Junior High School. The words made Frankie’s insides twist all up in knots. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made you want to jump up and down and get your wiggles out. She had been quite jovial the past week or so, excitement for going back to her safe haven had been building up inside of her. Now that she was here, she was anything but excited. Why now, Miss Francesca was just plain paranoid. Not everything changed about her, sometimes she really did wonder if people liked her or if they felt bad for her. It was a possibility, wasn’t there a possibility for everything? Maybe that was a different quote.

She found herself in the music room, trying to retune her guitar. Of course, it was just her luck that it hadn’t been working for days. Frankie didn’t know what she did do it. All she knew was that it was out of tune, and that if she worked at tweaking the strings hard enough, she’d probably be able to fix it. Even if it didn’t sound one hundred percent, it was better than a guitar sounding like shit, right? Fair enough. The girl cursed as angrily as she possibly could, fooling with the strings.

Frankie’s hair had gone back to its natural blond, and she had gotten some side bangs cut in. They weren’t too noticeable except for when they fell into her eyes and she shook them out. She had dressed herself in a pair of dark wash jeans and a white tank top, something normal for Frankie to wear. Her beady blue eyes scanned the music room. It wasn’t often that she found herself in there alone. In fact, she thought this was the very first time she had been in here without some other kid in there trying to practice with their instrument as well.

As her guitar finally hit the right note, she sighed in relief, a smirk appearing on her face. Her fingers touched the strings and she began to pick at them, the sheet music for Weezer’s “Say It Ain’t So” in front of her in a chair. It didn’t sound the same acoustic, and of course since it was her first time trying to play it, it sounded pretty rough.

[☮ ♥ ada]

today i don't need a replacement
i'll tell them what the smile on my face meant,

Climbing up on Solsbury Hill
I could see the city light
Wind was blowing, time stood still
Eagle flew out of the night
He was something to observe
Came in close, I heard a voice
Standing stretching every nerve
Had to listen had no choice
I did not believe the information
I just had to trust imagination
My heart going boom boom boom
Son, he said, Grab your things,
I've come to take you home

Music had not been the same for Asher since Rylee had been out of his life. Before the breakup, music was the way Asher stood out and shined. It was the way he proclaimed his undying love for the girl and the one way it seemed everyone really noticed his love. It was one thing for Asher to tell everyone he loved Rylee more than words could say; it was another to actually show it. To face facts, Asher really wasn’t good at very much else other than music. His grades had fallen once again and his GPA stayed at a constant 2.0 - straight C’s in all his classes, plus one A in band. He was the bad student poster child in every aspect except music.

The A didn’t matter to Asher, though. It was all about that feeling he got when he was playing - his mind wandering, his heart racing toward the peak where insanity met sheer brilliance. That feeling could never be reflected in a letter; it could only be felt through the heart. There was a flaw in Asher’s beautiful music, though. His heart was broken, and that meant his music would be equally fragmented. For the past few weeks he’d tried desperately to no avail to harness his muse. The thing was, Rylee had always been his music. She’d enter the room and immediately he’d feel inspired; she’d laugh and he’d feel heavenly. That feeling had never failed to channel through his songs until recently.

What frustrated Asher the most was his dependency on Rylee. It was like he was slipping and couldn’t pull himself up, the hands of security retreating farther and farther into the distance. His muse had cut deep scars into his heart and had mutilated the simple infrastructure of his personality without even a second glance. No call, no text, no letter. Not even an ‘I’m sorry, you don’t deserve this’. Because even though Asher had blamed himself in the beginning, he was now beginning to realize none of this was his fault. Really, he didn’t deserve it, any of it; she hadn’t even warned him about this. All the while he’d been wondering if he was being too clingy, yet Rylee never seemed to object so he’d just kept going along with it. He had never realized his one insecurity was what would bring about his complete and utter destruction. And that was why he vowed never to have insecurities again, at least not ones so clearly noticeable by anyone by himself. He couldn’t experience that pain again.

To keep in silence I resigned
My friends would think I was a nut
Turning water into wine
Open doors would soon be shut
So I went from day to day
Tho' my life was in a rut
"Till I thought of what I'd say
Which connection I should cut
I was feeling part of the scenery
I walked right out of the machinery
My heart going boom boom boom
Hey, he said, Grab your things
I've come to take you home

Once he realized he wasn’t getting his muse back any time soon, Asher headed for the music room with his guitar slung over his back and hope nestled between the cracks and crevices of his wounded heart. Perhaps channeling the energy of someone else would evoke his own energy - positive energy, he hoped. It was like opening one of his chakras - in order to realize himself, he had to let go of what he loved most. As much as he hated to admit it, what he had always loved most was Rylee. Right now he was holding onto the fact that maybe, just maybe she’d come back to him, she’d apologize, she’d be his muse, and he’d feel that wash of reassurance glaze over him once more. But facts were facts - Rylee was gone. She wasn’t his friend, she wasn’t his lover, she was just another thing that Asher failed to accomplish anything with. He’d needed a muse, or at least a catalyst, if he wanted to stop spiraling downward into this pit of never-ending angst. So he’d turned to his trusty iPod and had chosen a song at random - Solsbury Hill by Peter Gabriel. It was the perfect song, really. The lyrics were vague and ambiguous, as if Peter Gabriel had scrawled in “up to your interpretation” above the title. It was the perfect song to get his creative juices flowing again. Lord knows he needed it.

Silently, Asher opened the door to the music room and found himself in the company of Frankie Conway, one of Anne’s best friends. Honestly, Asher had never really bothered to get to know Frankie too well, though he got the vibe that she thought they were pretty good friends. He’d gone along with the idea, but only because she was Anne’s friend and he didn’t want to send Anne and her PMS rockets off. Then again, Asher really hadn’t bothered to make many friends or noticeably friendlier to anyone since he’d met Rylee. He had her and she was enough. Now that she was gone, Asher realized he’d actually have to start socializing if he didn’t want to turn into a complete hermit. But wasn’t that what he wanted? To shut himself out from the world and not allow himself to be vulnerable again?

Confusion clouded his mind just as quickly as it had dispersed and Asher shook the thoughts from his mind. He cared not about whether he was a recluse or not. All he cared about was getting his guitar out, feeling his fingers on the familiar strings, and losing himself in the music. With a thin line set on his lips and with no attempt at greeting Frankie, Asher set up his chair in the opposite corner with his back to her. Unzipping his guitar case as noiselessly as possible, he slid into the seat and tuned quietly. Letting his eyes flutter shut, he tapped out the 7/8 time signature and began playing, singing the words in a hushed tone. As he felt himself sink into the sound, the corners of his lips twitched into a small smile.

This was bliss.

When illusion spin her net
I'm never where I want to be
And liberty she pirouette
When I think that I am free
Watched by empty silhouettes
Who close their eyes but still can see
No one taught them etiquette
I will show another me
Today I don't need a replacement
I'll tell them what the smile on my face meant
My heart going boom boom boom
Hey, I said, You can keep my things,
they've come to take me home

[/size]

[asf!]

come on get higher, loosen my lips,

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FAITH AND DESIRE AND THE SWING OF YOUR HIPS[/size][/font]

Everyone and their dog knew Frankie was bipolar, and that scared some people. It scared her to be quite honest. It didn’t make her the most congenial person on the face of the planet, either. Of course she was always trying to come off as that kind of person, but it usually ended up in her seeming intimidating. The truth was, she had always kind of confided in herself and her lyrics to pull her out of depressing stages when she didn’t feel like taking her medications. She always found herself with her guitar in the music room when that happened, but this time, she was in there for pure joy. Anne hadn’t been in their dorm when she got there, so she decided that it was time to get some me time before she had to be around people 24/7. Like that excited her.

It was true; sometimes Frankie wished she could be off of her medications. She always seemed to turn into the old carefree Frankie that did what she pleased whenever she pleased. This Frankie on medications was always on the brink of destruction; not only to herself, but to others as well. Isn’t that what the medicine was supposed to fix? Wasn’t she supposed to go back to normal and not be crazy Frankie that ruined mini-prom a few years ago? That’s what she had always thought, but she found herself to be wrong. That was something she also found not to be so unusual. Her self esteem was extremely low. What she thought was right, was usually wrong. Whenever she came to figure that out, it took all the energy right out of her. It was like she had no willpower to do anything to change herself.

Then she would think about being off her medications and realize that was a risk that she could never take. It made her so mad that sometimes she would just want to rip her hair out, scratch herself numb and sleep for days. Usually, she did after an episode. Her episodes occurred a lot more during the summer than they did when she was at Stewart. She had come to a conclusion when thinking about this. At Stewart, there were people who seemed to love her. If they really did or not was a completely different story that she’d rather not try to get into. With people around her who seemingly loved her, it didn’t make her want to be herself again. It made her remember that she did ruin a night of these people’s before, and she never wanted to do it again.

Frankie had contemplated the different ways to handle her anger. It seemed that the medication covered the bipolar anger up, but the anger directed at her never wanted to leave. Self mutilation was one of those ways, but she said she wasn’t dumb enough to do something that Sammie had done for so long. She’d never have the courage to do it anyway. Then, she thought about taking boxing. In fact she didn’t just think about it, she pursued in it for a few weeks. After awhile, boxing just seemed to make her even angrier. Though she relished the thought of beating the shit out of a punching bag and pretending it was somebody she truly hated, it didn’t come as easy as she hoped it would. It made her mad that she couldn’t say these things and hurt these people in real life, but she could behind their back. Technically, that’s gossip, right? Frankie was definitely not into gossip.

Then there was music. Like Asher, Frankie seemed to absorb herself in it. It didn’t matter if she didn’t have a muse or not, she would sit down with her guitar and some sheet music from the internet and play until her fingers were so sore she couldn’t bend them anymore. Frankie was almost sure she had carpal tunnel from her guitar. But then again, it wasn’t her guitar’s fault. It was a form of therapy, and Frankie was just using the guitar to keep herself in line. Whether she wrote the words or not didn’t matter, she was playing from deep down inside of her.

Writing was also another form of therapy that Frankie tried. She would sit on her bed and write until her hand cramped up. Once she would read everything she wrote, it just made her feel like shit because of the things she thought about other people. That’s what Frankie was doing now. On her lap was a red notebook, and her hand flew across the page with a pen. She had no idea what she was writing or if the guitar had fallen to the ground and made a noise. All she knew was that the guitar was lying there, and her notebook was where her guitar once was. Writing had seemed like the best form of therapy she had. Mixing it with music just made it even better, even if the lyrics she sang made her angry. It was a distraction, which was something she was in need of.

Frankie jumped when the door opened, startled to see somebody. She was so startled that she felt her pencil tip break and the pencil fall to the floor. Her head shot up, and when she realized it was only Asher, she sighed in relief. Well, how nice. He hadn’t even said anything to her. She chuckled in disbelief, bending over to pick up the pencil. Frankie wasn’t angry about this; she was just kind of hurt. She had considered him a good friend since he saved her life at mini-prom. She gulped. The memory still lingered in her head like it was yesterday. Of course it was something she wanted to forget, but she was finding it very hard to knock the haunting out of her mind.

Her eyes darted to Asher, and she noticed he seemed a bit cold looking in his face. She contemplated the effects of going over to him. The first effect could be that he would laugh at her, which is probable. The second effect was that he could be angry at her. Had she done anything? Frankie wasn’t sure, all she knew was that she hated it when people she knew ignored her. Especially when that person she knew she hadn’t seen for months. It was kind of heart breaking.

Then again, if she didn’t do anything, maybe he would be offended. So with a slight movement of her hands, placing her notebook on the floor beside her guitar, she clambered to her feet. Frankie almost sulked over to Asher, but when she was just a few feet away from him, she perked her shoulders up and took a seat across from him.

”I just so happened to notice that you look rather sulky.” She pulled a pack of gum out of her pocket, showing him a piece. "Fabulous Fruitini?"

( STATUS ) complete
( RESERVED ) asher rosenberg.
( WORDS ) 1,142
( LYRICS ) come on get higher - matt nathanson

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[☮ ♥ ada]

today i don't need a replacement
i'll tell them what the smile on my face meant,

The song tapered off and reality encroached into Asher’s delicately constructed abode of solitude. All thoughts of happiness, and that unmatched level of freedom he experienced, seemed to fly out the window to the left that filtered bright washes of sun into the room. For a moment, a mournful façade blanketed his normally cheerful disposition and Asher felt himself yearning for those four minutes and twenty two seconds of uninhibited independence. The moment the music faded out, Asher’s carte blanche had been stripped away from him and thrown into the hands of his turbulent emotions. He wasn’t angry at Frankie for interrupting him, nor was he annoyed; he was simply… saddened. Saddened by the fact that he would never get that feeling back, at least till he stopped talking to Frankie.

He stopped himself for a moment, frowning slightly. Had he really changed so much that he needed separation from people in order to feel good with himself? It was like he craved that distinctive solitude that seemed to trap him in a state of ecstasy. It wasn’t a want anymore; it was an essential now. He breathed quietude like he breathed air, and he seemed to pursue the ideal tranquility like an alcoholic pursued vodka. That was the one thing Asher needed now; to be alone with his music. If he had music going, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t feel, he couldn’t hear. He was a filter, separating the beauty of rhythms and notes from the dejected overture of unspoken words that he’d put himself through.

His visage in a state of pure despondency, Asher looked up at the girl. Lowering the volume on his iPod, he smoothed his hand over the neck of his guitar and nodded slightly. “Yeah,” he murmured in a somewhat inaudible tone, meeting her eyes for a moment and letting his gaze stay there for awhile. Usually Asher was analytical, if not overly so, of the looks people gave and what they meant. His thoughts usually took the wrong turn and he found himself in a state of paranoia, constantly debating whether people saw him as a good or bad person. He could care less about whether people thought he was good or bad at heart now; all he wanted was for everyone to know he wasn’t falling, and that he could keep himself up when times got tough. He owed it to himself to do at least that.

It was only recently that Asher realized he had plunged into a state of reckless abandon when he was with Rylee. He’d given up everything possible if only it meant being with her, regardless of the consequences. Now he was paying for every single one of those mistakes, from how much money he’d spent on their dates to how tattered and torn his heart was. Asher was vulnerable and he knew it. That was part of the reason he looked Frankie directly in the eyes; he was hoping that maybe, just maybe, he could start paying for his mistakes with this look. Maybe she would be intimidated by him instead of the other way around.

He let his eyes wander then and he took a good look at Frankie for what seemed like the first time in forever. Without knowing it, he found himself admiring her beauty - though not in a creepy way - and wondering how he’d never seen it before. Sure, there had always been other girls at Stewart other than Rylee throughout the two years he’d dated her. But he’d always felt guilty even looking at them once, even if he wasn’t curious in the least bit. He hadn’t given anyone a second glance, certainly not Frankie; he was his sister’s best friend. It was just… wrong on so many levels. Plus, it was Frankie, and Frankie had always frightened him a bit. It wasn’t her bipolar disorder that scared him, it was her state of mind. She had so many walls up with so many guards in each one that if a person even tried to smile at her, they were shot down. He wondered for a moment why she’d resorted to these barriers; he’d never bothered to ask Anne about her, not once, and couldn’t remember for the life of him if she’d told him or not.

Asher furrowed his brow at the thought of this. How long had he been blind to everything and everyone in the world besides Rylee and her feelings? There was no doubting he cared about her, that was a given. But who else did he care about? He hadn’t bothered listening to Anne when she’d sincerely needed his help. He’d never bothered talking to Colin unless the subject had something to do with Rylee. He hadn’t even bothered listening to Frankie when she had or hadn’t confided in him. After all, if she considered them to be close friends, she had to have told him something. Asher’s stomach lurched and he gulped down the lump that had formed in his throat and was now progressively getting worse. Thinking about these kind of things made him sick to his stomach. How many wonderful people had he ignored in their times of need when they had done nothing but help him? How long had he been in the dark?

The struggle of whether to speak or not continued and Asher kept his eyes glued to his guitar so as not to seem weird for looking at Frankie for too long. He lifted his head at her question, eyeing the gum with a subdued curiosity. “No thanks,” he blurted out after a minute of contemplation, looking back up at the girl with no intent of carrying on the conversation any longer.

And then the guilt hit him in waves and he found himself chewing on his bottom lip. Even he knew he was being rude by not talking to her when she’d so nicely approached him and had even offered him a piece of gum. Glancing at her guitar for a second, one corner of his lips twitched up into a semi-smile. “Washburn D10S. She’s a beauty,” he commented in a soft tone, returning his gaze to his own guitar and fiddling with the strings a little bit. After pondering for a split second, Asher decided not to speak anymore. If she wanted to know anything more, she’d ask.

[/size]

[asf!]

come on get higher, loosen my lips,

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FAITH AND DESIRE AND THE SWING OF YOUR HIPS[/size][/font]

Was she really that intimidating that offering a piece of gum was scary? Frankie hated being scary, and even though she knew she was, she still hated it and blocked it out as much as possible. The walls were something that kept her away from people and though she wanted to get to know them better, she was too afraid. So many people had betrayed her in her life; she didn’t want to feel that way ever again. She frowned, beginning to become absorbed in her thoughts again. Maybe it really was her fault people treated her that way. She had never thought of it that way. But then again, Frankie never thought in the right way. Usually she was in her own world, living the way she thought people wanted her to live. Frankie never really lived her life the way she wanted to. It was time to start doing that. First thing was first, she was going to be very nice to Asher. He seemed too down.

Frankie’s self esteem had always been on the rather low side. She didn’t like flaunting too much, and always found herself to be not as attractive as she really was. When Asher’s eyes hit hers, she felt a bit of a confidence boost. It was like someone was looking at her for her for once, and not for the person she had pretended to be for so long. She tilted her head to the side in thought, contemplating whether or not to ask him why he was sulky. Then she began to wonder if sulky was even a word, and if it was, why was she using it so much? Frankie shook the thoughts out of her head. With that, she focused on Asher again, sticking the gum back in her pocket.

”Care to elaborate?” She asked with a hint of curiosity in her voice. Frankie didn’t want to seem nosy, so she had spoke with a voice that sounded as if she wanted to know, but she wasn’t too eager. Though she did want to know what had her friend so down… That, and if he was her friend. Frankie had always wondered about that. It seemed like they were friends, for the few times they had talked and he had saved her life once. Did he even remember that? Frankie always thought he just blew it off, but she always wanted to repay him somehow. This was one of those things she had to figure out on her own. It wasn’t something you just asked a person.

Hey Asher, remember when you saved my life? I do.

Then again, that was something that was hard to forget. It wasn’t her fault; she hadn’t known she was bipolar at the time. It was a memory that wouldn’t leave her mind no matter what she did and sometimes that just pissed her off even more. Frankie shook her head, trying to make the thoughts go away. She grinned when he commented on her guitar. ”Yeah, she’s like my child. Even though I named her Kurt. I didn’t mean to I guess.” Frankie hated it when she rambled about things that didn’t make any sense at all. For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, Frankie mentally kicked herself.

( STATUS ) complete
( RESERVED ) asher rosenberg.
( WORDS ) 574
( LYRICS ) come on get higher - matt nathanson

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[☮ ♥ ada]

today i don't need a replacement
i'll tell them what the smile on my face meant,

A small frown had settled into Asher’s typical pretty-boy features, which had begun to atrophy as a result of his sky-high stress levels. A few days ago he’d looked into a mirror and saw an aged old man, not the fresh-faced teenager he’d always seen himself as. Now he’d understood why his history teacher had pulled him aside on Monday and asked him if he was okay. Initially, he’d thought the old man was crazy for making a reference to Abraham Lincoln to describe Asher’s appearance. He’d never been told he looked like the president from years passed, not once. He’d raised a brow, listened absently to Mr. Robinson’s advice, thanked him, and been on his way. Still absorbed in his delusional thoughts about Rylee, Asher hadn’t bothered to really think about what Mr. Robinson had said. Now, feeling the wrinkles set into his face, Asher understood.

“Mister Rosenberg, could I speak with you for a moment?”
Asher blinked and nodded vacantly, wondering for a moment why Mr. Robinson’s words always seemed so archaic. It was probably because of the man’s age; he was nearing seventy and was still stuck at Stewart, immersing himself in the one subject he’d lived out, United States History. He brushed the thought from his mind, picked up his books and slowly slithered over to the teacher’s desk. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes I did,” Mr. Robinson replied, lowering his tone as the last few students trickled out of the room. “Asher, are you alright? You seem somewhat… distant, almost distracted,” he inquired in a genuinely concerned tone.
Asher was slightly taken aback; he’d never heard Mr. Robinson address anyone by their first name, let alone a student he knew nothing about. Trying to dodge his question, he furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side in a feeble attempt at looking confused. “What do you mean, Mister Robinson?”
Mr. Robinson folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair and Asher bit down on his lower lip slightly. He would be in for a lecture; Mr. Robinson never pulled that act unless he was about to launch into a full-blown speech. “I want you to look behind you, Asher. Second row, third from the left. Who do you see?” he asked, nodding toward the back wall. Taped neatly in rows, each US president’s face stared back at the two men as if the very definition of pride was imprisoned in his photograph. They were ordered chronologically, and he’d somehow managed to fit each and every president on the tiny wall, from Washington to Bush.
Asher’s eyes traced the back wall and stopped on Abraham Lincoln’s face, withered and sunken in. He possessed the wrinkles that made him seem eternally sad whether he truly was or wasn’t. “Abraham Lincoln,” he stated matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes glued to the old Illinoisan.
Mr. Robinson’s eyes were also fixated on the photo and he began his speech in a careful tone. “You see that picture? He doesn’t look too good in it, does he?” Asher shook his head slightly. “It was the stress, Asher. There are pictures that showed that Abraham Lincoln was always a good-looking man up until he became president. He had too much to deal with - his infant son had just died, the Union was fighting the Confederacy in the Civil War, and he never took a day off from work during the four years he was president of our great country. That all shows on his face - look how sad he looks in that picture, Asher.”
Asher shook his head once more. “He doesn’t look sad. He looks overstressed, like he had too many things going on at once.”
Mr. Robinson nodded solemnly and Asher turned his back to the photograph. “You look stressed, Asher. I’ve had you for the three years you’ve been here and I’ve never seen you like this. I know I’m not a counselor, but it’s hard to see students stressed this much. Your grades have been slipping, too. I’m a little bit worried about you.”
Asher smirked and shook his head, brushing the kooky man’s comment away as if it was a piece of lint on his clothing. “I’m fine, Mister Robinson. But thank you for being concerned,” he retorted, giving him a half-smile and making his way out the door.

Asher gulped down the lump forming in his throat as reality dawned upon him. He was stressed, overly so, and he had been overtly denying the fact that he was. For a minute he wondered how he and Abraham Lincoln could be so similar without even knowing each other. In a way, he was going through his own civil war: two sides of his conscious were pulling at him and neither one wanted to give up. The Confederate States of Asher Rosenberg were all for running after Rylee and begging for her forgiveness. The Confederacy wanted her back more than anything else in the world, would fight till the ends of the earth just to see her happy again. And then there was the United States of Asher, the states that wanted to break away from her completely and find out who Asher truly was. So far, the Union was winning by a landslide. He didn’t know how long that would be, though. The president of the Union - himself - wanted the Confederates back. His goal wasn’t to choose one side. He just wanted to see himself as a whole again and not as two rivaling sides. It was never going to end.

He snapped back to reality and back to Frankie’s question. For a split second, he felt that anger that had taken over him at the beach consume him once more. Was Frankie trying to be a smartass by asking that question? Was she being sarcastic? There was no one at Stewart that hadn’t heard about Asher and Rylee’s breakup - save for Mr. Robinson and now, he guessed, Frankie. It was impossible, though - Frankie was in cahoots with the Rosenberg family via Anne. Unless Anne hadn’t told her… but the idea of Anne not telling Frankie about the breakup was just as inconceivable as Frankie not knowing about it in the first place. Now that he thought about it, Anne had been acting rather weird lately - come to think of it, extremely weird. Asher mentally scolded himself for not even paying attention to his sister because he’d been so busy wallowing in his sorrows.

It surprised Asher when he heard his own voice saying, “Rylee and I are over.” He hadn’t paid any particular attention to the words he had chosen, though he knew he was making progress with the way he’d formulated his answer. He hadn’t said ‘Rylee and I broke up’ or ‘Rylee and I aren’t together anymore’; those two had a hint of hope in them, hope that the situation was only temporary and that they’d be together again soon enough. He had said that they were over; and, for the first time in two months, he was beginning to believe it. For two months, he’d been depressed. For two months, he’d blamed himself. For two months, he had been in denial. It was easy to say his history teacher had snapped him out of it - he couldn’t go on living a lie. He didn’t like her for what she’d done to him, all the pain she’d put him through. It wasn’t the kind of dislike where you wanted the person dead - no, this kind of dislike was silent, brooding, ominous. It was the kind that twisted hearts into knots and left faces expressionless, a thousand words unspoken and flying like birds in the wind. She was having fun without him; at least, that’s what her vibes were doing. If she was sad, he was fine. If she was fine, he was super. Why should he care about her pain if she’d been the one who’d inflicted so much pain on him?

After zoning out for a second time, Asher felt the tips of Frankie’s words prick his eardrums and he glanced back up at her in time to catch the name of her guitar: Kurt. He smirked and shook his head. “Cobain or Vonnegut?”

[asf!]

come on get higher, loosen my lips,

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FAITH AND DESIRE AND THE SWING OF YOUR HIPS[/size][/font]

Kimmie completely screwed this up while trying to post, so the post is gone! xDD

[☮ ♥ ada]

today i don't need a replacement
i'll tell them what the smile on my face meant,

“You’re okay, right? I mean, you’re not depressed or anything?”

Asher found himself grimacing in spite of himself. He’d always seen Frankie as a nice girl, a good friend to have around. She was best friends with Anne and anyone who was best friends with Anne had to be decent at least. He’d even grown to accept Colin as a friend – a really awkward friend, but still a friend nonetheless. He’d been a little more comfortable with Frankie – they both played guitar and it seemed like whenever they were at a loss for words they could connect through music. Asher had never really gotten mad at Frankie for anything – even the incident at mini-prom, which Frankie had apologized for multiple times, didn’t register in his book of things to be mad at her for. She was kind to him, he was kind to her. They were civil to each other and there was never a reason for anger.

Her remark took things to a different level. That’s what he took it as, too: a remark. Remarks and comments were different in Asher’s book. Comments were always either friendly or neutral in their connotation, whereas remarks always had a slightly negative air to them. What Frankie said registered in his mind as a remark, one that seemed particularly scathing because of the way she’d said it. He felt the anger bubbling within him, activating the tumblers in the angry machine he’d forced himself to become. She couldn’t be that oblivious; she had to either be a heartless bitch making fun of him or completely socially retarded. “Of course,” he mumbled mindlessly in response. He didn’t realize that that could be taken either way: of course he was okay, or of course he was depressed.

“I haven’t read Vonnegut, but people say he’s good,” he grumbled in response to her identifying the guitar. Honestly, he didn’t care what was being said right now, nor did he care if Frankie’s guitar was named after Kurt Cobain or Kurt Vonnegut. In fact, Asher was about ready to up and leave when Frankie picked the guitar up. He raised a brow, not really taking much care to it. It was the music room, after all, and Frankie was probably just going to walk away from him and go practice. As much as he liked Frankie, Asher would have preferred if she’d left him alone. He was perfectly content with sitting by himself and wallowing in his self-pity. It’s what he’d done for two months and it was what he’d continue to do.

And then she started singing. He would have acted like a complete ass and rolled his eyes right then and there if it wasn’t for the song Frankie had been playing. Somehow, out of the millions of songs that had ever blossomed out of the music scene, Frankie had chosen the perfect one to sing to him. Only she wasn’t singing to him; she was singing with him. At least, she was after he’d picked up his guitar and harmonized with her during the chorus. Asher felt his eyes flutter closed and for once, he kept them closed. He’d never liked closing his eyes; he was one of those people who believed that when you shut off one sense, another grew sharper in its place. Though thinking wasn’t a sense, he was pretty sure that was where all his visual energy channeled into. His thoughts seemed to speed up, grow to infinite numbers and to the point where he couldn’t think clearly anymore. Asher hated that feeling.

This time it was different. He closed his eyes and his mind was… blank. No Rylee. No Anne. No Frankie. No Asher. Nothing there but the rhythms and notes of Comfortably Numb. He smiled, gently plucking at the strings and swaying a bit to the music. The violins and electric guitar painted sweet melodies into his thoughts and he realized that he was, in fact, comfortably numb. And then it was over. “Thank you,” Asher murmured in a sincere tone, watching as Frankie appeared yellow then blue as he opened his eyes. “I needed that,” he added in a softer tone, holding onto his guitar tightly as the peaceful aura slowly slipped away. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

[ooc] Argh. Sorry it's so cruddy. D;

[asf!]

come on get higher, loosen my lips,

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FAITH AND DESIRE AND THE SWING OF YOUR HIPS[/size][/font]

There was one thing that made all of Frankie’s antics well worth it in the end, and she knew it. The happiness that she brought to people made her feel extremely great. She knew that sometimes she was a little over the top, but still, whenever she saw that beaming smile and people’s eyes light up with the things she said, she felt it. Frankie felt the amazing feeling of being needed. She didn’t feel the feeling of being beaten senselessly, and she didn’t feel tortured. Everything came easy with her guitar. Then there was Asher. He was so good to her. He hadn’t even hated her after the mini-prom incident. That incident was enough to make anybody hate her. She sighed at the memory of it. It was the only thing she had ever really regretted in her life.

She remembered the anger boiling up in her from the beginning of the dance. Frankie remembered Anne ignoring her for Colin, something that seemed to happen so often. Frankie was alone, which made her thoughts come so much easier. By the time anyone had attempted to talk to her, she had taken the table cloth from the table and ripped it off, sugar cookies and punch falling to the gym floor. The noise of the plate and bowls hitting the floor rang through her head. They seemed to be falling in time to Comfortably Numb as she sang. Frankie remembered running out and having Anne chase after her. She remembered screaming, but she didn’t remember what she said. Then it was all a blur. Frankie knew that she had fainted and fell into somebody’s arms, but she wasn’t sure who had caught her. She thought it might have been Asher, since he took her to the hospital and everything. Frankie was always so gracious of Asher for that. He had always been her little guardian angel in her mind.

Frankie turned to look at Asher and his obvious happiness. She beamed. It felt like no other seeing somebody happy because of something that she did. Frankie tilted her head to the side when he said he needed it. Frankie wanted to say something encouraging, but she couldn’t think of anything particularly happy. She bit down on her bottom lip before lifting her head and smiling at him. “I can sing again whenever you want.” She said with a laugh, nodding in the direction of his guitar.

”I know we’re not as close as I am to Anne, but I thought I’d let you know that if you need anything, if you need to talk or anything I’m always here. It doesn’t matter what time it is, I’ve always got my cell phone handy. I like listening. I’ll always listen.” Frankie declared, nodding. “Don’t ever hesitate with me. I’m not going to tell you to buck up and get over it.” She gave him a half smile.

ooc: SORRY IT’S SO SHITTY D: