Risk swallowed and, suddenly, he didn’t look like the big tough, rock star that he was. He looked exactly like he did the day after his thirteenth birthday when I told him I knew what he was going through. Without a thought, I leaned across the table and took his hand in mine.
“He’s never going to hurt you again, you know?” I strummed my thumb over his skin. “He is a pathetic waste of space, and you . . . you’re a superstar who chased his dreams when the odds were stacked against him, just like I knew you would.”
Risk threaded his fingers through mine and held my hand.
“I’ve missed you, Frankie.” He looked at me. “I’ve thought about you throughout the years. I should have reached out to contact you to see how you were doing, to see how your mum was doing but, after I left, looking back just wasn’t an option. Not until now, at least.”
I understood exactly what he meant. I couldn’t think of our times together, I couldn’t even hear him sing, or see his face, if I could help it. Doing those things were the only way I could function so I got it.
“I get it,” I said. “Sometimes looking forward is the only way we can keep going.”
“D’you think we can be friends?” Risk suddenly asked. “I know after I eventually leave here I probably won’t be back for a while, but I’d like to be able to call you now and then to see how you are, you know? I miss talking to you.”
Tell him no, Frankie.
I wanted to tell him that we belonged in each other’s pasts. I wanted to tell him to leave and never come back . . . but I wanted to tell him to stay with me too. It terrified me just how happy sitting, drinking tea and talking to him made me feel. It gave me a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in a very long time and I didn’t want that feeling to go away. I didn’t want Risk to go away. The very thought of going back to how I lived before he came home scared me, hiding behind my earphones and following the same schedule day after day made me feel trapped.
I didn’t realise how much until that moment.
“Is that a good idea?” I wondered. “Us being in each other’s lives after so long?”
“I think so,” Risk squeezed my hand. “I miss you, Cherry.”
Those four words melted me.
“I think we can be friends. We . . . we were friends before we got together, right?”
“Right.” Risk laughed a little. “We were. What’re you doing tomorrow?”
“Same thing I do every day. Work.” I snorted. “My shift tomorrow is from ten until five then I’m going to visit my mum.”
“Can I tag along?” Risk quizzed. “To see your mum?”
“Sure,” I nodded. “That’d be lovely.”
“Brilliant.” Risk suddenly got to his feet. “Get to bed. I’ll pick you up from work tomorrow . . . and Frankie?”
“Yeah?”
“Happy birthday.”
I blinked. “My birthday was last month . . . so was yours.”
“I know but since I missed it, I wanted to say it.”
My lips twitched. “Risk?”
“Yeah.”
“Happy birthday.”
His smile nearly knocked me off my feet.
I expected him to just leave, but he didn’t, he hugged me before he went and he kissed the crown of my head, just like he used to do. It lasted five seconds, maybe less, but the security and comfort I found in his embrace nearly stole my breath. I locked the front door when he was gone, then I wandered aimlessly into my bedroom. I sat on the bottom of my bed and felt my body shake as Oath brushed against my legs. I pinched myself and hissed. The pain was a vivid reminder that this was real, Risk had really been in my home and we somehow agreed to move forward and be friends.
I was both excited and scared beyond belief.
“Please,” I pleaded with God. “Don’t let this end badly again. I’m begging you.”
I looked down at my hands and realised I was holding my phone. I must have grabbed it when I left the kitchen to see Risk out without realising. My hands were a little unsteady as I tapped on the screen, clicked into my messages and tapped onto Risk’s name. It was his old phone number and nobody but Oath knew of a secret I had been keeping.
A few years ago, my therapist, before I stopped seeing her, suggested keeping a journal to express my feelings. I found a better coping mechanism to help me breathe through the pain of missing Risk . . . I sent text messages to his old number every so often, pretending that he got them. I talked to him and while I knew it was kind of crazy, it helped me focus my emotions.
I scrolled through the hundreds of messages I had sent Risk over the years. They varied in length from paragraphs to mere a handful of words. I almost couldn’t believe that he was back in my life. It was so strange. He penned songs to project how he felt, I wrote message entries.
Texting Risk saved me . . . I wondered if writing songs saved him.
CHAPTER TEN
FRANKIE
Text message #1
Frankie: I’m texting your old number because I know you’ll never see this message, but typing it out and getting it off my chest and sending it to ‘you’ will hopefully make me feel better. My therapist recommended it. My fucking therapist, Risk. I still can’t believe I pay someone to listen to me talk about the things that keep me awake at night. My mum made my first appointment and though I didn’t want to go, I’m so glad I did.
Maybe talking to ‘you’ will be my new thing instead of talking to the therapist and I’ll save myself a few quid in the long run. This will be like my venting vice until someone gets this number and tells me to piss off. I’m supposed
