Page 67 of My Turn Petal
“I’ve made a mistake.” He makes another attempt.
I roll my eyes to the back of my head.
The first year Frankie moved here she was still in a relationship that ended roughly for her, but I haven’t seen much of the guy she was with at the time, only heard stories about him.
I know that his name is Jake.
“I’m sorry.” He bangs on the door again, with no care in the world. “It’s Jake.”
Sorry, my ass.
Two years too late,Jake.
“Frankie,” I call out.
No one is here. I stare at her apartment door.
“Frankie,” I call out again.
I heard someone shouting earlier and slamming the door.
She’s not here.
Frankie: I had to take a break, let’s rain check.
I stare at the text she left me and my hand slides over the door handle. And it opens.
She left it open which is unlike her.
I step inside and look around, in her room too, and nothing.
The balcony door is open, the wind blows on the curtain, and the rain dampens it too while a clap of thunder rumbles in the distance.
I reach to close the door and her bike roars, I can hear it from here.
I go downstairs so fucking fast I don’t see anything except getting to her. The raindrops wet every inch of my body. “Where are you going?” I storm outside, shouting to top the engine sound.
“For a ride,” she fastens her helmet strap.
“No, you’re not.” I stand in front of her bike. “You’re upset and I can hear it in your voice.” I flick the kill switch.
“Theo, I’m not in the mood,” she reaches for the handles, grabbing them hard.
I put my hands on hers, “That is why you’re not going anywhere like this.” I open her visor, her eyes are swollen like she cried a few minutes before. “Come upstairs and tell me what happened. Or don’t. Either way, you’re coming with me.”
I don’t let go of her palms until she makes an exasperated noise and hops off her bike.
I take her keys and usher her inside.
“Wait here, I’m going to bring something from my apartment.” My shoes tap on the floor of the hallway as I run to get the chocolate chip cookies I baked and run back to her apartment.
Twisting the handle, her door is locked.
I knock three times. Hoping to whoever is out there, that she didn’t run back downstairs and rode her bike.
She opens her apartment door, her eyes are swollen and brimming with fresh tears as she sniffles a few times.
I say nothing while I reach closer and pull her into my embrace and she cries into my chest. It’s full of pain and I wish I could shelter her from it.
