Stockholm Syndrome

Chapter Eleven

"Frankie, please talk to me," Hal said. I was sitting on the couch now, staring at the spot on the floor where the blood used to be. It made me wonder how many other surfaces of this house have been soaked in blood. Hal had cleaned up since the incident. I had watched him scrub the hardwood floor with bleach as the chemicals burned my nostrils, and despite his efforts, there was still a faint red shadow soaked into the floor. "Frankie." I blinked slowly and turned my gaze away from the floor to look at him, but I didn't say anything. I pulled my knees up again and looked down.

"I wasn't planning to let you see something like that again after your little anxiety attack or whatever in Monroeville, but I had no choice. He was trying to hurt you." He explained. I think I was too traumatized to feel any sort of emotion right now, I couldn't even think straight. It wasn't every day that someone got stabbed multiple times right in front of your eyes. "Francesca, please." He tried again, using my proper name. I wasn't not talking to him on purpose, I just couldn't form words. I opened my mouth to speak, but it was short-lived and I shut it again. He must've seen my attempt because he reached forward and placed a hand on my thigh. "It's okay..." He stroked his thumb lightly over the fabric of my jeans, just rubbing circles. That was the second time he'd touched me now, apart from violence. It was a nice feeling, and it was probably just what I needed right now. A living, breathing human to talk to.

"Okay. You know what? f**k feelings and f**k everything. I don't do mushy. I don't know how to erase it from your mind but I know what can help, at least for a little while." He was already up and out of the living room by the time he finished his sentence. I heard the fridge open and close, and he came back with a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. It was only then that I realized how much I missed the burn of alcohol and the warm fuzzy feeling I'd get that led to complete nonsensical bullshit. My dad always had bottles and bottles of vodka and other hard liquors and the only time we ever really bonded was when we got high or drunk together. Maybe that's how I can get into Hal's mind.

I perked up immediately after seeing the bottle, sitting up straight and bringing my legs down to let my feet rest on the floor instead of the edge of the couch where they had been. He shot me a small smile, seemingly entertained by my sudden interest.

"Ya drink?" He asked, and I nodded. "Been a while?" I nodded again. He just smiled and sat on the couch beside me again, placing a shot glass on the coffee table in front of me, still holding his own glass along with the bottle in his hands. "Me too." He twisted the cap off and poured some of the clear liquid into the small glass, then passed me the bottle. I poured myself a shot then placed the bottle on the coffee table, and looked back at Hal.

He raised his glass slightly and I did the same, before tilting my head back and downing the liquid in one swift movement. I closed my eyes as the burning sensation took over my throat and body.

*****************

"Frankie," Hal said after downing the eighth shot, to which I only took five and a half. I guess you could say I was a lightweight because I could already feel it hitting me.

"Hm?"

"You're gonna look great." He slurred, bending over and grasping at one of the bags that were still on the floor. He picked it up and opened it, pulling out the hair dye we had bought. "Can we do it now?" The bottle slipped from his fingers and it dropped into his lap, so he picked it up again.

I laughed through my nose, thinking about the outcome of letting him cut and dye my hair while drunk. It didn't seem like his motor skills were all up to par right now. I shook my head no, and he just laughed and put the bottle back in the bag, then placed the bag on the floor.

"Probably a good idea. So, you drunk yet?" He asked, turning towards me on the couch with one leg up, knee bent, with the other one hanging off the couch with his toes pressed into the floor.

"Eh, yeah. Pretty buzzed. You?"

"Fuckin'... getting there for sure. I'll do one more shot if you do," he offered, and I thought for a moment before giving in. We poured our shots and raised our glasses in a 'cheers' sort of way, clinking the glasses together, causing some of the toxic liquid to slosh out. I burst out in a fit of giggles, I don't know why, but that just seemed extremely funny at the moment. I laughed it off and downed the last shot, then placed the petite glass on the coffee table once again. He did the same, then looked at me again.

"Hey, Frankie?"

"Hm?"

"Are you okay now? Now that the-" he took a moment to recollect himself. "Now that you're drunk?"

"102%" I confirmed. I remembered what had happened, with McCracken and the blood and everything but, I was too drunk to care.

"Frankie,"

"Hm?"

He stopped and looked confused for a second. "What?"

"You said my name"

"I did?" He began to laugh, his nose wrinkling up adorably as he remembered. "Oh, yeah." I just looked at him with an entertained expression, I could tell he was way more hammered than I was.

"So what were you gonna ask?"

"Oh, I forget. Um, hey, Frankie?"

"You don't have to say my name every time you want to talk to me, you, you...- I'm right here," I told him, almost losing my train of thought in the middle of my sentence for a second there.

"I gotta tell you something."

"Yeah?"

"Well. I gotta story for you." He pointed his outstretched finger towards me. "The only reason I got drunk with you was so I could tell you this- and, hey. I coulda let you drink alone, but no, sober Hal could never say this so here's drunk Hal for ya-"

"Oh my god, stop rambling just get it out."

"Okay, so- sober Hal wanted me to tell you he-" he chuckled softly. "He thinks you're fuckin, hot." A small smile grew on my face at how weird and cute he was being. He was hot too. He was really hot. f**k, why does alcohol always do this to me?

"Sober FfFrankie thinks you're s-, hot too." I giggled a little bit. "And so does Frank drunkie. I mean- drunk Frankie." I broke into a fit of giggles, mainly laughing at myself for not being able to speak properly. I got a hold of myself and looked back at Hal, who was just looking at me entertained.

"I'm really glad you're here," He smiled, reaching his hands forward and grabbing mine, holding it in his. I blushed a little bit and just smiled at him. "It was pretty lonely before yo-ou showed up."

"I'm glad you decided not to kill me," I agreed, squeezing his hand.

"You're cute when you're drunk." He said, and I just smiled and looked down. "Like- actually. You're a cute person." He let go of my hand and placed a finger on my chin to tilt it up so I was looking at him. It was funny how much of effect alcohol had on you. People were so much more attractive, and you had so much more confidence. And for some ungodly reason, it made you... wanna get close to people. I never had that when I was drunk. I didn't understand until now, the sheer need to have someone against you. Alcohol basically just made you more you. Like you, but heightened. My need for touch and affection was so strong right now and the filter over my brain was long gone.

"Frankie," he said in a faint voice.

"Hm?" He just stared at me, into my eyes, then down at my lips, and up to my eyes again. I didn't know exactly what I was saying yes to, but I gave the slightest nod. And with that, he thrust his head forwards.

It was pretty hot right from the get-go. As soon as his lips came in contact with mine, my hands were in his hair and his were roaming my waist. I've been waiting for this for so long. I've yearned for his touch, for his pretty pink lips to reach mine, for his artist hands on my skin and my hopeless hands on his. It was a wonder how just a few shots of vodka could just give that little push to make you do things you wouldn't normally do.

I was slowly, subconsciously pushing him back onto the sofa, my hands now on his chest as he leaned back with me. I was on top of him in seconds, unaware of anything I was doing. I wasn't thinking about my actions, just going along with whatever my body wanted to do.

I was breathing heavily through my nose at that point, my lips locked on his and my tongue halfway into his mouth as my hands found their way under his shirt. I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist and he stopped me from going further. I pulled away slightly and looked at him, and he was looking right back at me with glazed-over eyes full of lust and need.

"Not on the couch-" He mumbled, and I fully realized what was going on. This was much more than just a hot make-out and we both knew that. I nodded quickly and leaned up off of him, and stood up. I stumbled slightly, holding a hand out to Hal. He took it and stood up as well, not letting go of my hand as he pulled me out of the living room and towards the only room in his house that I haven't seen.

He pulled me into the room, grabbing at my shirt immediately. I pulled it off and then started working at his black button-down shirt, starting at the top button and working my way down. He pulled it off his shoulders and let the shirt fall to the floor. His arms were so pale. He was still in a T-Shirt and I've seen him like this before but it seemed like a very rare occurrence that he had them exposed because it looked like they've never seen the sun. My eyes trailed up to his face then, his lips slightly more red and swollen than usual, his eyes half-lidded and full of lust, his usually pale face flushed with a light pink. I didn't doubt that I looked the same as him, but he sure as hell made it look so much more attractive than I ever could.

I'd only ever done this once, with a girl, but for some reason, I wasn't nervous at all. Probably the alcohol. I slowly pushed him back towards the bed, and he laid back on it, pulling me on top of him.

Fuck, I needed this... The skin-on-skin contact, the intimacy, all of it. And when I first met Hal, I didn't think at all that he'd be the one to give it to me.