It felt raw, and real, and so fucking stupid.

Running away. That's what you were doing. Running, and running, and never looking back. Frank had told you not to go, begged you, even. And you felt bad. Worse than bad, actually- he'd promised he could find something for you to do with his band, maybe shake a tambourine or do backing vocals or harmonies or something. Anything that would get you to stay.

But you couldn't stay. Consequences for your actions had come in like a flood of muddy, muddy water- washing away everything else in your life and leaving you washed up on a beach called trouble.

It wasn't entirely your fault. To be fair, there had been contribution from your so-called 'friend group'. Ergo, what was making you so anxious in the first place.

It wasn't much of a surprise that you'd turned out like this, but he still wished it could have gone some other way. But you told him you had to leave, and he would respect that choice, even if it made him want to puke his guts up every time he thought of living in a world without you.

Well, not a world. You would be out there somewhere- just not with him, like he wanted you to be. And that part hurt like a punch in the face.

He spent the days before you left thinking of the stupid times you shared, swimming in lakes on drunken nights, naked and dumb with the Jaws theme song running on repeat in his head.

And now, your last night. Like any other, but for that cold, hard truth. He thought bullets would hurt more than losing you.

He knew there would be consequences if he said something stupid, but at the moment, Frank didn't care. He could see you in his peripheral vision, eyes staring blankly off towards the horizon line, the light behind them nearly all gone.

"I know you won't stay, no matter how I try to bribe you," He finds himself muttering, picking at the chipped black nail polish decorating his fingernails. "But at least promise you won't be sleeping on some shitty, twin-size mattress in someone's attic or basement forever?"