Imaginary Frankie Novels & Stories

The smell of old coffee and printer ink hit me the second I stepped inside, and for a moment everything felt familiar again. Becca spotted me immediately and refused to let me hide behind work. She dragged me into her little office with two coffees. “Okay, spill. You’ve been living with an NHL superstar and you haven’t called me once? I need details. Is he as grumpy in real life as he looks on TV? Does he walk around shirtless? Please say yes. I need something good to dream about tonight.”

After explaining to Nolan why I had left early, I opened the sailing schedule and prepared to buy the earliest ticket out of North Harbor. The next morning, I opened my door. Sure enough, Kaiden was waiting outside. His coat was wrinkled, dark stubble shadowed his jaw, and there were bruised shadows beneath his eyes. Clearly, he had not slept all night. The moment he saw me, the man leaning against the wall straightened, and light returned to his eyes. “Freya, you're awake.” “I told you, I'm not the person you're looking for,” I said evenly. “If you have time to bother me, you should spend it looking for the real her.”

He finally understood his so-called appreciation of the grotesque and his quest for the primitive were nothing more than intellectual fantasies built upon a foundation of material comfort. And when real ugliness and poverty were laid bare before him, he disgusted them more than anyone. But it was already too late. The hellish days dragged on for two months, and Steve's mental state visibly deteriorated. He began hallucinating, convinced the stench of pig manure was everywhere. He even imagined pig hair sprouting from his own body. He threw out everything in the rental, including the tiny clothes Paige had scavenged from a street stall for their unborn child.

Men like Darren mistake tolerance for invitation. “I miss you, Frankie.”

I rip the Black Amex from my purse, snapping a picture. Me: Each text is another swipe. Damien: You wouldn't fucking dare. Me: Try me. Damien: Tell me which club you're at, so I can lean you over that bar and spank you. I bite my lip, not allowing myself to feel anything at the thought of him publicly shaming me, dealing me punishment after punishment. Shaking him from my head, I send another pic, this time using a different angle as I slide the card across the bar.

I pushed the door open. Inside was a hazy mess filled with the smell of secondhand smoke. Empty alcohol bottles were scattered everywhere, along with a significant amount of trash. At that moment, I felt transported back to the day I first met Jasper. I had eagerly visited my sponsor, only to discover he was a disheveled, heavy-drinking, chain-smoking man. Giselle had left him, and he had been drowning in despair, lost in the darkness. Every day, I would go to help him clean up and share funny stories to lift his spirits. It had taken months of effort, but gradually, he returned to a more normal state.

Spencer let out a soft growl but he didn’t say anything. Pushing away from the wall, I walked into the kitchen. A man with wavy dark hair stood beside the barstools where Spencer and I’d had breakfast this morning. Frankie was tall, his dark hair hung around his shoulders in soft looking waves. He was watching me with eyes that were dark pools with hints of blue in their depths. His skin was pale, like he spent too much time indoors and not enough time in the sunlight. A black shirt was stretched over his chest and his legs were encased in ripped blue jeans.

Frankie obviously feels we've walked far enough in that Katy and Tabitha are no longer a threat. His laughing continues. "One day you'll learn that we aren't all the uniforms we wear. A person is deeper than the first impression or rumors you've heard from someone else. I hope you may see me as more than a cartoon characterized villain. That's who you expected, right? Fat Tony? Maybe someone from a Godfather movie?" Scarface?

"We do not have a driver; what do you mean by the new driver?" "Last night, I couldn't sleep and went downstairs to drink water, and I bumped into Frank, the new driver," he explained while drinking his juice. Nera looked up at her husband, panicking. "Did this frank hurt you?" "No, no, he put me to sleep and read me, Peter Pan." Marcus burst out laughing before the situation got worse. Nera looked at me, confused. "I think he is referring to his imaginary friend," Marcus laughed out. "Sam has a very vivid imagination."

Then he turned my head towards him and secured the other and placed a soft kiss on my lips and for a moment we were alone in our own little bubble. Then a hideously nasally voice popped that bubble. “Frankie? Is that you?” A girl who looked like a Barbie doll wanna be, approached our table. Frankie placed a hand on my thigh under the table and there was nothing sexual in the grip he had on it. When Fake Barbie stopped in front of our table, she looked around at everyone and focused her attention on Frankie. “Why Frankie, it is you. I have been waiting for days by my phone for you to call.” I couldn’t help the possessive growl that escaped my chest. Fake Barbie looked at me and said, “Now be