Chapter Text
Frank closed his eyes as he turned, exposing his bare backside to the computer’s cameras. The voice from the monitor spoke, “Mmmm yeah, like that”. That voice gave him chills. The man groaned from the other side and Frank shivered again when he considered that noise had meant. After hesitating a moment, Frank turned to face the camera once again.
The man had paid for an hour long session and Frank could only hope it was nearing the end. These “appointments” always feel endless to him. He was good at hiding it though. He learned early on in his life that putting up any sort of fight was useless. Putting on any act other than what they paid for was a lost cause. He knew he was just a dime a dozen. There were plenty of other people willing to sell their kids to make money.
Frank was pulled from his thoughts as the man spoke again, “Hopefully I’ll be seeing you around here again, Snow White,” he said. Frank could have puked. “Snow White” is code for an item with pale skin and dark hair. Frank’s skin was, certainly, white as porcelain which contrasted strongly with his jet-black hair. When he thought about how many strangers have seen his skin he became disgusted and wished he could cover himself, hide under some blanket in a dark corner until he wasted away and crumpled to a pile of dust.
The timer sounded and Frank’s mother rushed in the door. Frank hunched over and collected his clothes in the corner. He heard his mother and the man discussing the “next time” and payment. But of course, they were compensated up front. They learned long ago that their “customers” were more than happy to flee after the show was over. But that was long ago. Years and dozens of performances later, here they were, Frank containing knowledge he never really wanted to and his parents profiting off of his pain.
He buttoned his pants and looked towards his mother. She was writing something down on a notepad. Frank sighed as he knew he’d soon be spending more time with that same voice from the monitor. He looked at the digital clock on the nightstand, reading ’11:30’ as the time. These late nights were something he was used to by now. Around now is when the interested pursuers look for a show.
His mother closed the laptop and looked toward her son, a content expression on her face. “You did so well, Frankie,” she beamed, “He wants to come back for more. Your father will certainly be happy with your performance.” She brought Frank in for a hug and he smiled. He really loved his mom. He sometimes didn’t understand why she made him stay with those voices, but he trusted her judgment. She was his safe-haven from his father. His father often got mad at him, especially when he cried.
He smiled at the thought of his dad being proud of him for once.
“Let’s go get dinner ready for dad,” his mom said. Frank waddled over to the door behind his mom, locking the room which haunted him each day. He remembered the first time his mom had locked him in it alone. He had pounded on the door and cried at the dimly lit room, a deep voice speaking through the computer. He had a brief moment of relief when it opened only to be met with his father’s angry hand. He had fallen back into the room as his dad yelled at him to obey. Frank had whimpered as his dad slapped him once more. He was just lucky that that particular “customer” had been into that.
Frank rounded the corner into the kitchen and sat at the table, looking over his math homework for that night. He sighed at the equations and wrote the date atop the page. He paused after writing “10/30”. He looked up quickly, “My birthday is tomorrow!” he told his mother. He had forgotten, what with all the Halloween preparation. He had to be the best vampire on the block.
He beamed as his mother turned a questionable expression on her face. She looked at Frank as his smile faded. His mother spoke, “The man who just saw you wanted another session tomorrow, Frankie. I completely forgot about Halloween.” His smile vanished completely as he took in the news. He felt tears begin to well up in his eyes. “Maybe we can talk to him and see if there’s another time that works. I just don’t know how we’d get in contact-.”
The front door slammed as Frank’s father arrived home. He heard scuffling in the living room as he froze, tears still in the corners of his eyes as his mother turned back to cooking. His father entered the kitchen and looked to his son’s face. Frank knew he got mad when he cried. “What’s going on? Did he cause problems again?” his father asked his wife, never breaking eye contact with Frank. “No, he performed well tonight. He just didn’t want to tomorrow, with Halloween and such,” she replied monotonously.
Frank hated how she was in front of his father. It’s like she only pretended to like Frank when his dad wasn’t around.
Frank cowered as he saw his father’s expression harden. “Selfish little Frankie thinks he too special to stay in on Halloween, does he?” his father rhetorically asked. Frank squeaked when he said “It’s my birthday, too.” He heard his father’s breaths pick up as he raised his voice, “Because I don’t sacrifice every day? Like I would ever complain about working on my birthday. Get over yourself, you little fag,” he spat at his son.
Frank held back a sob as tears streamed down his face, only angering his father more. “Oh, so you’re sad you can’t go running with your little boyfriends tomorrow? What, did you want to work the streets, you little slut?” Frank’s nose began to run as he cried against his father’s words. His father pushed a dining room chair over as he made his way to Frank. He slapped him across the face and he fell to the floor, still crying.
“Get up!” his father ordered. He stood up weakly in fear of being hit down again. As he stood on his feet, his father abruptly grabbed his hair, pulling him towards the locked room Frank had just left. He slammed the door, throwing Frank to the ground. Frank whimpered as he read the clock once more, ’11:50’.
Frank weakly clawed sheets as he was thrown onto them, darkness closing in on him as he attempted to struggle but rapidly lost the will to do so. When things hurt like this, Frank shut it all out. He could see himself on the bed, escaping and he went higher and higher. Eventually all noise ceased as well. He zoned out and until he heard the alarm clock ring throughout the room and he was brought back to reality. Everything hurt again.
His father muttered mockingly as he left, “happy birthday, Frankie.” Frank cried, alone and messy on the bed sheets, tears mixing with blood. Frank was 12- here was to another year of being stuck as him.