Love Me, Love Me Not

“You’re a real bastard, you know that?” Frances yelled. His face was as red as the setting sun. Never, in all his 30 years, had he been so angry and hurt. He couldn’t stop from shaking, he was so upset.
“Please, Frank, calm down,” Michael said to him. Michael had just broken the news to Frances that not only had he been having an affair, but an affair with a woman. He knew Frances would be hurt, but he no longer cared.
“Calm down? Calm down? How in the hell do you expect me to calm down after dropping that bomb on me? We’ve been together for five years. Five years! I thought you loved me”.
“Frank, look,” Michael began, but was cut off abruptly by Frances.
“Shut up. And stop calling me “Frank”. You don’t have that right anymore”. Frances was still bitterly angry, but he was beginning to lose the flushed look that had taken over his face. He was madly in love with Michael, and losing him, to a woman, was more hurtful than just an affair would have been.
Michael reached out to grab Frances’ hand, but Frances pulled away. He didn’t know what to do, so he turned and walked out of the apartment the two had been sharing for the last three years. Frances stood by the small kitchen table and watched Michael leave. As soon as he heard the door latch click, signaling that the door had closed, he slumped to the floor, banging his knees. His chest heaved as he began to sob. Steaming tears flowed down his face as he mourned the death of his relationship. He had loved Michael with every fiber of his being, and this was how he was repaid. Hurt could not properly describe how he felt.
After sitting hunched over on the floor for an hour, Frances got up and poured a glass of vodka. He never drank, but he figured that now was as good a time as any to start. He took a small sip of the alcohol, relishing the painful burn he felt in his throat. He took another, larger pull from the tumbler, feeling a slight flush come to his cheeks. Again, the vodka burned his throat as it went down, but the pain was soothing to him. It numbed the emotional pain of the heartache that Michael had caused. Within minutes, Frances had finished the vodka and poured another helping of the clear liquid. He started walking around the medium sized apartment that he had shared with Michael, looking at photographs of their happier days. He was beginning to feel the effects of the vodka, and was grateful for the numbness in his heart and mind it had given him.
Frances stopped and picked up a framed photograph of him and Michael in Paris, posing in front of the Louvre. That had been just last year, and Frances thought that they couldn’t have been any happier than while on that trip. After a moment of looking at the photo and reminiscing, he suddenly became angry and threw the framed picture at the window. It broke through the glass and tumbled through the air, crashing onto the street three floors below. A startled yell came from the street, but Frances couldn’t make out what the voice had said.
For three days, Frances sat in his apartment, alone, drinking vodka. He had left only twice, both times to get more of the alcohol. He would drink until he was sick, vomit, and then pour another glass. His mind never wandered far from Michael, but he felt sadness no more. He used the booze as a means of blocking the pain, and it was working splendidly. While he was drinking away his misery, Michael had tried repeatedly to check on him, but to no avail. Frances would not open the door or answer the phone. Michael was beginning to worry about his friend, but he could not get any response from him.
On the fourth day, Frances stopped drinking. He had had a moment of “clarity” and realized that he was hurting the wrong person. “Michael should be the one hurting”, he thought to himself. “I am not the one that did this, nor should I be the only one to suffer”. Frances had a plan, but he had to make preparations. He ran to the bathroom, showered and put on his usual; a light blue polo shirt, khakis, and his blue and white Keds. He loved his Keds, as they were the most comfortable shoes he owned. He left the apartment and began getting his plans in order.

Michael was sitting in his girlfriend’s apartment when his cell phone rang. He looked at the Caller I.D. and saw that it was Frances.
“Jen, could you excuse me? I have to take this,” he said. Jen rolled her eyes and gestured for him to go on. He ran to the next room and answered.
“Hello?” he said, trying to hide the excitement and relief in his voice. He had feared that Frances may try to take his own life, but hearing from him showed that that did not happen.
“Hi, Michael,” Frances answered. “I’m sorry I freaked out on you like I did. I would like to make it up to you. Would you come over for dinner tomorrow night?”
Michael hesitated for a moment. Something in Frances’ voice just didn’t seem right, but he could not pinpoint exactly what.
Frances noticed the hesitation. “I’m not trying to win you back, Michael. I just want to say our goodbyes and have one last moment together as friends”.
“Okay,” replied Michael. “What time?” he asked. He peeked into the next room to see how Jen was doing, but she had left; possibly to the bedroom or bathroom.
“Let’s shoot for seven o’clock,” answered Frances. Michael agreed, and then both of them hung up. Michael wasn’t sure what to think, but figured he owed Frances this, at least. Michael went to the bedroom door, opened it, and saw an empty room. He walked to the bathroom, again only to find an empty, dark room. He started to panic slightly, when he heard the apartment door close. Startled, he spun around and saw Jen standing in front of the coat rack, hanging up her leather jacket.
“You scared me,” said Michael. His nerves were beginning to settle, after realizing that he was worried about nothing after all. Jen looked at him, a smirk on her face.
“I just went outside for a cigarette,” she said. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know. Just a little jumpy, I guess”, he answered. He walked over to her, embraced her warmly, and looked into her bright green eyes. Jen could see the desire in his eyes, so she kissed him. The kisses were soft and loving, but grew more and more passionate.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” she breathlessly whispered. Michael was glad to oblige.

Michael stood impatiently outside of his old apartment, waiting for Frances to open the door. He knocked loudly for the third time, deciding that if Frances didn’t answer, he was going to leave. He would rather be with Jen anyway, he thought internally. Finally, Frances threw open the door and welcomed Michael.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was trying to tidy up a bit before you got here, and lost track of time”.
Michael walked in, expecting to see a table set up for a romantic dinner, but instead found cartons of Chinese takeout and two beers on the countertop. Michael started to relax at this sight. He had been apprehensive about this dinner, expecting a candle-lit dinner with wine. This was much better to him.
“I know you like the peanut chicken, so I got you some. I didn’t know if you wanted eggrolls or wontons, so I got both,” said Frances. “Have a seat, I’ll get everything ready”.
Michael took off his jacket and put it on the coat hook by the door. He sat down at the small table and watched as Frances got the food dished out onto plates.
“Look, Frances. About what happened,” he began.
“Please, call me Frank,” interrupted Frances.
“Okay, Frank, I’m sorry. I know how hurt you must be. I didn’t intend for this to happen. It just did. I didn’t ever think I would fall in love with a woman, but I did”.
Frances walked over with Michael’s plate and his bottle of beer. “Don’t sweat it,” he said. “I understand”.
Michael took the food and beer, set them down, and waited for Frances to join him. Frances grabbed his own plate, sat down, and began eating his pork fried rice. Michael followed suit, digging into his peanut chicken. The two started talking about random things, both trying hard not to delve too deeply into their past relationship. As Michael was finishing his meal, he started feeling very light-headed. He looked at Frances and saw that he was watching him very closely.
“Frank, what did you do to me?” he asked. His vision was starting to fade, and he began to slump to his left.
“Nothing yet,” replied Frances, an evil look taking over his face. Michael lost consciousness and fell to the floor.

Michael awoke to searing pain in his left hand. He tried to cry out, but his mouth was covered in duct tape.
“…he loves me not,” Frances was saying. In his hand was a pair of needle nose pliers holding a bloody fingernail. He opened the pliers, dropping the nail, reached for Michael’s hand and pulled another nail.
“He loves me,” he said. Michael again tried to scream, both in pain and in terror, but could not.
Frances noticed that Michael had regained consciousness. “Dear, don’t you understand? That bitch could never love you the way I could have. But now you will learn. I will teach you the error of your ways”.
Finally, the fingernails were all gone. After the final nail had been pulled, Frances moved on to Michael’s toes.
“This simply will not do,” he said, a crazed look in his eyes. “We cannot end this with ‘he loves me not’. It’s just not right”. During the course of the painful game Frances was playing, Michael kept losing consciousness. He could not handle the pain. The belts wrapped around his body preventing him from moving, although the GHB in his system was not helping either. The drug’s effects were starting to fade, and he was becoming more and more aware of his dire situation.
Frances finished with Michael’s toenails, blood now staining the bed he was on, angry and hurt.
“Why?” he screamed. “Why don’t you love me? Well, if you won’t love me, I won’t let you love anyone!”
Michael’s eyes widened in shock as Frances raised the pliers above his head and brought them down into Michael’s chest. He raised them again and again, stopping only after Michael’s features were unrecognizable. Frances had made his choice; if he was not going to BE accepted, he would accept no one. He would accept nothing.