Chapter 4

                                    

                                          
That night, Frank felt lonely. Usually, the gentle flickering lights from the television and a bottle of wine kept him company, but tonight it seemed to make him yearn for company more. 
“I’ll be here whenever you need me…okay?” Frank rolled his eyes and propped his shoes up on the coffee table. “My ass.” 
“Don't stain the table with them filthy shoes, boy,” Frank impersonated his mother with a croaky witch voice. “Fuckin’ bitch,” he sneered, rubbing the soles of his shoes onto the wooden table. “Like that, bitch?” 
He stood up to his feet and glared at a framed photo of his mother when she was a young adult back in the 1940s. “I'm probably gonna die, anyway,” he said gently with an exaggerated feminine voice, then threw the picture to the floor. But since it was carpet, it only bounced a few feet across the surface and didn’t break. “I hope you fucking do.” 
There it was, that same feeling. Oh, how Frank hated that feeling. He sealed his eyes shut and swallowed. A name for this sensation was the one thing he didn’t have, but he liked to call it ‘crazy guy persona’ because it really did make him feel crazy. 
The last time he felt like this, he thought it’d be a good idea to spend two hundred dollars on lottery tickets and then ride his motorbike up and down the street, shouting, “I'm gonna be a millionaire!” And when the ‘crazy guy persona’ went away, he was stuck with a tonne of small papers with numbers written on them and a fine from the police for reckless driving. 
And the money he earned wasn’t enough to pay off the fine. 
“No, no, no,” Frank mumbled to himself, pressing his hands to either side of his head, struggling to organise his racing thoughts. “Go away. Stop it, please.” 
Then he had the idea. A grin crept onto his face and immediately, he threw on a brown jacket and left his home. 
Frank hopped onto his motorbike and drove down to the corner store. Despite ‘convenience’ being in its name, the closest store was a few miles away which was certainly too far to walk. 
He parked his bike outside and strode into the store, his face glowing with confidence. The store had lots of items like bread, milk and sweets all stacked up, ready for customers to pick them out and purchase them. It was your typical convenience store, nothing particularly special, except it did lack customers. But the one thing Frank had come to buy was cigarettes, and a lot of them. It was for his little experiment which he called “how many cigarettes can I smoke in an hour.” Not a witty and creative title, but he only just thought of it. 
“How can I help you, sir?” The man at the register asked. 
“Ten packs of Marlboro cigarettes. Thanks, man.” Frank rested his hand on the counter and found his eyes wandering the store as he spoke to the employee. 
“Are you sure?” he asked, staring at the countertop, primarily avoiding Frank's eye contact. 
“What are you talking about, man? It's your job to serve the customer. Give me my ciggies.” Frank rolled his eyes, starting to get extremely impatient. It was a thing with the ‘crazy guy persona’ that made him want to do things very quickly. 
“But cigarettes aren't good for you.” He looked up at Frank. 
As he scrunched his face up in his confusion, he stared at the man’s attractive and lightly feminine face. 
He sighed and stepped out from behind the register, hanging an arm on Frank’s shoulder. “Didn't you learn anything from our little chat the other night?” 
“Woah! No fucking way…” Frank jumped away from the priest and stared at him with bulging eyes. “You fucking stalker! How’d you know I'll be here?” He stabbed a finger at Gerard.