how to carry on

 It was true, Frankie was at his wit's end. True, he had his Heather, but now what? 

Oh, he'd talked to her endlessly from the get-go. Posed her in positions where it looked as if she might be really listening to him, but of course, her voice never came.

Yes, he had a lot on his mind. There was the Tori matter that made him miserable. What if it was all his fault that she became what she was? Naturally, tears emerged and it made him sick. It had to be his fault had to be. Hadn't they made love all so long ago? He'd never wanted another.

True, he might not be right in the head at the moment as he looked to Heather the sex doll for comfort, but she just stared at him.

It was as if Frankie and Tori were in different books, altogether. Or so he knew now. She was his first and his last time. But who cared. Not even Heather cared. 

He wanted to text someone, but he didn't. They were not being nice to each other.

Of course, Bea gave him an earful that morning she called. He'd listened in silence and hung up on her. He didn't want to see her. After all, she was high strung and she frightened him. But late one afternoon when he got off work, she met him at his door.

"What is wrong with you, boy?" She didn't scream, but he knew she was scolding him.

"Don't call me, boy!" He bolted in wanting to shut her out, but the thirty-eight-year-old was too strong for him and might as well have been a sumo wrestler. Yes, he'd googled everything he could about her, but didn't get more than her age and an old address.

He only sighed at her and hugged himself hard as if he couldn't really stand the sight of her. Why couldn't she be anybody else? OK, he would have been flustered if Heather was actually Roman. That would be worse. He was certain of it.

"Where is she?" Bea wanted to know.

"Why? Why do you care?" He told her he'd take better care of Heather than she ever would. He would buy her clothes. "I love watching TV with her." He snapped. It wasn't totally true, but still not quite.

"Just what have you been doing with the sex doll?" Bea wanted to know.

"What do you mean?" His brow furrowed. 

"Are you having sex with her?"

She'd hit a nerve. He only winced a face of disgust as if Bea was wrong. So wrong about him.

"What does it matter, what I do?" He wished she would just go away, but he knew she planned on staying for a while as she was well into his livingroom now.

"Oh, you are just a scrawny little thing," she told him. "You know, you listened to me. We were friends."

He only laughed at her as if she certainly had no right to say such a thing. He sighed as he rubbed his forehead and raked his dark hair away from his thin face. 

"Liar!" Frankie snapped. She tossed her bag to the sofa and planted herself there as if she might be here to actually help, but he didn't want that.