“I know you’re home!” I yelled. I knocked again, louder this time.
“Give me a chance to get up, Peyton!” Frank yelled back. I heard the locks click and finally he opened the door. He stared at me. His eyes were softer then yesterday and he looked more relaxed. “Come in” He said stepping aside, without greeting me with a kiss, like he usually does. I gave him a questioning look and walked in. He closed the door behind me. I took a quick glance around the apartment; it was a mess.
“Do you ever clean?” I asked. He looked at me and shrugged. “Frank, can we talk?” I asked. There was no need to lollygag.
“Yeah sure” He mumbled. We sat down on the couch and I placed my hand on his leg instinctively. He set his hand on top of mine. “Are you ok?”
“Are you?” I asked back. He took his hand off my leg and stood up. He turned around and headed towards the kitchen. I stood up and followed him. “Frank! What’s going on?” I asked angrily.
“Not now, Peyton.” He replied opening the fridge. I grabbed his arm and turned him to face me.
“No, Frank, now.” I stated. “Something’s wrong.” He pulled away from me and turned back to the fridge. I peered over his shoulder and looked into the fridge. A half empty bottle of vodka sat on the top shelf.