Keep chasin’, rock star.
Text message #142
Frankie: I was walking down Parade Road earlier today and I couldn’t believe what I saw. On the ground was a magazine, and on the cover was you with that Kigi model, or whatever her name is. This is the first time in two years that I had seen evidence of you being with another girl. Anna and Hannah tell me what, and who, you’re up to whenever they get the chance but for the most part, I tune everything about you out.
I’ve cried all day. You’re moving on from me. I’m angry with you and I have no right to be, I know that, but I’m still angry with you. I’m so hurt, so fucking hurt, because I still love you more than all of the stars in the night sky.
Half-naked and drunk off your arse leaving a club – you’re not even legal there yet! – with a bunch of people you likely don’t even know is your new norm now, is it? It’s considered cool in Hollywood, huh? FYI, it just means you’re a dumb arse here. Please don’t contract an STD, May’s mum will kill you. Happy 20th birthday.
Keep chasin’, rock star.
Text message #189
Frankie: I redecorated the cottage today. I’ve modernised it with a couple of coats of pure white paint and I got new furniture. I got rid of everything with Michael’s permission. I love you, but I need to clear out my living space. Right now, I look at a piece of furniture and I remember how you did something on it, or near it, and it’s slowly driving me up the wall. The hardest thing to get rid of was the bed and mattress because we made love for the first time on them both but it’s time for a new start.
I need to try something, anything, to help me not feel so broken inside.
Keep chasin’, rock star.
Text message #248
Frankie: Three years. We broke up three years ago today. I haven’t seen your handsome, freckled face in person in 1,095 days. Yeah, I’ve been counting. On one hand, I can’t believe it’s been three years, and, on the other, I can’t believe it’s not more. Some days feel like minutes and others like decades. God. I miss you, Risk.
Keep chasin’, rock star.
Text message #303
Frankie: I got a promotion today and a pretty sweet raise. You’re the former boyfriend of . . . wait for it . . . the head waitress of Mary Well’s diner. Eat your heart out, Keller.
Keep chasin’, rock star.
Text message #346
Frankie: Guess who got caught in a bloody downpour? Yours truly. I’m literally soaked to the bone and I’m as cold as ice as I type this message, but I can’t help but laugh. It reminded me of the time we got caught in the downpour not long after we started dating and when we got to my house and you realised my mum was at work, you convinced me to undress and share your body heat so I wouldn’t get sick. Do you remember? You copped more than a feel you smooth-talking fucker. LOL.
I’ve noticed that I’m starting to laugh again and I don’t even have to force it anymore. It only took three and half years for me to get here . . . that’s steady progress, right? FYI, my mum said she saw you and the guys on The Ellen Show and that you were very funny. I didn’t believe her because we both know you don’t have a sense of humour.
Keep chasin’, rock star.
Text message #391
Frankie: Blood Oath is a MULTI GRAMMY AWARD WINNING ROCK BAND. Did I or did I not tell you that you guys were gonna take the world by storm? I did. I totally did!
What the absolute fuck, Risk? I am SO proud of you guys. I can’t even put it into words just how happy I am right now. I was working the morning shift when Hannah told me you guys took home five awards the night before. Five of those little babies are for the band and one for you as a songwriter. BABE! Best Rock Album, Best Rock Song, Song of the Year, Record of the Year and Album of the Year. You guys nicked three of the ceremony’s most prestigious awards. WHAT?? This is actually real life. I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!
Keep chasin’, rock star.
Text message #416
Frankie: Happy New Year, stupid head. I can’t believe it’s been four years since I last saw or spoke to you. I don’t find the need to text you as often anymore. My mini breakdowns when I grab my phone to ‘talk’ to you are few and far between. I think that means even though I’m still struggling with you being gone, I’m starting to cope in this new, strange way. I don’t know, it’s probably mad, but I can breathe a little easier when I think about you now.