Frankly

This is for a very close friend of mine. I feel she needs this, whatever it may so happen to be ('cause I don't honestly know yet).

I love you, Suz! You're my inspiration and coach through the hard times and I-sincerely-hope maybe one day the favor shall be returned. You're an amazing author, and whatever funk you're going through shouldn't stop you from being the best that you so easily are.

Thanks for being a true friend, even though you live so damn far away. You accomplished the impossible, and I hope that this will remind the both of us not to let our friendship slip away simply because we can't find time in our busy schedules to converse.

All the characters belong to that one guy who owns them and is making money from their pain.

Preface

I don't really know what to say-I take that back. I know what to say. I just don't know when or how to say it. How am I supposed to put into words what is flying so fast in my brain that I can hardly channel it through my usual medium?

I'm standing in front of a giant cliff, the ledge of adulthood and I feel like I'm being pushed closer and closer to the ledge. But it's not just other people pushing me, I've been running towards it for my entire teen existence and now I've built up too much momentum to stop myself. To take a moment and bask in the glow of being spoiled and taken care of.

It's dark over that cliff, and I've faced unknowns like this before-but I always knew I would land just as alive on the other side. That there was a bottom I just couldn't see but now I know it's not a sure thing. I could keep falling and falling until I finally disappear into the darkness, or land wrong and break every bone in my body. Being crushed by adulthood is not an uncommon occurrence and I've seen it several times before.

"Frankie, you're so smart. You'll figure it out." People are overestimating here. Bobby's said it, my mother and father have said it. My grandmother has said it. They have so much faith in me it psychically hurts-the thought of letting them down.

Where do they draw this conclusion from, that I'm just as smart as my brothers? I must have missed the experiment. I never was good at Chemistry.

I'm supposed to be the one on top, the one who has it together. Instead, I can actually feel the seams of my body fall apart and rip under the stress! It's weak, I know, but real enough.

I'm two books into a book trilogy and I find I'm relating so much to the main character I can't control what the effect it's having on my emotions. She's in the life or death situation I feel I'm running parallel to. Metaphorically of course-I'm not dying.

How many other teenagers feel this way? That they're not pretty enough or smart enough to come out on top of life? I'm determined not to let it beat me, but that doesn't guarantee success either. Being dealt a rough hand isn't easy. Never in my life have I actually had to try at something. It's always come natural, I'm always dealt a manageable hand. I assume I won't fail to reach my father's expectations because I haven't in the past. But this logic is incredibly flawed. I assume I'm never going to have a husband or children and move on because it's easier not to think of it. If I don't deal with it then the problem isn't there, right?

"I have to know the ending to that damn book," I said. They didn't understand what I meant. It's like I can't get my point across, like I'm speaking French and they won't get Google Translator out to try and understand. "I have to know the ending!" I have to know everything will be ok. Because if everything is ok with the female lead, a character I feel I am so much alike, then everything will be ok with me.

Again, my logic is flawed, because I am not a beautiful literary heroine.. Because my life is not a book that will end wrapped in a pretty orange cover. Because I have to handle it myself. Because, even as I type this-knowing my logic is mutilated beyond repair-it's still the way I think. Because everything has to be alright. Because I have to land correctly. Because I have to survive. Because I have to defeat this Game of Life.

Because I haven't been dealt the favorable cards this time.

Because I'm a survivor, and I need to start acting like one.

Chapter One

I've always been told being a Winchester wasn't supposed to be easy but, without learning the hard way, how was I ever supposed to truly learn that lesson? To take my father seriously instead of rolling my eyes?

My father is hard not to take seriously, in all honesty, but I somehow long outgrew that handicap. Listening to my father would have you believing in ghosts and demons. Just like Dad manipulated my brothers into thinking.

"Dad," I say, trying not to sound too pissed off that he was interrupting my texting spree. "There is no such thing as fate or curses. You have bad luck because you bring it upon yourself." My mouth forms the familiar words and, this time, I don't even look up to see how they effect him, "Especially when you go looking for it."

I twitch as sensitive ears pick up the familiar intake of angered breath through his scarred nostrils. My mother says he was handsome once. "Disrespect me again, Frankie, and I'll have you running laps. You hear me, girl?"

"Loud and clear." I'm finally done with my text. Pushing send should have been easy.

But the phone isn't there anymore when my thumb goes to mash down the worn surface. "Hey!"

"You'll get this back when I don't feel the urge to slap you."

I sigh, propping my boot-clad feet onto the dash of his truck with the most teenage angst I can manage planted firmly on my face. "Then I won't ever get it back."

The truck pulls into the parking lot of a dingy hotel, just another piece of low class filth in a long string of them, right next to the glossy black of an Impala. The sight of it meant I was almost home.

Weekends with dad came few and far between, but they were still too many for my tastes. But seeing an Impala usually meant I was going home soon.

A hotel room door opened, out stepping my oldest brother in all his hung over glory. He'd had the weekend to himself in a town with way too many bars and easy women. It didn't surprise me to smell air freshener as soon as my head passed the threshold of salt. "What's with the Spring Lilac, Dean? Cooking lots of fish again?"

"Shut up, Frankie."

Forcing myself not to roll my eyes, trying hard not to be repetitive, I plop down on the unruffled bed. "Sure thing, Bro."

Dean threw a cheap plastic take out spoon at me, his close cropped sandy hair catching beams of sunlight on the top, warming the tops of his ears as he watched me catch it easily, swiping it out of the air as quickly as it had appeared. "That's not very nice, Dude."

"Who says I have to be nice to a smart mouth little girl?"

"Familiar obligation?"

"No chance."

"Then," I pause. It's not like him to be this irritable. "It's a good thing I'm only your half sister. Other wise it would be a shame to your character, Sir."

"Enough of that," Dead sticks out his tongue but his eyes remain serious. "Family is family. Half or not, Kid."

I can feel the sudden prickling of liquid before rapid blinking attempts a cover up. "Thanks," I say. And I mean it.

Awesome. Hope you all enjoyed my first story back up! It's been a pleasure writing it.