Foster’s Porn Story: More Than My Friend Chapter 11

Wilt glanced over at the alarm clock next to Frankies
bed. Four-thirty-six, according to the electronic numbers that blared back at
him. He guessed that he had been there about two hours.

Frankie whimpered and squirmed a bit closer to him in her
troubled slumber. After finally crying herself completely dry, she had finally
settled down in an uneasy sleep some time ago, the harrowing events of the day
finally getting the best of her. Now Wilt lay down with her on the bed, his
long legs overflowing over the end while he still held the miserable girl close
with his good arm.

Wilt shivered a bit. Despite the fact that he knew his
presence was badly need at this crucial moment, it was still just all too
eerily familiar for his liking. It brought back too many memories of those
seemingly endless nights. Those all too many times when he would find himself
forcibly awoken by the terrified shrieks of a frightened little girl, caught in
the grasps of hideous nightmares too awful to be spoken of. Those long, dreary
hours of endless lullabies, constant cradling, nonstop reassurances that
everything was going to be all right, and the final promise that yes, she could
spend the night with him, again.

As Wilt recalled, his first few months at Fosters werent
exactly the greatest few months of his life. Unfortunately, as dark and dreary
as they seemed to him, they were without a doubt at least ten times worse for
Frankie. After just recently surviving a car crash in which her parents had
been killed right in front of her own eyes, she hadnt exactly been in the best
of shape when Madame Foster took her granddaughter from the hospital to her new
“home.”

To put it more bluntly, she was utterly traumatized by the
whole experience. Her days were spent moping about the household or holed up in
the relative safety of her room. Her nights were filled with nothing but
horrible nightmares, forcing her to relive the horrible accident over and over
again every time she went to sleep. Frankie was only three years old, and
already her life had spiraled down the tubes into a living hell.

Fortunately however, she wasnt alone in a fight in which
the odds seemed to be overwhelmingly stacked against her. Whether it was divine
will that they were both to be on that same stretch of road that fateful night,
or just an extraordinary stroke of luck for her, he wasnt quite sure. But
after just barely snatching the little girl from the jaws of death, he wasnt
going to just stand by and lose Frankie to a life of mental anguish right in
front of his own eyes. Not while he could do anything about it.

It wasnt easy of course. It was an agonizingly long and
painfully slow process. No matter how much her coaxed, no matter how much he
cuddled or hugged, no how many times he reassured and comforted, sometimes it
felt like nothing would drag Frankie out of her abysmal pit of endless misery.
She would immediately run off and hide at the slightest of noises. She would
burst into tears as soon as she heard someone put on their car brakes as they
drove by outside. And both Wilt and Madame Foster continued to find themselves
woken up every night by the most heartbreaking shrieks as the endless parades
of nightmares refused to give the child any peace.

But Wilt never gave up. No matter how utterly hopeless it
seemed at times, no matter how dead Frankies responses would seem to be at his
numerous daily attempts to bring her back from the grips of a deep depression,
he never lost hope that everything would turn out alright. Never once did he
lose faith in the little girls ability to recover.

Wilt knew that had she not survived the initial crash that
took her parents, he probably wouldnt have had the will to endure any longer a
life spent simply wandering the roads, all alone and constantly possessed by
pain and grief. But due to the expected attachment the traumatized little
creature now had to her lanky savior, Wilt almost felt like he had been given a
second chance with a new child of his own to look after, almost a second lease
on life. He had failed
Jordan
when he was clearly needed the most; he was determined not to do the same with
Frankie.

Wilt never stopped his incessant signs of love and
affection, never once let up with the friendly smiles, the warm hugs, the soothing
cradling, not for a moment did he not let up on his constant attacks on the
shell of misery that had encased Frankie in her depression. Every day was a
barrage of attempts to show the shell-shocked girl that everything was going to
be all right, that she was now in a safe place where people loved and cared for
her.

Wilt remembered the day of the breakthrough clearly. It
was a few months after he had first arrived at Fosters. It was an unusually
pleasant day for mid-March, and he decided to go shoot a few baskets outside.
He expected to be alone, as the other imaginary friends for the moment were
tending to stay a bit clear of the one oddball newcomer who wasnt focused on getting adopted as
soon as possible. And Frankie of course, even though she would tend to toddle
after him around the house like a sad puppy, wouldnt dare follow him outside,
as there were too many cars there. Or so he expected.

All Wilt knew was that while fetching a ball that had
bounced wildly off the backboard, he had been shocked to Frankie outside on the
court, holding the ball up politely for him to take. Or at least the toddler
that was with him looked like Frankie, for besides that she barely resembled
the same little girl Wilt had seen sulking about earlier that morning. This Frankie stood up tall, giggled when
he thanked her, and demanded in a shrill squeak that Wilt teach her everything
he knew about the game she had seen him playing.

He had hardly been able to believe the sudden
transformation that took place on that very day, and even to this day the whole
thing still mystified him. Just like that, his constant efforts just suddenly
seemed to pay off in an instant when Frankie unexpectedly and completely broke
completely free from her utter misery. Literally overnight, the doleful little
girl who spent her time moping about the hallways ceased to exist completely.
Instead, she was suddenly replaced by a giggly, hyperactive redheaded bundle of
boundless energy and constant enthusiasm.

Now, instead of sulking in bed, Frankie would forcibly
wake up Wilt as early as 6:00 AM, under the pretext that the sun was up again,
meaning it was time to play. Rather than run off shyly at a sudden unexpected
noise, she suddenly seemed to have transformed into a little daredevil overnight,
her favorite made-up game now being Catch Me Now. Meaning of course, Frankie
would jump off of everything she could possibly climb so Wilt would narrowly
catch her just inches from splatting against the floor. And now, instead of
hiding in the safety of her room, Wilt suddenly found himself fishing Frankie
out of the laundry chute, from deep under the sink, and every other nook and
cranny she would crawl into during her daily explorations around the house.

Mr. Herriman was practically driven up the wall by her
antics and incessant roughhousing.

Madame Foster could barely contain her unbridled glee at
the miraculous transformation that had taken place in her grandchild.

And Wilt, despite the shenanigans he had to put up every
day with what turned out to be an unexpectedly hyperactive little girl, was
perfectly content to have a child to look after as he served as what was more
or less her unofficial imaginary friend. Everything seemed to have finally
worked out, and the future looked bright and promising.

At least so he thought.

Wilt sighed heavily as he glanced over at the melancholy
girl lying by his side. He could hardly imagine the intense grief she was going
through. Now, he too was saddened by the fact that Fosters was quite possibly
going to be losing its favorite eight-year-old. But Frankie, he knew she had
to be absolutely heartbroken. Wilt could only barely comprehend the extreme
emotional pain she must have felt when she heard that Macs family was dead, or
when the boy was taken away, literally ripped out of her very arms and shipped
off to some nameless institution which they refused to tell the hysterical girl
about. The crushing disappointment she probably experienced when Mr. Herriman
just recently flat out refused to let her adopt Mac, the only way she, and
basically everyone else at Fosters could possibly get him back.

And if that all wasnt bad enough, Herriman just had to unwittingly reminded her that she
too had lost her parents in a horrible car crash in which she very nearly lost
her own life. Not good, not good at all.

Now Frankie dozed uneasily by his side, clinging to him
tightly as a frightened infant would do to a stuffed animal. It absolutely
broke Wilts heart to see her so distressed. Over the years, watching her grow
up from an energetic toddler into a strong-willed, easygoing young woman, Wilt
had seen her through plenty of bad times along with all the good times. But he
had quite literally not seen Frankie so utterly downtrodden and miserable since
she they had first started living at Fosters, when the memory of the accident
that took her mother and father was the freshest and most vivid in her mind.

Wilt thought he had seen enough of this, but fate seemed to have a cruel sense of humor.
Despite everything she had done, despite all that she had successfully
accomplished in her life, Frankie was once again reliving a trauma most hideous.
She was losing Mac, the child she adored as the younger brother she never had.
She was being forced to step aside as someone she considered her own family was
taken away from her. And there didnt seem to be anything she could do
to stop the horrible turn of events from taking their brutal toll.

Frankie suddenly whined softly and wriggled some more to get even
closer to the imaginary friend in her uneasy slumber. Wilt sighed heavily as he
hugged her as tightly as possible, as if only he could somehow shelter the girl
from the cruel and merciless world that seemed bent on taking everyone whom she
loved away from her.

It became clear to all the resident friends that while
they were all a little stunned and hurt, the sudden loss had absolutely
devastated their resident caretaker. With the listless way she now stumbled
about, the almost mechanical way in which she performed her daily chores, and
the blank, emotionless stare she now always wore, it was like a part of Frankie
had simply died the day she lost her little brother. In just the space of
twenty-four hours, the upbeat, easygoing young woman all the friends knew and
loved had vanished from their midst. Instead, all they had left was a former
shell of the Frankie they had once known, a mere silent shadow who would
quietly wander the endless hallways and rooms performing her daily chores. The
chores that she now performed with such speed and efficiency, it was as if they
were all the girl had left to cling on to the skin of her sanity. The moment
Frankie had nothing else left to do for the upkeep of Fosters, she would
immediately run off to her room, presumably to sulk, mope, cry, or any
combination of the three.

However, if the devastating loss of Mac left Frankie only
a fraction of the girl that she used to be, then Bloo was only a fraction of
what Frankie was in her practically half-dead emotional state. No longer was
Blooragard Q. Kazoo the official House Troublemaker, or Fosters resident
miscreant. The hallways and corridors became strangely empty of strange
explosions, wild chases, or Frankies outraged shrieks. Instead, with the loss
of his best friend and creator, Bloo had become nothing less than a ghostly
remnant of the energetic little blob he once was. Besides his quick appearances
at mealtimes, eating only what he needed, he would immediately slink off to
odd, God-forsaken corners of the gigantic Victorian mansion, avoiding all
contact with others and wanting nothing more to wade in a pool of his own
misery.

Besides this new hobby of his, the only other activity
Bloo performed now was following Frankie about the house as she did her daily
duties, trailing miserably at her heels. Indeed, whenever the pair were spotted
together, it was as if they were just part of some bizarre funeral procession,
oblivious to everything around them as they tromped about the house in a gloomy
death-march.

Dark times had come to Fosters Home for Imaginary
Friends.

Frankie however, seemed utterly deaf to his incessant
protests to her disobedience. Instead she marched along busily across the foyer
floor, drooping shoulders carrying a bucket and old mop, which dragged along
behind her. Mr. Herriman groaned in annoyance as he tried to catch up with her,
holding on to his hat as he put on an extra burst of speed.

Miss
Frances,
please! he begged. If I could just have your attention for no less than a-

Floors are all swept. Frankie suddenly cut in flatly,
neither slowing down nor turning her head.

Miss
Frances,
thats not what I meant at all! I do not wish to discuss your caretaking duties
at this very moment! I simply want to-

Trimmed the hedges too. The girl interrupted again in
the same, cold, emotionless tone.

Miss
Frances,
this is exactly what I want to talk with you about! Mr. Herriman cried, his
breath coming in ragged gasps. If youd only allow me to speak for more than
two seconds, I-

Gonna get started mopping the kitchen now. Frankie
droned. At this, Mr. Herriman finally lost his patience and stomped his foot
angrily.

Now listen here, young lady! he roared, jabbing his
finger furiously at her. Ive had quite enough of this! You will answer me
correctly for once, and we will finally-

Maybe Ill clean out the fridge if I finish early.
Frankie murmured dully, never once slowing her pace.

That was the last straw. The glass monocle popped from his
eye and clattered to the floor as Mr. Herrimans eyes bulged in fury. Fully at
the end of his rope, he ripped his hat from his head, violently threw it to the
floor, and yelled at the top of his lungs,

FRANKIE FOSTER! STOP! he bellowed in a rare lapse of
conventionality. After this eruption, he leaned over a bit and catch his breath
with a few powerful gulps of air. Once he had fully regained his composure, and
gathered his belongings from the floor, he finally looked up again to see the
results of his furious explosion.

Frankie had finally ground to a halt. For what appeared to
be an agonizingly long period of time, the girl simply stood where she was, so
deathly silent and immobile it was as if she had simply transformed into a
statue, a petrified piece of art to be placed alongside her grandmothers bust.
Finally however, her head began to slowly turn in response.

What? she groaned wearily.

Mr. Herriman had to stifle a gasp of shock. The girl
looked as if she had been to hell and back and then repeated the process an
insurmountable amount of times.

Gone was the trademark sparkle in her eyes that symbolized
the fiery soul within the young woman. Instead, Frankie stared back stupidly at
Mr. Herriman with a dull, glazed look through horribly sunken eyeballs. Ugly
gray bags finished the job of sufficiently de-beautifying her jade eyes by
sagging heavily underneath, as if the girl had been without a decent amount of
sleep for days. Her normally almost perfectly smooth skin was badly marred by
the way it now sagged, as if the twentytwo-year-old had suddenly aged thirty
years overnight. Her clothes, usually clean and immaculate, were now covered
from top to bottom with a diverse variety of blemishes and mysterious stains,
making it clear Frankie had stopped caring whether her attire had been washed
or not. Even her normally bright red hair, usually adorning her head like a
halo of fire, had seemed to had lost its brilliant sheen; its dull tone
reminded Herriman of the color of rust. Topped off with the way her entire
posture drooped uneasily, Frankie resembled more of a zombie than the
fiery-spirited redhead he was so familiar with.

For a few moments the rabbit could not help but just stare
wordlessly at her absolutely wretched appearance in a mix of shock and disgust.
However, true to his nature, he quickly managed to snap himself out of it,
quickly getting down to business.

I’m sorry for the outburst, Miss
Frances, but
please, its been so long since Ive been able to get such an opportunity. Ive
barely been seeing you around the house lately andIthis is the first chance
in a while that II need to

Im listenin, Mr. H. Frankie replied dully, oblivious
to the way he had just rudely sized up her pitiful condition. Mr. Herriman
anxiously fidgeted with his hands as he cleared his throat.

Well, its just thatyour grandmother is quite worried
about youto be quite honest, the way you simply havent been yourself lately
has put most of our house residents at a great discomfort.

He waited hopefully for an irritated groan or a snappy
reply. But instead, all he got in response was a dumb nod.

So Frankie murmured as she began to lean heavily
against her mop. With a heavy sigh, Mr. Herriman continued.

Dont get me mistaken , Miss
Frances. I most of all have been
quite pleased with the way in which youve been so diligently handling your
chores lately, but

The kitchen linoleum isnt gonna clean itself you know.
Frankie interrupted in that same cold, mechanical tone of voice.

Mr. Herriman groaned sadly. Oh, how he wished she would
simply yell at him for nagging at her again, or even just ignore him completely
with a huffy grunt. But now that Frankie was actually being so, wellobedient, he actually didnt really know
what to say to her. To think that he had been waiting so long for such
compliance from her, and now that it was finally hereit almost felt wrong. He
took a hard gulp before continuing.

Miss
Frances,
please. He begged. If theres anything we can do to help, please tell us . We
dontI dont enjoy seeing you in
such a condition. Please
Miss,
Frances, for
the sake of everyone at the house, if you could just-

Could you at least tell me where he is? Frankie suddenly demanded flatly.

Mr. Herriman gasped. He of all people knew very well who
he was. In all reality, an imaginary friend of such extensive intellect as
himself clearly knew what had been torturing Frankie uncontrollably for the
past few weeks, reducing her to the haggard figure who now stood before him. He
knew exactly what she wanted to hear.
But he couldnthe just couldntyet he had to

MissMiss Frances, I he struggled in vain to get the
words out. On seeing him stutter so unnaturally, Frankie actually perked up a
little bit.

Yes? she asked anxiously, the anticipation on her face
revealing the first hint of emotion Herriman had seen on her in days. The
rabbit seemed to be choking on his own words as he tried to speak up. He knew
exactly what he had to say to make it right, but

Miss Frances, IIm a gentleman of my word, young lady.
And as part of the agreement so as to keep you and Master Blooragard from
winding up in jailI promised the police department and Social Services that I
wouldnt tell. He babbled out uncontrollably, hanging his head in shame when
he finished.

Frankie stared at him silently for a few brief seconds.
Mr. Herriman flinched involuntarily, as if her dull glaze was somehow piercing
into his very soul. After a few moments of this treatment though, she quietly
turned around and trudged off into the kitchen.

I should be finished in about an hour. She said quietly
before the door closed behind her.

Mr. Herriman groaned wearily as he slapped his forehead.

Blast it all!
Not again! I knew it! I knew exactly what to say! The somber rabbit
mentally grumbled to himself. I knew just
what she wanted to hear. Oh dash it all, who am I fooling? Its the only thing she wants to hear. I knew

True, he did know exactly what Frankie had wanted to
hear, probably the only thing that would possibly bring her back from the edge
of insanity she seemed to be wandering dangerously close to. At the sane time,
it was also the only thing that would cheer up his own downtrodden creator,
thoroughly depressed by the wretched state of her grandchild. Frankly, the
whole situation was just all too familiar for Herrimans liking. He knew quite
well what they were reliving all over again. If he could just tell Frankie

But that was precisely the problem; he couldnt. No matter how far Madame
Fosters granddaughter seemed to sink in despair, no matter how much his
frazzled creator would beg him at night to talk with her, no matter what, he
just couldnt do it. He just couldnt let her, much less tell her where Mac
even was. True, while not doing so he continued to force Frankie to unwillingly
relive the torment of her past along with the emotional stress of the recent
tragedy that befell her. Yet somehow, whenever he thought about doing what
everyone wished he would do, taking the only action that would benefit
everyone, somehow that course of action seemed even worse.

He couldnt quite fully explain it, but thats the
way it was. Doing so would seem like a complete violation of his nature, an
infraction of who he was as a unique imaginary friend. He was a gentleman, a
man of the rules, an upright citizen of the law who set his watch to all that
was considered proper and correct. The rules of the house, the laws of the
state, all the rules of proper etiquette, that was what ran his life and helped
make him who he was.

Oh, if only he could just break one little rule, just this one time, for the sake of his creators
own flesh and blood!

But no, doing such a heinous act and breaking his
word, to the chief of police, of all
peopleit would be like as soon as he did so, he would contradict his own
essence and simply cease to exist. How was it that he was able to run an
establishment as extensive as Foster’s for all these years, managing to keep
the house in tip-top shape all this time and everything running smoothly, and
yet not even be able to tell a stricken girl about the whereabouts of one
child?

Never in his life had he felt so torn. One part of
him simply wished to do the compassionate
thing, to tell Frankie what she wanted to hear, what was “right”. Yet
at the same time, the other part of him constantly reminded him to do his duty, to keep his promise, to uphold his
honor as a gentleman, to follow what the law had dictated to him. In other
words, what also was considered “right.”

What a paradox his life had become.

The opening of the kitchen doors rudely interrupted
Mr. Herrimans train of thought. The rabbit looked up in surprise as Frankie
quickly strode out, heading straight in his direction. Almost immediately he
took the opportunity to make another attempt to speak to her.

Miss
Frances,
I-

Before he could get much further, Frankie passed
right by as she made a beeline for the front door.

Were outta detergent. Be back in a bit. She
announced flatly, and with that the door slammed behind her and she was gone
once again.

Mr. Herrimans shoulders sagged wearily as he let out
an exasperated groan. Curses, and after all he had said to Madame Foster
earlier that morning to ease her worry about her granddaughter. The poor old
woman, ever since Frankies rapid descent into depression, even she was

He quickly hopped off to his office. Maybe hed feel
better after he did some paperwork.