Some people like the rain. They find it soothing, peaceful, perhaps even inspirational. Power to them. Rain's good for the ground, and it's good for the air, and it's good for the fish. Perhaps it is. But rain always comes at the behest of clouds, which hide the sun and darken a sky that looks much better in blue than gray. Clouds are lonely things, and since misery loves company, clouds love to make the people trapped underneath them feel sad and lonely as well. It's not the most convenient set-up. To me, if it's going to take up so much room, the sky ought to be bright at least half the time.

Not that the night I was splashing through was bright; the only lights were the lit lamp posts, shining blearily through the sheets of water. My backpack and I were soaked, the gentle breeze blowing the rain into my face, the glowing red tracker thumping softly against my chest with every step. I hated the rain. I wasn't refreshed, I wasn't soothed. I was just plowing through a bigger, colder version of the tears still falling from my eyes.

And a huge part of me still couldn't understand why I was weeping so bitterly- or why my heart was so broken. Freddie was a snake. A beast. An odious, nasty man who needed professional help. I had apologized sincerely, from the very bottom of my heart, and he kicked my words aside.

How had I let such a callous creature hurt me so horribly? What had I ever found so fascinating about him? Freddie was talented- so what? He had a beautiful voice and a beautiful face- big deal. And he was terribly mysterious- whoopee doo. But these qualities did not a worthy obsession make. Damn that natural charisma, that strange allure he had which charmed so many without them even knowing why they were charmed.

Seven years I'd admired him, studied him, aware of his torments and faults but untouched by them. Ten wonderful days, all relatively balanced as far as good and bad experiences went, suddenly paled before this one night of Freddie's utter self-exposure- literally. After eleven days, I knew too much, was in too deep. I had come too close to the fire and was running away charred and permanently scarred, pining for the days when I had the luxury to wonder about him, but receive no definite answer.

Ignorance is bliss.

I stopped running a moment and leaned forward against the light on the corner, pressing my forehead against it and seizing it with one hand. I would have used both, but my ring finger still stung from when I slapped Freddie. The cold metal felt solid and real against my palm; its concreteness grounded me somewhat. Not much, but I would take anything.

There was no place for me here. I would find a taxi or a bus or something and just go. Forget plans. Plans never worked, especially mine. I'd find out where I was meant to stop once I stopped. What a wonderful surprise it would be. Just peachy.

However, I had to get out of the Kensington borough first. That was my primary goal right now. The further away from him, the sooner I could get away, the better.

A set of headlights appeared and rounded the corner, moving toward Freddie's flat. I could tell by the headlight shape that it wasn't Rudy and his Rolls-Royce, and even through the rain the car looked dark-colored, and shaped like a taxi. Now was my chance. I ran across the street waving my arms around. The car slowed and halted by the roadside.

I pulled the backseat door open, and slid in. "Drive."

The driver turned around and squinted at me. "Huh?"

"Please, now, go," I murmured in shaky monosyllables.

He lifted a hand and turned on the cabin light. "Julia, what are you doing?"

My eyes bulged, and my sludgy brain bit by bit registered the situation: Oh, okay. I'm not sitting in a taxi, and how does he know my real name, too- and, crap, I'm getting the inside of John Deacon's car all wet.

"Making a fool of myself, that's what," I breathed. "Sorry." I reached for the door handle.

"You look dreadful," he remarked. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," I whispered, on the verge of another crying jag, "everything is fine, I'm okay, I should go-"

"Julia," John said again. "I- I mean, uh, Eve, sorry, it's Eve, right?"

"Nice try, man, but I know the word is out. Call me whatever, I just don't care anymore."

John looked me over, and nodded. "I think I understand. Do you need time to breathe?"

"No, I just need to get out of here."

"You look like you could use some warm, dry clothes. I can take you by my house, let you stay there till the rain stops-"

"No, John, really, I'm all right-" But I wasn't, which became painfully obvious as his kindness wrapped so nicely around me. Within its warmth I crumbled once again. I was a complete emotional wreck; I would have cried at a simple "Hello," my head was such a mess at that point. At this rate, Freddie may actually turn me into some crazy Harley Quinn. All I'm missing is one hundred volts zapping directly into my skull- and the acid bath. Then again, never say never.

John seemed to mull something a moment, glancing at the passenger seat, then looking back at me. He sighed, shaking his head. "You know, I'm just going to assume you're not all right every time you say you are, is that okay?"

I nodded. "That's probably a good idea."

He turned out the cabin light. "You're welcome to come up to the front if you want. Or you can keep pretending I'm a cabbie and order me about from back there."

"I'll stay back here."

"Then you have to tell me where to go." He plucked something out of the front seat and stuffed it into the glove compartment.

"I do?"

"Cab driver's rules."

"Okay." I took a deep breath. "To your place, if you please."

"Bother, I was hoping you'd tell me to 'Follow that car'."

I smiled. "Maybe next time."

John's car almost hydroplaned as he made a u-turn. When we passed Freddie's townhouse, I found myself watching the lit windows for his silhouette. I kept staring behind me until we rounded the corner again. But his door didn't open, and he didn't come out and watch us go. The street was silent and empty.

I sat back and rubbed my smeary face, then, ignoring the black streaks of eyeliner that came off onto my hands. Freddie wasn't the kind to run dramatically after cars anyway, and there was no reason in the world for him to start with me.

But he could have at least had the decency to let me see him one more time.

************************************************************************************

It was still coming down buckets when John and I stumbled into his south London home. A woman with long, straight brown hair, whom I assumed to be John's wife Veronica, opened the door to let us in.

"Hello, darling, was he glad to have it ba-" she began to say to John, when her eyes fell upon me. Instead of eyeing me suspiciously, she smiled and put out her hand.

"Oh, it's you again!" she said cheerily. "Hello!"

"Me again?" I repeated. "Have we met?"

"Well, not exactly, but I saw you," she explained. "Freddie's girl, right? Why, you're positively drenched. What happened to you?"

"I'm not Freddie's girl," I whispered shakily, emotions rising again. Veronica looked at her husband.

"This is Julia," John said. "And she's had a rather bad time."

"So I see," Veronica murmured. She took my hand then and led me down the hall. "I'm Veronica. Come on, you poor thing, take those clothes off, we'll dry them out, in the meantime I've got a dressing gown that should fit you all right."

"Thank you," I replied numbly. "I'd like that."

Veronica took me into the master bedroom and laid a finger against her lips. "Just to let you know, Robert's- that's our little boy, you know- he's asleep, and he's across the hall, so-"

"I'll be quieter than a mouse," I nodded. "How old is he?"

"Nearly two years," she answered, closing the door.

"I'm sure he's darling."

"A handful sometimes, but never too much of one. He's a love."

"You guys must be wonderful parents."

"We try." Veronica had nice dimples when she smiled.

After that, both of us ladies were silent as she helped me out of my cold, soaked clothes and handed me her robe to put on.

"What were you doing out in the rain at ten o'clock anyway?" she asked softly.

I tied the belt of the robe. "I don't know."

"Mm," she hummed with a nod, looking none-too-convinced, but she didn't press.

"I'm really sorry about this," I managed, feeling my throat tighten up again. "As soon as my clothes are dry, I'll go."

"At least stay till the rain stops," she said, smiling. "It'll save you a trip back here."

"Thank you," I breathed. "You guys... you and John are so nice... Thank you so much..."

Veronica could see I was about to break down again, so she rushed over to the nightstand and plucked a handkerchief out of the drawer. She put it in my hands and said, very quietly, "If you need to talk about it, whatever it is, you're in a safe place. All right?"

I bit my lip. "I don't want to bother you with-"

"Hush, hush. This is about Freddie. I can already tell. And I want you to know, you can talk here. We don't blab. Secrets are safe with us."

I stared at her, uncertain if the Deacons were not in fact angels on Earth. "Can I give you a hug, please?"

She laughed and nodded, let me throw my arms around her neck. John knocked on the door of the bedroom, saying, "You girls decent in there?"

"Yes, we're coming out," she said, and opened the door. "Come on, let's talk. Would you like a drink?"

"Oh, yes," I whispered. "Vodka if you have it, please. I just need to go wash my face, one second."

I barely knew John and Veronica at that time, but from that moment on, these two people became the best friends I've ever had. Looking back now, I believe they saved me from making a terrible decision, because when John found me, I was a step away from throwing myself into the Thames, never to resurface again. I love them. And I hope they love me, because I personally don't know what I would do without them today.

Once I'd washed away the black smears under my eyes, and my face looked like my face again, I came back out to sit with my first real friends. Not acquaintances, like the rest of the world, and not friends-plus-sexual attraction, like Freddie used to be; but real friends. It was wonderful.

We talked in the parlor for about an hour and a half. I didn't go into too much detail about Freddie and me, but I gave them the general idea- that I had had a pretty serious fight with him and a sprained finger to prove it. It surprised me how easy it was to talk to them so personally so soon. I guess we just clicked- or maybe I was just in desperate need like five days before, and I was much more openhearted than I would have been under more comfortable circumstances. God works in mysterious ways, doesn't He?

At almost midnight, Veronica rose and stretched. "I'm turning in, darling," she murmured to John, kissing the top of his head. "You've got a busy day tomorrow, too."

"I'm right behind you, love," John said, "Just one more drop."

She nodded, then walked over to me and gave me another little hug. "You don't mind camping out here on the sofa, do you?"

"Of course not," I smiled. "The rain's let up a lot, I'll probably be out of here before morning anyway."

"You're welcome to stay."

"Thank you, but I have to be going pretty soon. You've been so kind to me tonight, and I thank you."

"Don't worry, dear," she said. "It'll all make sense before long, even if it doesn't right now."

With that she traipsed down the hall toward the bedroom, leaving John and myself alone.

I swallowed the last few drops of my vodka, the loneliness setting in once more. John poured himself another nip of gin, watched me from the liquor cabinet.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm better," I sighed. "It's just... tonight, I... Freddie... I don't know."

"Do you think you'll go back to him?"

"Why?"

"No reason. I have a hunch that he's begun to worry though."

"Worry?" I scoffed. "About what?"

"You. It's been about two hours, he's probably started looking for you-"

"As if he cares!" I snarled, passions renewed. "This time of night, in this weather? Searching for me? Forget about it. He might get his feet wet. If anything he probably went and pleasured himself with his latest boytoy, whatever. He has others do his dirty work anyway- and this doesn't even qualify as worth the effort."

John just looked at me, blinking in surprise. "You really think that?"

"John, this is not my imagination. He said so. He's found me out, knows what I wrote about him in the first week I was here, and now that he's seen my would-be true colors, he showed me his." I rubbed my eyes, my voice quivering. "He hates me, John. He- he hates me."

"Uh-uh. No more tears, you've filled your quota for the night," he said almost playfully. The tone reminded me of Freddie, which only made it worse. I covered my mouth, my brows knitting again.

John walked over to me, then, and in his normal voice whispered, "Julia, please, don't cry."

"Oh, John," I gasped, a single tear sliding down my cheek. "I just want to go home. That's all. I- If only- that Relic! If only I hadn't lost that stupid Relic, I would have been home days ago. I never meant to screw around with you and the band. I never meant to get in the way, I never meant to come here at all."

"Where were you supposed to go?" John asked. "Just out of curiosity."

"I was-" I laughed mirthlessly. "I was supposed to interview Saul Alinsky."

"Who?"

"He was a professional agitator- sort of a community organizer."

"A what?"

"Exactly." I laughed again, and this time John joined me. "Oh, I'd give anything to be home right now... I would miss you, I know, but I'd be home and out of the rabbit hole."

"Well," John sighed, suddenly looking a little nervous, "there's- there's always - oh, bollocks, I'm no good at this stuff. Just don't give up, okay? There's more of a chance than you realize. Keep your head up. And things like that."

I half-smiled. "You're right, you are no good at this stuff," I quipped, "but it helps. A lot. You have no idea how much."

John patted my hand with a slight grin on his lips. "I'm off to bed now. If I don't see you tomorrow morning, good night, and good luck."

"Thanks, Deacy," I whispered. "Oh, wait, one more thing."

He cocked his head and waited.

"Where's the nearest abbey?"

"Westminster, of course."

"That's too close. Let me rephrase that. Where's the furthest abbey, or convent, or whatever?"

"Why? You plan to join the sisterhood?"

"It's an idea," I whispered. "That's one place where I know he won't go, ever."

He sort of chuckled. "You make him sound like a vampire."

"Oh, that reminds me, if you've got any crucifixes or garlic to spare, I'll take them- and some wolfsbane, just in case," I added, half-kidding.

John rolled his eyes. "Julia, Julia. If you knew what I knew..."

"What?"

"Nothing. You probably wouldn't believe it anyway."

"You don't know."

John ignored the rebuttal. "There's an abbey in Bath."

"Where's that?"

"Two hours west of London. By Somerset."

"Do nuns live in abbeys?"

"That's something you'd have to ask Veronica, I don't think so though."

"I can start there," I murmured to myself. "I have to start somewhere, that's a good place."

Draining his glass, John said through a grimace, "Julia, do you even know what you're running from?"

I frowned. "Of course I do."

"What, then?"

I nodded my head in a nonspecific direction. "Him."

"But you said he wouldn't follow you- said he wouldn't bother. Why run from him unless you think he will?"

I opened my mouth, but I couldn't answer him. It didn't make any sense to me, either. I didn't make any sense even to myself, that's how mixed up I felt. Suffering from my own personal melancholy blues and a spinning head. Not a good combination.

John yawned. "Anyway, sleep well- but if you do bolt, please lock the door behind you. And good luck either way."

With that he waved, and disappeared down the hall to join his wife.

The house was quiet, and the parlor felt a little empty now that I was the only one left sitting in it. My clothes were likely dry by now, but I didn't immediately get up to check. I sat there a moment, just thinking to myself. It was cozy, just lounging there in a comfy chair, wrapped in a dressing gown. I just needed to get out of London, get away from Freddie, and all my problems would be solved. I likely had enough money to get me to Bath, or Somerset, or wherever the abbey was, and nuns didn't do the whole worldly possessions thing anyway, so I was halfway there already. I just needed order in my life, routine, a purpose. My life needed meaning. My now rambling book of Life needed syntax. Badly.

The word "syntax" brought to mind a poem I hadn't thought about since high school. It was written by e. e. cummings, one of my favorite poets. Though much of his poetry was chiefly visual in its form, this poem now flowing through my mind was one of the few that you could read aloud and still receive the message- a message which hit me differently that night than it ever had before. I said it aloud, savoring every syllable:

since feeling is first

who pays any attention

to the syntax of things

will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool

while Spring is in the world

my blood approves

and kisses are a better fate

than wisdom

lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry

-the best gesture of my brain is less than

your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then

laugh, leaning back in my arms

for life's not a paragraph

and death i think is no parenthesis

I loved those last two lines, so I said them again: "Life's not a paragraph, and death, I think, is no parenthesis."

My mind wandered, waxing analytical as it often did when it was exhausted. No, life wasn't a paragraph. Paragraphs needed syntax, order, and consistence. They had to follow certain forms, maintain a predictable flow, to be considered true paragraphs. Each paragraph, in proper writing, held a single concept, a specific main idea. But there was little to nothing predictable or specific about life. Or about Freddie.

I scoffed. God! Why does everything have to come back to him? He's a non-issue! I shall never see him again, I've decided. He's bad for my health, physical and mental- and don't even get me started about emotional.

The rain had just about evaporated outside. I leaned back against the chair, deciding on a short little catnap before I grabbed my clothes and started running again. My eyes closed.

Who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you....

My eyes opened again, because that line had for some reason resurrected thoughts of the non-issue. Thoughts of Freddie. I saw his dark eyes behind my lids, gleaming like diamonds- but not with anger, not with that evil chill. The eyes were gentle, and kind. And he was smiling that dear smile, the sort that made my heart sing whenever I looked upon it.

If only that's who he really was- but that isn't! That was a dream, a fake persona. I know who he is. He showed himself tonight. He doesn't care. He isn't kind. He's selfish and cold. And lustful. Mary, you can keep him. List of given lovers, there'll be no quarreling on my part. He's your pet. Have him. Be my frickin' guest.

Again, my eyes closed. I tried to send myself to sleep.

...And kisses are a better fate than wisdom...

Suddenly the room stopped being cozy. I shivered, a cool, clammy feeling crawling up my spine. I tried snuggling up in the chair, but I only seemed to grow colder. Veronica's robe wasn't light, either- it was a nice, terry cloth dressing gown, the kind you curl up in with a cup of hot chocolate and fuzzy socks while you watch the snow blow around outside your window. But I was freezing. I wrapped my arms around my middle, nuzzled my face into the cushions.

"Hold me, my prince," I whispered.

What?

I slapped a hand over my mouth, eyes bugging, heart pounding. But the words were there. Out in the open. I had uttered them, I couldn't put them back in my mouth and swallow them down.

I had been away from his world for barely two hours, and already I was longing for him. More than that. I didn't just want Freddie. I didn't just long for that sadistic, black-eyed panther.

I needed him. And badly.

I would have screamed, but Robert was sleeping. So I screamed inside my head: I WILL NOT FEEL LIKE THIS! NOT FOR HIM! I WILL NOT! I DO NOT NEED HIM, HE DOESN'T NEED ME SO WHY THE F--- SHOULD I NEED HIM?

I looked down at my left hand, saw the gleaming rose gold ring. My eyes narrowed. I clenched the ring in my other hand and tried to yank it off my finger. But since it was sprained, slight swelling had surrounded the band, and I couldn't take it off without being in a hellish amount of pain. At least until my finger healed, his ring was stuck on my hand.

Enough was enough. I leapt off the comfy chair, made for where they had put my clothes. Thankfully, my shirt and jeans were dry- and I could live with wet soles. The rain had calmed down by now, reduced to a slight drizzle. That was tolerable. Picking up my backpack, I slung it over my shoulder and walked out of John's house, remembering to lock the door behind me.

In our conversation earlier, John had mentioned something about a Tube station a few streets down. I headed towards it. I would take the Tube to the heart of London, and from there, find a nice bus that would transport me to Bath-or Somerset. One of those places. Solsbury Hill was out that way, maybe I'd stop there and find out if I, too, could see the city light, before joining the sisterhood. It would be a quiet life with lots and lots of routine- but that was okay. I'd had enough of walking on the wild side to last me forever.

It was too quiet at the moment, though. I pulled out my Android and plugged my ear buds in. "Solsbury Hill" began to play into my right ear.

I saw a sign mentioning the direction of the Tube, alerting me that I was going the right way. I started walking down the street, hands in my pockets.

Behind me I heard the squeal of tire treads on wet cobblestone. Instinctively I turned to see a car streak down the road where John lived, then as soon as it disappeared the driver slammed on the brakes, making another loud, painful squeak.

I snorted, glad to be distracted. "Drive much?" I murmured, then continued down the sidewalk with Peter Gabriel's much-needed optimism playing to the rhythm of my stride.