Sal here! This chapter was not meant to be a two-parter, but things got real long and real complicated real fast, and it was one of my goals today to publish the next part before work- and even if I didn't stop now, I'd still have to finish the whole thing later. What's more, I don't like rushing things that do not need to be rushed, so it's just going to have to be broken in half- with a much shorter second part, I promise. ;)

Julia

I found myself unable to move a few seconds after I pushed Freddie out of the bedroom. That is, apart from my fluttering heart and shaking hands; everything else seemed frozen.

It was all in fun, I knew. Freddie hadn't even touched me. All he did was talk a little dirty and make like he was about to take off his clothes while I watched. All things considered, he indubitably had no desire to follow through on any of it- and yet, my flesh crawled.

Which was a very bad sign.

Even worse, he couldn't even give me a chance to sufficiently cool off. "Hurry up and come out," Freddie prodded, "Or I'll cut into this other cake!"

There was no time to lose. I rummaged through the hanging clothes in a frenzy. Granted, I knew deep down that Freddie really was not so mean as to blatantly destroy another cake and make me start all over again with the eggs and the pecans and the rum (Freddie's favorite part of the recipe- it was a lucky thing we had enough after all his "quality checks"); still, only a complete fool would underestimate the Great Pretender. So I hurried.

Breathlessly I pulled a dark green turtleneck over my head. Thank God he didn't see the ring, I told myself. It would ruin everything and then some. I traded my leggings for a pair of blue jeans, smeared my lips with a little frosty pink, and was just about to fly out of the room when I skidded to a halt. That reminded me.

Perhaps I wasn't wearing the ring at the moment- but all Freddie would have had to do was open the nightstand drawer and see it. The fifty year-old ring I wore round my neck, brought all the way back from Las Vegas. I couldn't let him find it, any more than I could let him know how rattled I felt at the moment. But I kept up the speed as I pulled down the metal box, fumbled with the key, popped the thing open. I threw the ring inside and slammed it shut- but not before I ran an affectionate hand over the box which held Yin and Yang.

Don't you know his head would explode, I thought to myself, if he found out I had these? Probably not- or at least, not as much as pretty much anything else I'm keeping hidden from him. In the grand scheme of things, jade cat figurines are pretty small potatoes.

Meanwhile, Freddie huffed impatiently. "My God, how long does it take you to put a f---ing shirt on?"

I rolled my eyes. "That sounds awful funny coming out of you, Mr. Take Forever to Fix My Hair."

"My dear, I'll have you know that every second I take is worth the finished product," he went on, voice playfully pompous while I hoisted the box back onto the closet shelf.

"Are you saying what I do and the time I take doing it, is not?"

"Not at all, I am referring only to myself. So, wouldn't you agree?"

I hesitated, exceptions to this "rule" flooding my head as I flung the door open. My brow arched, and I put my hands on my hips. In this instant I had planned to say something snarky, maybe some crack about his feminine get-up in "I Want to Break Free" or that awkward eyeball-studded number from the video for "It's a Hard Life". Freddie's natural beauty did not immunize him against fashion blunders, after all- and even the most loyal of fans must admit at least one or two throughout Queen's career.

But then our eyes met. Under his deep, dark gaze, the sarcasm withered and died on my tongue. I could swear my heart beat a little faster.

"You know something?" Freddie said at last.

I blinked. "What?"

"I think that is actually the exact same outfit you were wearing the day I first met you. Jeans, polo neck- even your hair is the same."

"N-no, not quite," I heard myself say. "Turtleneck, yes, but it was black." And for the record, I didn't have white roots back then either- but that's not important.

"That's right. Black, because your shoes were black as well. Of course. Sorry, dear." He chuckled. "Good to see that you remember it too."

What don't I remember, I said to myself. "I remember some things."

He smiled. "Do you remember how I looked?"

"When I first saw you?"

"Mm."

"Oh, well, let's see," I thought aloud. "The first time I ever laid eyes on you, it was on the cover of my dad's copy of The Game, so, leather jacket, white t-shirt-"

"No!" he laughed. "No, no, I mean, when - when you and I actually- when you first crawled out from under the bed and you saw me standing there."

He was asking me to conjure memories I had kept carefully repressed throughout the years, memories I had sworn to myself so long ago, for the sake of my boy if not my own, to not let slip back into my mind's eye. Of course I remembered how he looked, down to the white shoes on his feet that night- but I could not allow myself to resurrect the scene in its entirety. I would have to beat around the bush.

"Yes, I remember," I smiled at last.

"Well?" he spurred gently.

I sauntered closer. "You looked," I replied, "like Aladdin."

"What?"

"Don't worry. I mean, Disney's Aladdin." He still looked confused, but I didn't explain. Disney villain voice, but a Disney hero face, I added silently. Good grief. Everything about you is a contradiction.

Quite on impulse, I leaned up and Eskimo-kissed him. It was a very brief, friendly caress, nothing too involved at all- but from the way my pulse quickened, we might as well have been locking lips and going full throttle into tongue territory.

I pulled away then and opened my eyes. Odd, how Freddie's were still closed a few seconds thereafter. Slowly the lids fluttered apart, revealing a very strange, very intense light gleaming within the black diamonds. His lips were relaxed, half-parted, but he said nothing. For once, he seemed utterly at a loss for words, even glib ones. My insides began to churn.

Stuart, I reminded myself suddenly. I can't forget Stuart- and what he'd do if he saw me doing that- or anything- with Freddie.

So I cleared my throat, breaking the tension. "Could you excuse me a minute?" I mumbled, then raced into the kitchen.

Freddie followed me. "What do you need to do now?" he sighed.

"One more thing."

"I thought you were finished."

"I am- it's just- I almost forgot something is all," I replied, reaching for my happy pills. That look in his eyes, and the way I had reacted to it, was a frightfully dire warning. Better late than never, right?

Freddie watched me open the tube, tap a capsule into my palm. "What's that for?"

"My sanity," I quipped, hoping he would assume I was kidding when in reality that could not be closer to the truth.

He folded his arms, and quoted softly, "'Take the blue pill, the story ends.'"

I sort of started at that. With a grin, I looked at him. "Why, Freddie, are we quoting The Matrix?"

"I mean, I suppose," he shrugged, "it's just- that pill there's blue, and that scene sort of stuck with me. I don't know why."

I blinked, looked at the capsule which was indeed a fine shade of robin's egg blue. Funny, that I should never have drawn such a parallel, as much as I loved that movie. All the philosophical baggage attached to the "blue pill" concept swamped my brain- and I realized he was absolutely right.

For some reason, I could not pop it quite so effortlessly into my mouth now.

"What is that pill for anyway?" he asked after a second.

"It's, uh-" I shrugged, and decided I might as well be truthful here, if nowhere else. "It kind of is like the blue pill in the movie, honestly."

"Does that mean you'll be, you know- whisked away and sent back to the pink goo stuff-"

"No, no," I laughed. "But- it is a happy pill."

He frowned, only getting half the message. "Are you not happy right now, dear?"

"I am," I began, "but I-"

"Then you don't need it. Come on, dear, this is a waste of time, throw that away and come downstairs."

I let him actually pluck the pill out of my palm, toss it back in with the others, and draw me toward the stairs, still defenseless, still unsure how this had happened- how Freddie could be more enlightened and more of a realist than me, the psychology pro, the counselor. I had to hand it to the man; though he would never consciously admit such a thing, Freddie actually had a very practical world view- one of the many things I admired in him.

Freddie is my red pill, I joked inwardly, and he just forced himself down my throat- and I'm pretty sure I could have worded that last part a little better, but I don't care.

I laughed out loud at my own dirty mental puns. Freddie didn't ask, instead smiled and kept holding my hand as he led me toward the living room couch. "Have a seat," he murmured.

I sat down beside Fry, who was curled up in a ball against the pillow. Freddie then seated himself as well, but on the other end of the sofa. I watched him in awe as he proceeded to turn his back to me and lie down, so that his head was comfortably nestled in my lap. I looked at him, watching his mouth curve impishly as he stared back up at me.

"Can I help you?" I giggled.

His brow arched. "What did you have in mind?"

With a sigh and a roll of my eyes, I put my hands in his short, soft hair and began massaging his head. His eyes shut, features relaxing. "Mmm..." he hummed contentedly. "Oh, that's nice..."

"Why, thank you," I chuckled. I turned my body toward him and crossed my legs so I had a better angle. Danny took after Freddie in this as well; the first time I rubbed his little head or scratched his back, you would have thought I had introduced him to Prince all over again. These fellows loved to be touched- as did I, of course, I simply hadn't been in so long, I had just about forgotten what it was like to be rubbed down, massaged- not even from a sexual standpoint, either (although I hadn't been touched in that way in even longer, and I had forgotten all about the way it felt). Between Stuart and me, I was the one who did most of the touching- and even then, just between you and me, I didn't exactly live for the experience. Not that he wasn't handsome, or his body was not impressive, because he was indeed quite pleasing to look at- but even after all the years I had known him, there still was a huge discrepancy between his sexual enjoyment and mine.

"Gertrude's a lucky chap, you know," Freddie murmured. "You have the sweetest little hands around."

"Oh, I don't rub his head," I blurted- and before I could stop myself, I added silently, Not that one, anyway.

Freddie's eyes opened a moment at that, and from the look inside them I truly wondered if he couldn't read my mind. I hadn't told him about our "tradition", of course- but Freddie wasn't stupid, and he could see inside me better than most; and I would surely die were he ever to actually learn the details.

At last Freddie answered, his tone rather blank, "Then... he's missing out."

"You're very kind," I smiled. I let my hands slide over the sides of his face and gently rubbed against his temples, massaged his rough, hollow cheeks, then worked my way slowly down the back of his neck till I found his shoulders. The hums lengthened into creamy moans. He sat up and lowered his head to give me an even better reach, purring like a kitten. I couldn't help smiling; I had always loved to please him.

After a bit, he turned around, fluttering his fingers as if playing an invisible piano. "Right. My turn."

"Your turn?" I repeated.

He nodded. "No one way streets. You said so yourself. Now lean forward, if you please."

"First you cut into my cake without asking, then you make me make you a sandwich- and now you're hell-bent on giving me a back rub," I said, getting into position. "Who do you think you are, my husband?"

"In my dreams," he sang.

No wonder he screamed so loud last night then, I told myself. Aloud I corrected him, "In your nightmares, more like."

Freddie cracked his knuckles and sighed heavily. "You would say that."

"What's that suppo-" But as soon as he started squeezing my neck muscles I was unable to speak. Oh, God, those hands, slowly, steadily rubbing away at the stress that had built up since last Friday- I just about folded into my own lap. I didn't realize how much I had needed this.

It felt so good I even forgot to tense up when he nuzzled his lips into my hair and whispered, "I'm not rubbing too hard, am I?"

"Mmm... mmuh-uh..." I managed. Freddie only chuckled, the long fingers still working themselves in between my shoulder blades.

I could not remember the last time I had been massaged- certainly never this thoroughly- or this intimately. Come to think of it, Freddie was indeed leaning terribly close- so close that his chin was resting on my shoulder, his chest pressing against my back. Nerves setting in again, I began to fidget. My hands slid back and forth against the cushion- only to run into Freddie's thighs, which I found were parted and straddling me from behind.

This was not standard masseuse procedure. I knew that- but it didn't stop my arms from breaking out in gooseflesh, or my heart to start pounding a little faster again. I shouldn't have been reacting this way- and I wouldn't have been either, had I taken my blue pill. Why did Freddie have to pick today to be flirtatious, today when my emotions had already taken a severe beating since that morning?

And what about that promise I had made Stuart? Just then my own words echoed in my ears, words from last Friday (Good Lord, Freddie had been here a whole week), "If I ever get one suspicion that he's trying to manipulate me, or take advantage of me, or God forbid, flirt with me in that way, he's outta there."

For a week, Freddie had kept his distance, and I mine. But look at him now, I told myself. Look at us! If this isn't flirting, if this isn't manipulation- what is?

So why had I not leapt off the couch and run to the phone, calling the lab rats to come tear me from the jaws of this black panther? What was I waiting for? I had promised- and considering my own situation, I was in no place to break a promise to Stuart. And yet...

"Uh," I stammered, struggling to collect myself. "Wasn't there something you wanted to discuss, or something?"

"Hm? Oh! Yes, um- I was just curious about a few things, wanted to ask you." He finally stopped rubbing my shoulders- but not before he affectionately kissed my shoulder as he drew away.

"Cool," I nodded. "So do I."

"Oh, but let me go first, would you?" he cooed eagerly.

"Thank you." I took a deep breath. "First, have you got a cigarette?"

Freddie handed me his pack; hungrily I plucked one out and let him light the end for me. I took a single drag, the smoke soothing my senses as I watched him do the same. I didn't want to break the spell that was settling over us, but I had no choice. Since I had made the mistake of starting this little game, it was up to me to rein the situation back in; God knew Freddie wouldn't lift a finger to help, I would have to do it all by myself. Very well. Reality was cruel, but it was, after all, reality; we could not be selective with our red pills.

But before I could ask, the music in the kitchen overhead turned into something with an unmistakable country rhythm- and I was reminded of what Danny had said that morning.

"Oh, yeah," I exclaimed. "So, how do you know Roxie again?"

Freddie choked mid-drag. It took him several minutes to calm down enough to be able to speak. I hit him hard on the back and offered him a glass of water but he only shook his head and wheezed, "I'm all right, I'm fine."

When he did pull himself together, he hacked one more time and asked, "So wait, what was the question?"

"How do you know my cousin Roxie?" I repeated. "You know, that blonde woman you met the other day- the one whose cake you-"

"Oh, her?" Freddie's brow furrowed. "What- why would I know Roxie, dear?"

"Danny said something about how you knew her-"

"Oh, he did, did he?" For just a moment, his tone chilled to steeliness- but it vanished in the next breath. "No, I've- I mean, I met her then, yes, but I didn't know her before."

"No?" I frowned. "Why would Danny say that, though?"

Freddie spoke quickly and nervously. "I think what it was, was- I might have said something like, she reminded me of someone I used to know- because she did- and that's why I, um- paid her any mind to begin with. But no, I- I don't know her. It was a mistake."

"Oh," I nodded. That made sense, somewhat.

"Right," he sighed, smiling. "Anything else you simply must know?"

I opened my mouth, but no words left it. Already I was not sure this question was such a good idea, when I considered how angry he became last Sunday at simply the sound of that name- the name I would have to utter if I carried out this plan. This little period of peace and good humor had been so delightful, and I hated the idea of wrecking it. But this would wake us both up, remind us of who and where we were in our two very separate lives- and how all of this would end, according to Stu and K, in about twenty-four hours. Certainly it was worth the risk.

Dare I chance it?

"Yes?" Freddie waved his hand impatiently. "Come on."

I whispered, "You promise you won't get mad?"

He balked. "What?"

"If I ask you this question, you have to promise me you won't blow up again. I honestly just want to know." And this was true; in my pre-T-Rod years, I had often pondered this question, but no ever seemed to have an honest, or clear, answer.

He just laughed. "Darling, I don't blow up, I don't even go off, really- I more sort of bloom-"

"Freddie, I mean it." I put my hand on his thigh to quiet him. "You got so mad before. It's just curiosity, nothing else, and..." I trailed off, looking pleadingly into his eyes.

"Darling, you have my word," he purred. "Now just ask me, would you? I'm tougher than I seem."

"Okay," I nodded, then said in as pleasant a voice as I could muster, "So, uh- tell me about Jim."

Freddie's face froze- something underscored ominously by another roll of thunder outside. He blinked once, very slowly, and swallowed. "Jim?"

"Yes," I smiled, taking another nervous drag. "I mean- isn't he who you're- with, right now?"

He rubbed his eyes. "Julia-"

"I mean, you don't have to even answer me if you don't want to," I added, "I was just- wondering, you know, how you two got together, or- what it's like between you guys, just basic stuff, but you- don't have to tell me if you don't want to, after all it is really none of my business. Please don't be angry, I just wanted to know. That's all."

Good God, I groaned inwardly. The question's barely out of my mouth and I've already launched into damage control mode.

Freddie listened as I rattled all of this off, utterly silent, his gaze trained on his knees. He took a drag, lips twitching over his teeth while I sat there and rued the very moment that question first crossed my mind.

Then he shrugged, still looking at his lap. "It's not bad," Freddie said at last. "It's, you know- it's fine, he's fine, we have a good time. So, yes."

"Why, that's wonderful! I'm so glad to hear that-"

"But Julia, why do you feel like you need to f---ing ask me that at all?"

"I don't-"

"I mean, I know you don't approve, what's the point? Why bother?"

"Approve?" I squinted, taken aback. "What? This has nothing to do with my approval-"

"But you don't approve, do you?" Freddie continued. "It's all right, no use in saying you do, you'd be lying. That's just how it is."

This was taking an unexpected turn; I began to feel cornered. "Freddie, I have never made any comment about how I feel about your lovers, how-"

"You never had to, dear. I could see it in your eyes." His own, if it was even conceivable, deepened as he put his hand under my chin and looked closer. "Those eyes of yours- they don't hold back at all."

"So what? It doesn't matter what I think-"

"It has always mattered what you think," he interrupted quietly. "Always. If it didn't, I, uh- might have made some different, um- never mind. But it's always mattered."

"That's as may be, I keep to myself on those things- which is more than I can say for you about Stuart," I replied.

"My God." Freddie stood and began walking back and forth in front of me. "Why does it always have to come back to Gertrude?"

"I'm just saying," I went on, "I just think it's a teeny bit unfair, don't you, how often, how freely, you bash my boyfriend regardless of whether you've a reason to, and I'm supposed to just sit there and take it- when I can hardly utter Jim's name without worrying that you'll storm off in a rage and not speak to me again for the rest of the afternoon. Does that make any sense?"

At that, Freddie stopped pacing. He looked at me, eyes softening again, so much so that now they looked unbelievably sad. I watched in silence as he tapped the ash off his cigarette, sat back down, and drew a heavy sigh.

"You're right," he conceded finally.

I blinked. That was the last thing I expected him to say. "What?"

"I said, you're right, it is- rather unfair, the way I've acted," he said. After a beat, he coughed one more time (his throat apparently was still a little agitated) and turned to me. "So what was it you wanted to know about Jim again?"

I shook my head. "Freddie, I really wasn't trying to pry."

"I know that, but I had no right to sort of, you know, go on the defensive or whatever-"

"That doesn't mean I want you to give me an extensive report on your love life- I just wondered what it is you guys talk about. That's really all." I smiled. "I'm nosy, admittedly, but I have my limits."

He looked me over, and I suppose he decided I was sincere. For then Freddie's brows furrowed, and his eyes wandered around the room as if searching for the right words. I thought it strange, how long it took him to answer me. Was daily conversation with his lover really so difficult a concept?

Suddenly he began to laugh. "You know, that's actually a very good question," he remarked. "What do we talk ab- wait! Yeah, um- work. I talk to him about mine, he talks to me about his. That's what. Yeah."

I nodded, hoping he couldn't see my confusion. And- that's it? Come on! What else? How about family? Hopes? Dreams?

But I didn't press further; even if I wanted to, I couldn't, for Freddie began to ramble, "I mean, we don't talk a lot, to be honest; that's not really sort of how we, you know- interact for the most part, we just- I mean, we sort of live together, and it's nice, and uh- but we don't, um- it's not like it is with you and me at all, I can talk to you, I can talk to you all day and never run out of things to say, but he and I, that's not- it's just different. You know what I mean?"

"Yes," I replied, basking quietly in the glow of his words. "I do."

"Oh, that's good." He slapped his thigh. "Now it's my turn."

"For what?"

In one smooth move, Freddie rose, snatched the notebook off the music rest, and clicked the pen. He plopped down beside me again and declared, "Let's hear it."

"What, are you taking notes now?"

"No, I just wanted to do that." He put the pad and pen on the coffee table, then folded his hands in his lap and crossed his legs. "But it is still my turn. Tell me about him."

"Who?" I frowned. "Stuart?"

"No, no, no, I mean- the, um- father of Mr. Phantom."

"Danny's father?" I cocked my head, pretending to be amused even while my stomach violently convulsed within me. "And, pray tell- who wants to know?"

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Me, Myself, and I. And then I want to hear about Gertrude."

"No, sir," I shook my head. "You don't get both. You get one or the other. Choose."

He huffed. "You and your f---ing strings."

"I only asked about Jim, no one else. It's only fair."

Freddie took a puff. "Fine, then, Danny's father-"

"Wait, wait, wait, let's do it like this," I cut in quickly. I pulled a dime from my pocket (I was, and forever shall be, the absolute worst about getting loose change out of my jeans) and balanced it on my thumb. "Heads, Danny's father, tails-"

"Oh, bloody f---ing-"

"Tails, Stuart." The coin spun in the air a moment, then tumbled to the floor. When I looked, suffice it to say, FDR's profile was not facing up. And I could have died from relief. Thank you, Jesus, You really do love me after all.

"Tails!" I announced in triumph.

Freddie sighed. "Whatever, I'll just prod you about it later- tomorrow, perhaps."

"If you're still here tomorrow, that is."

He blinked, then nodded. "Right! Right. But anyway- go ahead."

"Well!" I rubbed my hands together. "Where do I start?"

He tapped off the ash, and asked, "How about what the f--- you are doing with him in the first place?"

That escalated quickly. "I- beg your pardon?"

"I mean, there must be a reason for it- and a good one." His voice and features in themselves stayed casual, but the dark eyes were ablaze. Once more, I felt like I was under attack. What's the deal, Freddie? He's trying to help you!

I tried to keep it light. "Easy. He's rich and handsome. Bam."

Freddie shook his head. "No good. Sorry."

"What! Why not?"

"Because if he's got so much money, he most certainly would dress better-"

"Tough room!" I exclaimed with a laugh- but he was just getting started. I could see in his fiery eyes, the rapidly building shade about to be thrown. It would not stay funny for long.

"And what's more- what's more, I think the whole handsome thing is a bit of a stretch. Have you really looked at his face? Ever noticed those bags under his eyes? Me, there's nothing of the sort. Hardly even a wrinkle!"

"He's also four years older than you, so-"

"No excuse. Go on, gimme another."

"He's terribly intelligent," I pointed out.

"What does that have to do with it?"

"It makes for engaging conversations."

"About what? Lab experiments? Hypotheses? Physics? Why, my dear, I never knew that Newton's laws turned you on so much."

Now I was fumbling for an answer. "Because- I like him? How's that sound?"

Freddie shook his head. "Impossible. He is thoroughly unlikable. Try again."

He was trying to trap me, I could hear in his voice. Obviously my question about Jim could not go unpunished. See, Freddie, this is what I'm talking about. Offense for thee, but not for me. Gadzooks, you and your damned double standards.

I stood, jabbed my cigarette into the ash tray. "Freddie, just because you don't like him, doesn't mean nobody else does. Okay?"

"That's fine- except there's nothing about him I can see you liking, or loving. And no, I don't know him personally, thank God- but I know you. I know you better than he could ever know you. And it doesn't work."

"I've known Stuart for ten years, my friend. You knew me two weeks. Ask yourself: who knows me better?"

"Doesn't matter how long it's been. He doesn't know who you are. He will never know- because one, you won't let him see, and two, he probably wouldn't bother to look for you to begin with. He doesn't care enough for that."

"Thanks, Freddie," I stated flatly. "Thanks for saying my own boyfriend doesn't care about me."

As I turned and walked toward the stairs, he stood as well. "No! That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" I began my ascent with Freddie in tow. "Enlighten me."

"It's the honest truth, dear. That's the sort of person he is. I should think you'd want more than that."

"What more is there?" I mumbled. As I spoke, I felt something bubbling up inside me- something hot, and rising. My cheeks heated, my hands twitched. This was becoming personal- and his words were starting to sting.

"Lots more," Freddie answered, his tone so dreadfully cool- almost like he was enjoying this. "And I know it's none of my concern-"

"Bingo," I popped back. "So why don't you stop?"

"I will, let me get to the point-"

"Of no return? I think we've passed it." My voice was quivering.

"You deserve so much more than him, is what I'm getting at," he said- and before I could take that sentence at face value, hug it to my bosom and thank him, he had to spoil it all by going on: "It's just- I can't understand why you would settle for someone who is perfectly content to sort of limit his knowledge of such an intriguing, beautiful creature like yourself to just, you know, how your tongue feels on his cock, or -"

Freddie cut himself off, but it was too late. I stopped dead in my tracks. Very slowly I turned my head.

And I asked, "What did you say?"

Freddie was silent.

So I asked again, much louder this time, "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"

Again he said nothing. He didn't have to.

I folded my arms, struck a pose of defiance and strength even though inside, I was absolutely crumbling with humiliation. "Tell me, since when were you such an expert on my personal life, Freddie- and since when was it any of your business?"

"When was mine any of yours?" he countered, switching suddenly to the offensive.

I didn't answer him. "Is this fun for you or something? Do you like to cut me down? Why? What's it to you? I left you ages ago, came home-"

"Yes, and you're so much better off for it, too, aren't you? Greener pastures and all that, really moving up in the world- and now, you've become the esteemed cock whore of one Stuart Preus. Oh, how proud you must be."

It was at that moment, the lights flickered, and the house went dark. The power was down, but I barely even noticed. I was seeing too much red to notice the new gray-black color in which the kitchen was washed. And Freddie could tell.

"I," he stammered, "I - I didn't mean to -say that. I got - I'm sorry-"

"How dare you," I hissed.

Freddie's lips twitched nervously. "Darling, look- I know, that went too far-"

"How dare you stand there and pass judgement on me for something you know nothing about. What do you know? Do you have any f---ing clue what Danny and I have been through the last ten years?"

He took a step forward. "Julia-"

"Shut up!" Maybe I wasn't about to sink into the darkness, but I was totally beyond reason now. "You want to know so bad? Know why I've sunk so low as to be with a man you think is beneath you? I'll tell you: because I must. That's why.

"I am with him because I have to be! I owe him everything, everything I have! I don't expect you to understand, and quite frankly I don't WANT you to understand. I can't help what you think of me OR Stuart; I don't care if you think of me as your kitten, or his cock whore, or his full-blown mistress. You can think of me as horribly and as meanly as you like, because I know I deserve it, but do me a favor, would you, and F---ING KEEP IT TO YOURSELF!"

My narrowed eyes alighted on the shadow of my smart phone. My lips split in an unhinged smile. This was easy, so easy, to fix. I rushed over. This had gone on far enough- and wouldn't my dear Stuart be pleased to hear what I wanted.

Freddie spoke in a strange, husky tone. "What are you doing?"

"What I do best." I tapped in the phone number. "Exactly as I am told."

I lifted the phone to my ear; a chipper female voice greeted me on the other end.

"Hello! Who's this?" I began.

"It's Madelyn."

"Hi, Madelyn. Where's Stuart?"

"Uh, he's over there, talking to Dr. Ling-"

"Get him on the phone, would you? It's importa- HEY!"

"Huh? What's-"

CRASH! Stomp- crack. Stomp- stomp- crack.

My hand was frozen, poised as though I still held the phone in it. For a few seconds I stared at the mess at my feet, trying to register what just happened. I looked up at Freddie's silhouette- which itself was still looking down at once was a fairly nice, fully assembled, non-cracked, smart phone. I was too surprised to be angry any longer- and then, as the seconds passed, too drained for surprise.

I don't believe this, I told myself. He broke my phone. Again.

TO BE CONTINUED...