61. Meanest Thoughts, Darkest Fears

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The next morning came so quickly that I almost didn't believe it had arrived yet. My eyes opened to Freddie's bedroom, and found a hazy, magenta sheen over everything, as though it had been sprayed in some kind of shiny, iridescent paint.  Perhaps it was merely the morning sun filtering through the curtains, my blurry vision scattering it in ways it hadn't intended.  I reached for the alarm clock on the nightstand, which said 8:14.

Less than four hours remained.  I shuddered.  Good God, it had crept up on me so fast. 

I rolled over, though slowly.  I had thought I was sore yesterday morning; but today, every little motion set off a rapid succession of aches in my muscles, to the point that so much as just wiggling my toes required effort.  Sweet Lord, we were stark-raving mad that night.  The things we did, I can't even talk about.  To this day, I've told no one- not even my Cousin Roxie.

But once I inched all the way onto my side, I found that I hadn't completely recovered.  Freddie was still lying there at my side, facing away from me.  His bare back, I saw, was riddled with red marks where my fingernails had scratched, and his hair looked so wild and curly I almost laughed.  I leaned over him, peering closer.  Little red splotches dotted his neck and upper chest, his skin smeared here and there with my shiny pink lipstick.

And that was just his top half.

Did I do all this?  I marveled.  Was that me?

I brushed the thick dark hair away from his ear and smiled.  This may sound absurd, but I loved his ears.  They stuck out just the slightest bit and came to soft points at the tops, making him look rather elvish at times.  I think he noticed this, too; in the mid-late seventies, his hair was styled to cover the tops of his ears.  But now that he was asleep, I could look at them to my heart's content without him feeling insecure about it.

I gently nuzzled my nose against his sideburns and kissed his jaw, loving the feel of his stubble against my lips.  Freddie's lashes fluttered a little at my touch, but the eyes stayed shut.  He let out a sigh through his nose, a dreamy smile crossing his face.

"Good morning," I whispered.

Then his eyes snapped wide open. Freddie turned his head toward me so quickly I almost fell against the covers.  He sat up and looked at me in sheer horror.

"Dear God," he said, looking me over in disgust.  "You?  I f---ed you?"

I cowered back and stammered, "Wh- what did I-"

"F---.  I'm really up the junction now.  Phyllis will never unders-"

"Freddie, why are you talking like this?" My voice caught.  In supplication I put my hand out to him but he recoiled, leaping out of bed and throwing on his robe.

He muttered angrily, "Shit, shit, shit. Mary's gonna kill me.  Look, Miss, uh, Whatever-your-name-is, this was a terrible mistake.  I'm sorry if I led you- uh, encouraged you, or whatever, I just- I need you to be on your way.  Now.  Are these your clothes?"

He picked up a pair of dark lacy lingerie and threw them at me.  "Put them on, please.  And fast.  I may have a chance if you leave now.  It's bad enough he knows about Liza, but you?  That's all I need.  I'll pay for your cab, and any other recompense in case of any disappointment you may have had last night, I just need you gone for good."

My head was spinning.  "But, Freddie," I tried to get the words out, "you- you sang to me-"

He looked at me in irritation, like I was some generic fan pushing for an autograph while he was in the middle of a nice dinner out.  "I've sung to thousands at least.  Why should you be anything special?"

"But not just that, you- we-"

"We what?  F---ed?" he snorted, turning his back on me.  "Like I said, I've f---ed thousands.  At least.  What makes you think you matter?"

"Freddie, you promised me!"

"Ah, well, isn't that the wonderful thing about promises: they always end up broken, one way or another."

I fell on my knees, on the verge of tears.  "Freddie, stop this!  It's not funny!"

He whirled to face me.  "You think I'm joking?" he hissed.  "I'm dead serious.  It's a naive one, you are.  Don't you know who I am?  Don't you know by now?  What would I want anymore with a girl like you, since whatever I wanted at first I've already taken?"

As he was talking, right before my very eyes, he transformed, and suddenly he stopped looking like Freddie.  I couldn't exactly say what it was he resembled now, for the magenta light was blocking me from seeing any specifics, but it terrified me.  The eyes turned utterly black, the whites swallowed up by his ultra-dilated pupils; his voice deepened, until he sounded just like Dr. C; his face grew rounder and his cheekbones lost their definition, rather like David's; the accent became less refined and more strident, more New York- uncannily resembling that of Joe Fanelli.  And his body morphed and shifted, became leaner and more animal until it took the exact shape of a crouching black panther, claws out, sharpened for the attack.

I came so close to going berserk and screaming my head off- but then I felt a hand just barely squeeze my arm, and a warm body snuggled up close and enfolded me, and the magenta horrors froze.  And I realized at last: I was dreaming.

I heard Freddie's voice whispering sweet things I didn't understand, but with his every word another little piece of the nightmare faded away, so I just kept saying "Okay" and other things like that, until finally every last tortuous vestige had been destroyed.

The nightmare vanquished, I felt myself slipping back into total unconsciousness.  I rolled back over and curled up against him, managing a soft "I love you" before I finally drifted off one more time.  

At the time, I was happy to simply be rid of the images.  Funny, how I didn't dream at all of the cliff scene when Freddie was next to me.  It was Freddie who brought me the magenta dreams, but it was also Freddie who cleansed them.  He was my torment and my savior. 

Little did I know, the damage was already done.  Their effects, Freddie couldn't fix.  My doubts, my insecurities were what remained even when the nightmare had disappeared.  Images were erased, but the words, real and unreal, were still ringing in my head.  "Love enough for all of you."  "Promises always end up broken."  "How long till the love runs out?" 

It doesn't matter how strong you think you are: what you know, or rather, what you think you know, always comes out on top of what you feel.  Doubt is so destructive even in small amounts; but if it's allowed to build up, and collect momentum -and worse, hard evidence- all the love and devotion in the world can't unshackle you.  It can never be enough.  At least, that's how it's been for me. 

Even though I didn't know what I would choose, it was already decided.  Always had been, in fact.  But I wouldn't know that until it was over- and much too late. 

But now, we slept, warm, happy and blissfully ignorant, hours flying, until the sun, the real sun, peeped through the curtains on the next morning...

Sal here. Just wanted you to know that I am heartily sorry for the hot mess that is this chapter. ;) I wrote this as a kind of springboard into the next part. The next chapter admittedly is going to be hard to write for reasons you may well know, so please bear with me and thanks for being so wonderful and so encouraging! ;)

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