In the Year of the Cat (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

62. All the Time in the World

(Caution: This chapter contains mature content. Viewer discretion advised.)

It was bound to happen.

Day Fourteen dawned at last.

At six o' clock sharp, my eyes opened to a pair of long-lashed, shut ones. Freddie lay at my side, facing me.

I leaned over to gently kiss his rough cheek, and would have whispered "Good morning" but memories of that nightmare were too fresh. I didn't honestly believe Freddie would suddenly erupt into that same shape-shifting doubt-monster, but I didn't feel like taking any chances just yet. I was way too sore for that.

But as soon as my lips touched him, his eyelids fluttered- and my heart skipped a beat. Don't bite my head off, please.

To my relief, he didn't even open his eyes, instead yawned widely, and said in a muzzy voice, "Hmmm... whatimizit?"

I smiled. "Six o'clock."

He rubbed his face, then rolled over. "Bad dreams?"

"No," I lied. "Just felt like waking up."

"Good for you... I should get out of bed myself..."

"You don't have to get up yet."

"Rubbish... you already up... make me look bad..." Freddie murmured into the pillow, before he sank back into sleep mid-sentence. I couldn't help smiling. God, he was so cute when groggy.

Very slowly I dragged myself away from him, almost limping to the bathroom. I had to clean up; remnants of last night still clung to me, and I wouldn't feel anything like myself until they had been completely removed.

I popped my contacts in, glanced in the mirror, and almost screamed at the wreck staring back at me. I knew Freddie had roughed me up considerably, but I didn't think it would be this bad. To put it mildly, I looked like hell. My naked body was bruised, my lips, neck, and breasts covered with red marks where he had bitten and sucked a tad too eagerly. My face was smudged with mascara, giving my eyes a hollow, sunken look, and my hair was knotted almost beyond belief, from where Freddie kept pulling and tightly working his fingers in it each time he took me.

Cheeks flushing, I yanked off my thumb ring and set it on the counter. Tentatively I tried the wedding ring again, and found my finger didn't sting quite so much as yesterday (at least, not when compared to every other ache now plaguing my broken little body), but I left it on regardless. I stepped into the shower, turned on the hot water, and just stood there a few minutes, leaning wearily against the wall while it rained down onto me.

I stood there, combing the knots out of my wet hair with my fingers, and daydreamed about the night; how he had once again dominated my defenseless frame, taking me with that ruthless brutality- then caressing me with "I love yous" and the tenderest of kisses, holding me close as we came down from each high.

Wrapping the towel around me, I edged out of the shower, feeling much better now that I was clean. Softly I sang to myself, "What a beautiful mess, what a beautiful mess I'm in/ Spending all my time with you/ There's nothing else I'd rather do-"

I slapped my own face.

WAKE UP, SLUSH-BRAIN! I berated myself. I suppose I wasn't totally gone yet; there was still a little shard of vertebra keeping me upright. I have less than six hours now, and I have to choose! Shake the cobwebs out of that skull and start thinking again!

So I started thinking again. And it became clearer than ever that I was, in reality, standing at that cliff from my dreams. My whole life hinged on this one choice: to stay, or to go. Live in the past, or live for tomorrow. The lover, or the life.