This Is England » Freddie Highmore

54.

     I LET him in, the door clicking shut as he entered. I was still mad at Freddie for how he acted, but if I wanted this relationship to work, it would help if we actually sat down and talked.

   "So, how are you?" I asked, exhaling a breath. Freddie took off his jacket, stretching his arms out as he yawned.

  "I'm okay," he replied, looking down at the floor for a brief moment, then returning his gaze back to me. He then walked over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist as he planted a peck on my nose. "I just really wanted to see you, and it wasn't so I could get laid. I came here to simply apologize for acting like an arse hours ago."

   I nodded, trying to allow myself to forgive him. It isn't easy being with someone like Freddie; someone who is damaged. He truly was broken, and even though I've tried repeatedly to fix him, to fix his actions, I've realized that I can't. In the end it will only break me, not make me.

  "You really are an ass," I state, poking his chest, but smirking at the same time. "but I guess since you'd travelled far and wide to see me, I guess it would only be right to forgive you."

   "You better." Freddie growled, pulling me in with a chuckle as his lips pressed against mine for a brief second. "I really am sorry for all that I said to you. I didn't mean it --- at least, now I don't. I just. . . I just always want to be fun for you. I want you to never lose interest in me."

I looked into those hazel eyes of his and felt my lips form upward. The way his eyes glistened in the light made me feel. . . safe.

"You are always interesting, Freddie." I state. "I don't think you're ever boring. With an attitude like that, you aren't boring. You can piss people off but you can't bore them to death." I laugh, then continue to look at his face as we both share a laugh.

    Everyone back in Cambridge University warned me about him, about how dangerous he was and how I should stay away. I sometimes wonder if listening to them would have been a better idea, but then I take a look into those beautiful, iridescent eyes and disagree. The things we've done, like have sex in an elevator, drinking until we get kicked out of the bar, travelling to New York City, and finding ourselves within each other throughout the madness, are memories I don't ever want to forget.

  Because Freddie Highmore, the dangerous gang member, was the love of my life.

  Snapping out of my daze, I finally allow myself come to terms with what Freddie wanted to talk to me about.

   "So," I start, rubbing his forearm affectionately, "what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?"

    Freddie looks hesitant, and doesn't say anything for awhile. He then shakes his head after closing his eyes, and sighs.

  "I'll have to tell you another time," he finally says. "I'm tired and right now, I just want to relax with you."

  I nod. I didn't pressure him into telling me what he wanted to discuss, knowing that it would cause an issue. So, with that final statement coming from Freddie, we walk over to the bed and turn on the TV.

   We start watching the show, Friends, Freddie wrapping his arm around me. It was quiet, but perfect nonetheless. All that I hoped for was that, whatever Freddie needed to talk to me about, it wouldn't be a bad thing between us.

Maybe I don't know him at all. . .

…

        I WOKE up in the middle of the night, feeling the bed rising and falling; vibrating and grumbling coming from my lover's side of the bed. I lift my head up, furrowing my eyebrows as I see Freddie's facial expressions emerge to terror, fear and torment. He was mumbling something, something inaudible for me to hear.

   I lean in closer, trying to listen in on what he was dreaming about. But as I attempted to place my hand on his shoulder, he shoved me back into my place. What the Hell was going on?

The mumbling gets even louder. This time I am able to hear what he is saying.

   ". . . Mum doesn't need you!" he shouts, kicking and squirming. Sweat was beginning to pour out on his neck, face and shirt.

  ". . . Get away from Bertie!" he shouts again. In the blink of an eye, Freddie rises from his lain position; panting and crying as he covers his face with his hands.

"What's going on, Freddie?" I asked, worried at how he was reacting. It was unusual for him to wake up and spill out a river of tears. There was something he wasn't telling me, and I had to find out sooner than later. "You were talking in your sleep, I'm getting very worried about you."

   He stops crying uncontrollably, his nose sniffling every second as he tried to collect himself. Freddie wipes away his eyes and looks at me, a sort of fear evident on his face.

  He sighs, then lays back down.

"I'm fine, love." he finally says, turning on his side. "don't worry about me."

  I didn't press any further. If he didn't tell me right now, he wasn't going to tell me for the rest of the night. I didn't know what was going on, and it killed me because I wanted to help.

What was he not telling me?

…