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

51. Home, Part One

Since I had personally just about had it with the tears, my eyes dried up quickly compared to last night.  Or perhaps I simply didn't have any more left to release.  Either way, I stopped crying fairly soon after I locked myself in the green room.  To be safe, I waited until the last guest finally left before I came back.  Since I still didn't want to mess up the bed, I stayed on the floor, Oscar nestled cozily in my lap (shortly after I had dashed upstairs, Oscar came and sat by my door until I let him in).  Funny, but I had stopped sneezing altogether.  I never knew one could grow accustomed to their own allergies.  You can adapt to anything, I suppose, if you're around it long enough.

Fortunately, my little emotional display didn't scare everyone off all at once; I could hear voices downstairs for the next few hours.  At intervals I opened the door to listen and see if the coast was clear, but each and every time I heard talking, laughter, even singing.  Maybe his friends mistook it for some kind of joke, some odd little set-up.  I didn't care how they took it, as long as they (including Freddie) didn't take it seriously.

I toyed with excuses, explaining why I did it.  Why I sang that particular song, why I had kissed him:

"Sorry about that, sir, I just felt like embarrassing myself in front of your buddies."  Please.  As if I haven't done enough of that already.

"Oh, that?  Yeah, I just got, you know, carried away by the song, it's so emotional, I always kiss somebody after I sing it, that's what I do.  You were just the closest."  That's almost laughable.  He'll see right through it, he knows how kiss-cautious I am.  Or was, anyway.

"I want to apologize for the complete awkwardness back there, I'm always so emotional when I'm ovulating."  Uh, no, that one's too gross, besides I don't ever know my own calendar, so that's absolute crap.

I sighed and shook my head, whispering at last, "Sorry, Freddie, for kissing you and making it seem like I'm desperately in love with you."

But, you see, I finished to myself, I am.

Eventually I gave up on the excuses, and decided I simply wouldn't mention it unless he did, in which case, I would apologize.  I hoped I wouldn't have to contend with him very long; what remained of my composure hung by a thread as it was. 

My job here was done.  I had my Passport, my journal, and enough money to get me to the States.  All I would have to do was leave. 

At last, I opened the door around one, and to my surprise found the flat was utterly silent.  Splashing a little cold water on my face, I took a deep breath and walked down the stairs.  Nothing stirred.  Freddie himself seemed to have gone.

Why I didn't bolt right then and there, I don't know.  But instead of seizing my chance, I picked up the tea tray and placed it in the kitchen by the sink.  I didn't feel like washing the cups and teapot out just yet, though -I had been doing that all afternoon and night, and I was tired of everything- so I left it for the moment and walked back into the living room.  The guitar sat where I had left it, in the corner by the sofa.  I picked it up and began to play softly, humming under my breath. 

Whether I realized it or not, I was waiting for him; as much of a beast as Freddie had acted recently, I still wanted to properly bid him farewell.  For my greatest joys and my greatest anguishes, he was responsible.  If nothing else, he still deserved my thanks for the joys.  I could not leave without bestowing them.

"Oh, every spring, there's a honey bee that stings/ so things can change," I whispered.  "Oh, every fire, get too close and it reminds you/ Things can change in love.../ But it sure feels good at first."