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What An Idiot

"Freddie, please, can we just talk about this?" Damien's voice alone nearly enticed her to snap on him, and his words only made resisting the urge the slap him in the face entirely too difficult. How could he possibly be stupid enough to think that there was something to work out between them?

Releasing her grip on the door and turning to face him, Freddie scowled, "There's literally nothing to talk about, Damien. Now please have Michael let me go."

"Not until you listen to me," Damien said, approaching her. She backed away from him, but in the end, he only just trapped her in the corner of the room. He wasn't standing too close, but his position did make it impossible for her to even try to escape. At least no one could see them through the window now; it sure wouldn't be good if they could.

"Fine," she spat. "Say what you want, but it won't change anything."

Damien's expression fell as she crossed her arms over her chest and defiantly glared at him, awaiting his supplication. Freddie was pleased to see his disappointment, and so she did not worry in the least what he was preparing to say to her; none of it would make a difference anyway.

"I'm sorry you had to find out that way." Freddie scoffed, but Damien seemed to think it wise to continue. "No, really, I mean it. I was going to tell you soon, but I just couldn't find the right time for it."

Of all the things she had expected him to say, Freddie was not prepared to hear these words coming from Damien's mouth. He was a lot dumber than she had thought him to be.

"There is no right time for something like that, Damien. Surely, you didn't think I would ever be on board with being your mistress. Like, come on, you know me better than that."

"No, I didn't think, fuck, I didn't think you were like that, but–"

"Then why the hell did you let me think you were single?" Freddie rolled her eyes, "I never would have even gone out for drinks with you that first night if I had known you had a wife and kids. That's just– why the fuck would you keep that to yourself?"

"We're not in love anymore; I–"

"That doesn't fucking make a difference, Damien. You have a family, and you put me in a position to be a villain in their lives. I sure as hell don't want that, nor could I think of anyone who would. Like, there is absolutely no excuse for any of this. You realize that, right?"

Damien shifted uncomfortably on his heels then lowered his eyes to the floor. Freddie hoped and prayed that he was beginning to understand her frustration, just so she could leave and never have to talk to him again, but it seemed that her hopes were far from being fulfilled. Damien was going to fight for her.

"I know I screwed up, and I wish I had done things differently, but–"

Freddie held up her hand to silence him, "You really should stop there. No buts; just apologize, and let me get back to work before Michael yells at me again."

"Is that all this was worth to you?" He asked her, clearly offended. "How could you so easily dismiss what we had? I–"

But despite the genuine hurt in his voice, Freddie had to laugh. So he was trying to make her out to be the heartless one? What a fucking nightmare.

"How could I?" Freddie scoffed. "You. Have. A. Wife. It doesn't matter what we had. Even if we loved each other, it wouldn't matter. You belong to someone else, and I'm not going to be the one to take you from her."

When Freddie finished, Damien withdrew a sharp breath and struggled to speak. For a moment, Freddie wanted to feel bad for him, just because she hadn't meant to even mention her not loving him, but when she regained her bearings, she realized she didn't owe him any pity at all. He was a liar and a fool; he deserved to feel whatever pain she caused him.