Blow My House Down

Chapter 39

The morning was soft and hazy when I opened my eyes. My room was steeped in early morning gray light. Micky was burrowed under the covers beside me, occasionally kicking me in his sleep. I groggily groped for him, tugging on his arm. He rolled over and curled into me, still fast asleep.

I felt warmth everywhere, like I was glowing. It was the first time in a while that I didn't feel cold; it was the first time in a while that I felt something. Maybe it was the sex. Maybe it was the fact that I finally admitted to myself that I was in love with him. I wasn't sure, but I wasn't ready to give the feeling up.

I settled in, holding him properly and stroking his hair. Drifting between hums and soft sighs, planting sweet kisses on his head, reveling in this state of grace. Micky stirred in my arms and looked up blearily, giving me a weary smile. His curls were starting to grow and fell in his face, bouncing lightly with each subtle movement. He ran a hand through his hair and blinked rapidly, looking around.

"Happy New Year," I whispered.

Micky's gaze fell on me and he smiled, soft and tender. "Happy New Year."

He reached up and stroked my cheek, watching me with such intensity like I would disappear under his hand. I didn't want the moment to end.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Depends on what you're suggesting," I retorted with a grin.

Micky rolled his eyes, but still chuckled nonetheless. "Blueberry pancakes."

"Then yes, I am very hungry."

We climbed out of bed, both naked except for our underwear. I saw him eying me out of the corner of my eye as I leaned over to pick up his shirt from yesterday and shimmy into it. He put on his sweater that he kept here for when he got cold.

Before I could leave the room, Micky stopped me in the doorway by gently grabbing my arm. I turned to him with a questioning look.

"Last night... it wasn't a dream, was it?" he asked softly.

I shook my head, giving him a small smile. "No... no dream, Circus Boy."

Micky didn't say anything else as he led me to the kitchen. The living room was an utter disaster; it looked like a nuclear glitter bomb had gone off. Pink and gold glitter littered the carpet, the couch, the chairs -- everything. Wine bottles, champagne bottles, every other bottle were strewn across the room. The streamers were half up, half down; deflated balloons rolling around on the carpet. What surprised me was the fact that there wasn't a soul in the whole apartment. No bodies passed out on the floor. Just a hot mess of a living room.

"Did more people show after we went to bed?" I asked, sitting at the table as Micky started to prep for the pancakes. "It looks like a nuclear disaster in there."

He nodded. "Right after you fell asleep, some actors from the studio swung by." Then he gave me a pointed look. "And you know how actors are."

I laughed and curled up in my seat, observing Micky as he made the pancakes. We were both glowing, bathing in the intimacy and the happiness, trying to ignore what was banging at the door. I was worried if I said something, I would break the magic. We were cocooned in bliss, in some unspoken language that only we knew.

I couldn't keep it all in. I had to tell him some time. Now, it seemed I kept making decision after decision to delay it. I was ignoring the obvious, not talking about it in fear of making it real. If it was real, it meant we would get hurt. If it was real, it meant something different.

It was a new year. New beginnings were afoot, and I figured confessing my feelings to Micky should be one of the them. Even if he didn't reciprocate, it needed to be done.

He was every good thing I ever wanted to love and hold, wrapped up in one celestial being. He was made of daylight and baby's breath, halos and solar flares. A man made of water, with the ability to take any form he needed or someone else needed. A confidant, a lover, a fighter. Fiercely sensitive, willing to move mountains for those he loved. Touches like gossamer wings. How could I resist such a beautiful being? How could I not love him?

Micky noticed me watching him. I was tempted to look away, to hide, but instead I smiled. He gave me a shy smiled in return, then flipped a pancake.

Now was the time. I had to tell him. There was no going back from what we had shared.

I waltzed over to him and wound my arms around his torso, resting my chin on his shoulder. He turned his head slightly to kiss my nose.

"Micky," I said, swallowing my nerves. "I need to tell you something. I think I --"

The phone ringing interrupted my confession, startling both of us. I scurried over to the phone, half thankful for the interruption.

"Hello?" I said. Not a word in return. "Hello?"

"Hello, Kathleen."

My body reacted before I could. The sickly sweet croon of an all too familiar voice had me weak in the knees. I was shrouded in the overwhelming scent of bubblegum, like a heavy haze of smoke I couldn't shake.

Boyce.

"What -- how --" I stumbled over my words. All that power I thought I had accumulated over him in River City suddenly dissipated. I was powerless, frozen in time, feet glued to the floor. "How did you get this number?"

Boyce laughed harshly. I flinched, clutching the telephone coil until my knuckles turned white. "It was in Daddy's daybook, sweet Lolita. The Lennoxes are a careless bunch."

"How did you get his journal?" I asked quietly, shaking.

"From Mother Lennox, of course. Say hello, Mommy dearest."

I heard my mother's muffled, tear-filled screech on the other end of the line. "Kathleen!"

Fear quaked through me.

"She hasn't done anything to you," I said angrily. "It's me you want. Leave her alone."

Boyce chuckled. "Tsk tsk, Kathleen. You know I can't do that. Not until you give me what I want."

"Please," I pleaded. "Just let her go. I'll give you anything, just let my mom go."

"Come to River City and we can negotiate a deal. Bring your Monkee while you're at it. I wanna see his face when he realizes what kind of whore you are."

There was a click. I knew he had disconnected. I hung up the phone, staring blankly at the wall, trying to control my emotions. I felt white with fear. I couldn't move. I was angry at him, angry at me. I was scared he would hurt her. I didn't want him to hurt me.

Micky touched my shoulder and I jumped, looking at him wildly. He looked surprised, then concerned.

"Kat," he said. "Who was that?"

"He has my mom," I said quietly.

"Who does?" he coaxed gently.

"Boyce," I stated, voice cracking. "He-- he has my mom." Micky looked shocked. "I don't -- I don't know what to do. I have to help her, but he wants me. And I can't -- I won't --" I stopped and closed my eyes. "I have to help her, even if it's the last thing I do."

"It won't be," Micky promised, holding my shoulders. "We'll go and we'll save your mom, okay?"

I nodded.

"I'll borrow Coco's car. We can leave as soon as you pack a bag." Micky said. "I promise you everything will be okay."

***A/N: short n sweet because everything is finally coming to a head.***