Faking It • Queen FanFiction

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 21

The days of recovery turned into weeks and the weeks turned into a month. And then, just like that, Bernie only had a week left of her recovery time and was well on her way to getting back on track. Of course she was still fragile and couldn't walk properly without the aid of the crutches and her boot, but she was only now a few steps away of rejoining the Real World. Although, the process hadn't been a breeze. For her, it felt like centuries had gone by since she first fell all those moons ago. As for Tiffany, she wasn't being sanctioned for her wrongdoings, and the police were still on the relentless scavenge for evidence to support the case.

The remaining six weeks had been no bed of roses, not in any way whatsoever, but help from Flo, Brian and Roger (yes, Roger) made it all a whole lot easier for her. To her great surprise, Roger had visited at least once a week to come and provide company for her, filling her in on the news of the outside world. As sweet as it was of him, Bernie was now having a hell of a tough time hating his guts, moreso than before. As it so happened, Roger Meddows Taylor wasn't such a massive dickhead after all and most of it was a front. Don't get her wrong, she still thought he was a dickhead, just not such a massive dickhead.

One thing that did niggle at her progressively was how Brian had warned her many weeks ago that Roger genuinely did like her, which made her increasingly anxious whenever he came round. What if he somehow got the wrong impression and thought she felt the same? She was definitely, 100% not into Roger in that way. Absolutely not. The bubbly feeling she got whenever he came over was nothing. The tint that threatened to arise to her cheeks whenever he cropped up in conversation was nothing. The flamboyant flowers that he gifted her every week to "add some happiness to the place" meant nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Perhaps the constant stream of flowers was to keep up the appearance to Holden that they were dating, and so were his visits. Hopefully they were, because Bernie had no idea how she'd handle it if she found out that he was coming round a lot primarily to visit her. Perhaps she was beginning to like him, but in no way did she want to be with him romantically.

On the penultimate Sunday of her long term absence from work, Flo had been called in for overtime, an overnight shift, on the one evening of the entire week that they had together. "Bernie, I'm so sorry, I promise we'll do something together soon!" Was all she could say with sorrowfully pleading eyes as she charged out the door, running to the beckoning of her understaffed boss. Bernie planned on getting up and going to have a tidy of her desk or something, but she was feeling way too knackered and now crestfallen to pin her attention to something. Throughout the week, she'd been attempting some major chores that needed to be done, like polishing the flat and deep-cleaning the bathroom, which she had achieved, but with great difficulty. Subsequently, she was now shattered and didn't have the motivation to do anything. Her mobility was mostly back, but her energy levels still suffered after two months of Nothing.

Half an hour or so later, there was an oh-so familiar knock on the door. How the hell did he know that she had a free evening? With an agitated growl, she folded over the page of her book and hobbled over to answer the door. She didn't even bring her crutches with her! But to counteract this, she walked with a limp (even with the boot on) and she felt in danger of toppling over the other way, her stability limited after such a knackering day. "What are you doing here?" She asked as she answered the door, with more confusion than her conditioned tone of disgust.

"I was driving home from this gir- ...a place... and saw Florence's car whiz past me. Then I thought 'huh, thought they were spending the evening together as she mentioned the other day when I visited' and here I am, coming to see why you're alone." Roger recited with his brows raised, a look of innocence on his face. Then it shifted to something of his usual egotistical demeanour and he leant cockily on the doorframe. "So. Are you gunna let me in?" One side of his mouth pulled upwards into a cocky smirk and he flicked a loose chunk of his dirty blonde hair out of his eyelashes.

"I'm not sure. Am I?" Instead of rolling her eyes defeatedly and just letting him in like she had been doing for the past six weeks, Bernie decided to play the field a bit and catch him off guard by reciprocating his cockiness.

Her intentions seemed to work, as Roger stood there frozen for a second before slipping back into the smooth characterisation of himself. "I certainly recommend it, Bernie, I'll make it worth your time." He winked and swung one leg behind the other, still leaning on the doorframe like he'd fall over if he wasn't. As much as she wanted to, Bernie couldn't take it anymore and cringed as she grabbed him by the denim-clad sleeve and yanked him inside her flat.

"Before you get comfortable, I want you to go in there and have a shower. I'm not having you sit here with the dried sweat from your previous conquest clinging to you. Go!" She pointed sharply to the bathroom, giving him an especially harsh tone for having the audacity to have sex with a woman and then coming to visit Bernie immediately after. And that was why she didn't want to date him. "Clean towels on the top shelf of the tallest cupboard." Without another word, Roger scurried off to the bathroom with an expression of...was that shame? It couldn't be. He was way too proud of his sexual partners and the frequency of them.

To be true to herself, Bernie had no idea why she even let him inside in the first place. It probably would've been exceptionally rude if she had denied him entry, especially after everything he'd done for her in the past few weeks. And, if she had to admit it, they were possibly friends now and friends didn't slam doors in each other's faces.

Whilst Roger was scrubbing himself clean of his previous actions, Bernie fixed together two cups of steaming hot chocolate and sat back down on the sofa after plumping up the pillows and grabbing an extra blanket. Even though July was fast approaching, she was always, always cold in the evenings, no matter the time of year.

20/11/22