Faking It • Queen FanFiction

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 22

Both cups of hot chocolate sat empty and blissfully enjoyed on the coffee table in the middle of the room. Usually, Bernie would have switched on the television to shut Roger up for a little while, but this evening she really didn't feel like watching anything, she already had a headache without the input of the blaring screen and artificial voices. So the pair of them sat and played games like a couple of children, instead. They played the rhyming game, twenty-one questions and other low-effort childlike games for almost two solid hours. Now her brain was almost exhausted and the struggle to keep her eyes open was consuming her. Gradually, unwillingly, Bernie felt herself drift off into the uncontrollable semi-unconsciousness of almost-sleep.

Somewhere, miles into the distance, Bernie felt a weight lift off the sofa and a pair of solid arms under her body, raising her upwards towards the skies. Then she was drifted lightyears away into the galaxies, still with her eyes closed, and placed ever so gently onto the soft clouds of a distant universe. Here it was cold, but no less familiar than her sofa all the way on planet earth. A thick blanket of cotton was wrapped securely around her body and a rough hand caressed her cheek softly. "Goodnight, Bernie," a low grumble sounded in her ear and it felt like a pair of lips gently grazed over her forehead before the mysterious angel that had carried her here whisked away from her cloud of sleep far, far away.

Out in the cold foyer of the block of flats, Roger made sure the door was firmly locked with Bernie safely sleeping on the inside and retied the laces of his brown suede boots, heading back outside to his car. After carrying her off to bed, he'd given her the subtle kiss goodnight he'd longed to give her for many weeks now and ensured that everything was switched off before leaving. Just as he was making his way down the dingy, dank corridor, he heard a door click open and somebody clear their throat behind him. The smell of cigarette smoke polluted the air and Roger's hand instinctively went to his personal packet in the breast pocket of his denim jacket: God, he wanted a smoke, but Bernie strictly prohibited it in her home.

Pivoting round on his heel to see who had appeared behind him, the figure of Holden Henson had appeared, standing half in, half out of his flat. "Evening, Roger," he said slickly, clearly believing the was so much less pathetic than he looked. Roger had only met Holden once, but he had no desire to do so again and felt awful for Bernie.

"Night, Holden," Roger waved goodbye to Bernie's stingy landlord before he could stir anything up. The last thing Roger wanted was for there to be conflict between himself and Holden. As she had said on multiple occasions: Holden was a lot more dangerous than he let on to be.

"You touch my Princess, and you may meet the same fate as her. Cast up and unable to fend for herself for weeks." Holden spoke out maliciously to the back of Roger. This, however, made him stop in his tracks and swivel round once more.

"Oh yeah? Your princess. And how do propose to do that?" Roger spat, almost daring Holden to lay a hand on him.

"I have my contacts," the other man rasped under his breath, but still loud enough for Roger to hear. Then he disappeared into the darkness of his own flat and half shut, half slammed the wooden door. 'I have my contacts', what does that mean? Roger contemplated, crinkling his nose in disgust for Holden as he took the steps two at a time, descending the deserted building to reach his car. Whatever Holden was getting at, they were just empty threats...Roger hoped.

•—•—•—•—•

An almighty crash sounded from outside Bernie's bedroom door and, just like that, she was transported firmly back to planet earth. How did she even get here? She'd definitely remember coming to bed, it had been a painful task for six weeks now. The pain was always worse in the evening. Then the memory came back to her. In her sleepy haze, Roger had carried her off to bed and left her to sleep. Well that's embarrassing, she thought to herself, then realised how utterly humiliating it really was whilst lulling herself out of bed to investigate the source of the noise. Had an intruder entered? Had Roger not locked the front door properly? If he hadn't and this was her last day on earth then he'd have literal hell to pay.

Even if she wasn't cursing Roger for whomever was in her house, she certainly would be for this: her boot, knee brace and crutches were all in the living room. Meaning she was now stranded in her room with an undiscovered person in her house making an awful lot of noise. In all honesty, she had high confidence that the person in her house was simply Flo coming home from work, who was estimated to finish between 7 and 9 in the morning. It was now 8:34 according to the wooden pendulum clock fixed to the wall. Bernie's bedroom was completely different to the rest of the flat.

The flat was coated in bright colours, patterns and homely mess, whereas Bernie's room was like travelling back in time to a vintage emporium. Everything, including her prized possession, her Victorian four poster bed, was entirely vintage. The mirror on the wall, the dresser, and even the stool that was tucked under the dresser, that she had not had the joy of sitting on to do her makeup for almost two months now. All of the furniture had been bought second hand and up-cycled, making her furnishings the cheapest, yet the most expensive-looking. The late June sunrise trickled through the mesh curtains and into Bernie's room. She desperately wanted to get out of her room now, she was busting for the loo and craving breakfast. So she tried the old fashioned method.

"FLO!" Bernie screamed as loud as she could, she wasn't quite sure where her sister was by now as the crash was a few minutes ago now. No answer. "FLO!" No answer. "FLORENCE!" With a final screech, Bernie's door swung open and in the doorway stood her sister, looking overtly disgruntled.

"What do you want, child?" Hair wild, eyes sunken and face pallor, was Flo, who shoved Bernie's door open with quite some force so that it hit the adjacent wall.

"I was just wondering if...are you okay?" Bernie took a moment to assess how ill her sister looked.

"I'm fine." It was an obvious lie, even a stranger could've sensed it from a mile off. Flo's dull voice and slouched posture spoke for itself, not to mention her short temper. 

"Flo. Get some sleep, for your own sake. Oh! But before you do, could you bring my crutches through, pretty please?" Half an hour later and Bernie was tucking Florence up in bed. To her, this 9 o'clock was  around 11 at night and she desperately needed some shut eye.

20/11/22