Something Special About The Letter B

"I'm sick of it, Harry!" Bree yelled.

"Sick of what!?" Harry yelled back.

"Sick of you never being home! When you aren't practicing, or on tour, you hardly spend time with me!"

"That is not-"

"And when you do come see me, you smell like a bar!"

"I do not!"

"You know . . ." Bree chuckled angrily,"I'm done. I'm sick, and tired of this. The constant fighting. I'm done."

She grabbed her purse, strutting past Harry. He grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. Bree winced slightly at the pressure on her arm, but kept a strong, steady face on.

"Let. Go,"she hissed.

"I don't know what the hell your problem is. I don't always come home smelling like alcohol. I don't ignore you. In fact, I'm always, always, by your side!"

Bree snarled, lifting up her free arm, and slapped Harry across the cheek. Hard.

Harry was stunned, his eyes wide, and filled with anger. He raised his fist, without thinking, and landed a hard punch across Bree's face, his large fist connecting with her nose. Bree stumbled backwards, holding her bloody nose. Harry blinked, staring at her in awe, shock, terror, and still a hint of anger.

Bree swung around, opening the front door.

"Where the hell do you think you're going!?"

"You know why I've recently always wanted you by my side?" Bree asked lowly. "Because I'm pregnant!"

She slammed the door closed, running down to her car. Harry stood behind the closed door, his jaw clenched tightly. What did he do?

As Bree drove blindly, her tears rapidly flowing, she saw bright headlights speeding towards her. She had no where to go. And the last thing she heard was Harry's voice apoligizing on her voicemail.

CRACK!