Chapter 3:

A smile rising to her face, Morgan opened her eyes and stretched. She buried her face in his pillow, breathing in his scent. She sat up and, not bothering to cover herself, walked into the front room. He wasn't there or in the kitchen, and when she cast her senses, he wasn't anywhere close by. Her heart sank.

"Of course. Work. Hunter," she sighed. "You left without saying goodbye." She finished sadly. He probably expected her to still be asleep when he got back. Still naked under his sheets. Maybe Killian was right, she thought, remembering previous conversations with her brother.

Every time they saw each other, Hunter wanted sex. Of course, he always said he loved her, but he never begged her to go back to him, he didn't really complain. Not since she had broken up with him. And she always went to bed with him. She never said no. She couldn't. She loved him and wanted him, and when they started, they couldn't stop. They didn't want to. She didn't want to.

Then Hunter's phone rang, and Morgan gasped as she realized who it was. She answered it. "Hello?"

"Morgan, Morgan, Morgan. How many times do I have to warn you?" came the soft, French accented voice.

"We're not together, Justine. I'm just saying hi. You never said we couldn't be friends," Morgan said quietly.

"Too friendly."

"What do you mean 'too friendly'?"

"I scryed for him last night, and I saw. You little whore, I saw you fucking him. I heard you tell him you loved him."

"Do you expect me to lie?"

"Get out of there. Or Hunter may not come home, he may just happen to drive the wrong way on the road, or perhaps drown in the bay," she laughed, a cheerful sound that Morgan found disturbing.

"Don't," she said weakly. "Please don't hurt him. Please," Morgan said, blinking back the tears.

"I'll do whatever the hell I want to," Justine growled defensively. "That's the power of having someone's true name, sweetheart." She finished, her voice soft and sweet again. She heard Justine's tea kettle whistle. She hoped the bitch choked on it and died a slow painful death.

"I…I can't leave right now. Hunter drove me."

"Then I guess you're hitch hiking. Get the hell out of his house, now. Hmm, he's in his car right now. Oh, look, a big eighteen wheelers coming up behind his little black mustang…a mustang's a very small car, Morgan. He wouldn't survive, I don't think. And if he did, he'd probably be paralyzed, unable to move or speak for the rest of his life. And you wouldn't be able to take care of him, would you? No, I don't think I would want you to. Or maybe I would let you, just because it would kill you to see him like that…" she laughed like it was a very appealing idea. Morgan felt nauseous.

"Shut up!" she screamed.

"Get out," Justine hissed. Then she hung up.

Oh, Goddess, don't let her hurt him, Morgan thought, tears starting to roll down her cheeks. Oh, God. No, no, no. Please be okay, my love. She ran into his room and stole one of his tee shirts and a pair of his sweat pants, which were way too big on her. She didn't care. She couldn't risk him getting hurt. She went into his kitchen and searched around for something to write on then found an old envelope and a pen. She scribbled a quick not on it.

Hunter- I can't do this. I don't love you, and last night was a mistake. I borrowed some of your clothes. I'll give them to Killian. I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you…but I can't change the fact that I don't love you. Find someone else. Natalie's single. She likes you. I'm sorry. Bye…

-Morgan

Morgan. Just plain Morgan. Not 'love, Morgan,' not 'yours, Morgan,' not 'sincerely, Morgan'. Just Morgan. Almost hysterical, she picked up the phone and called Bree, who answered on the fourth ring.

"Hello?" she asked perkily.

She took a deep breath. "Bree? It's Morgan…"

"Morgan! You sound like you're crying," she said carefully.

"Umm, I have been. I need you to come pick me up,"

"Where are you?" she asked, concerned. Morgan searched around until she found Hunter's address. She gave it to Bree, and they hung up.

Morgan went into Hunter's room and looked through his dresser drawer. Sure enough, there it was. A picture of them in San Francisco, two and a half years ago. She felt more tears escape her eyes. She was keeping this. She had lost her copy a few months ago. She knew Hunter had more pictures of her. He wouldn't miss this one, she lied to herself. Oh, yeah, he won't miss it, that's why he keeps it right here tucked away safe next to his bed.

Fifteen minutes later, Bree's BMW, which she had fondly named Breezy in their junior year of high school, pulled up in front of Hunter's place. Morgan almost ran to get in. Bree looked beautiful, even though she was only wearing jeans and a tee shirt. Her make-up was perfect and her minky hair shiny and smooth. She looked at Morgan, interested.

"Whose place is this?" she asked. Morgan sighed.

"Hunter's." she whispered. Bree's eyes widened, and she took in the clothes.

"He's moved back here?"

"For a while, I guess."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"Oh my God. Morgan, did you…?"

"Yes."

"I thought you guys broke-"

"We did."

"Okay. So, where are your clothes?"

Morgan groaned and closed her eyes. "Later, Bree. I'll explain everything later."

She was going to have a hard time. Bree didn't know about her little side job. She couldn't. Bree had been brought up in a very, very classy neighborhood and with a lot of money and had always looked down on people like that. How was Morgan supposed to tell her that her best friend worked as a stripper? It wouldn't go down well. It wouldn't go down well at all.

"Okay," Bree said. She turned on the radio and they drove back to Bree's apartment in silence. Oh, Goddess. How much longer could she stand this? She wondered as she looked down at the picture of her and Hunter. In it, the sun was shining, and his arms were around her waist. They both looked so happy, so in love. Morgan put on Bree's spare pair of sunglasses so she wouldn't see her cry.