Interlude

1992

"Ah, you have that radiant maternal glow, Pizzazz. Purple-faced and bloated suits you so well."

"What part of 'We're done with you,' did you not understand, Eric?" I asked, as I waddled my pregnant self across the foyer.

"Contracts are made to be broken," he smirked. "Except when you make them with me."

I found a divan in the sitting room and gave my feet a rest. "Daddy's lawyers will make sure to find a way to pry you out our lives for good, so scram!"

Eric helped himself to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a scotch. (I could have gone for one myself-damn this baby!) "And miss out on our wonderful repartee? You can't expect me to give that up, can you?"

I felt the baby kick. I could sympathize. "Eric, you're beyond boring. Get out of here before I call the police."

"I didn't realize being boring was a crime," he laughed, as he stepped over to the divan and stared down at me. "In that case, you and your band of merry psychotics should have been arrested long ago."

Now I knew this creep was just talking out of his ass: we're many things, but the Misfits are never dull.

"The music scene's changing fast," he argued. "You need my help more than ever if you want to hang on to your fanbase." He then reached down and ran his finger along my chin. "The public can be very fickle."

I slapped his hand away. "We've had enough of you and all that crap you keep shoveling," I told him, before adding "All of us!" for emphasis.

A smile curled across one side of his face as ran his finger along my collarbone.

Before I could move, he grabbed my neck and pulled me to my feet. "Is that right?!" he shouted. "We'll see about that!"

Once I realized what was happening, I did my damndest to deny him the satisfaction of showing him fear.

"Your son!" I gasped.

"What?" he hissed, as he eased his grip on my throat.

"The baby's yours', dickhead!"

I lost my balance when he tossed me back down onto the couch. "You're lying," he muttered.

I managed to smile as I rubbed my neck. "You only lasted a couple minutes, but I guess that was enough."

As much as I wanted to, I knew this wasn't the time to tell him the odds of him being the father were fifty-fifty…

He remained quiet for a moment, before asking, "What do you want?"

I saw my chance, and took it. "You tear up your contracts, and I'll sign the papers freeing you of any responsibility to me…and our son."

He turned away and ran his fingers through his hair. "Deal," he said, without looking at me.

As he began to leave the room, I reached for the closest vase.

"Oh, Eric?"

He turned around in time to see the vase shatter against his forehead.

"Don't ever touch me again!" I screamed.

As blood trickled down his forehead, he left the room without a word.

I leaned back and let out a groan. Porcelain vases shatter too easily.