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A Moth Into A Butterfly	By : TaimaMarie Category: Individual Celebrities > Criss Angel Views: 3069 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know or own Criss Angel. This is a work of fiction. I make no money off it.

Chapter List
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Criss stepped into his mother's house, cheerfully whistling as he carried in the bag of groceries. His mother had asked him to pick up a few things on his way. She said that Marilyn wasn't feeling as well as she could, and she didn't much care for the thought of her being out.

He set down the paper sack on the table, catching the loose orange before it could roll onto the floor and bruise. He opened the fridge and began to put things away. It struck him how terribly silent the house was, how it seemed to be lacking anyone at all. Of course, his mother was probably out with some of her other friends, but Marilyn typically made some sort of noise.

“Marilyn!” he called. “Marilyn! Where are you?”

She was suddenly in the kitchen then, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Criss jumped and pressed a palm to his chest, where his heart was thudding.

“Jesus, are you a ninja?”

“Someone called here for you today.” okay, that was strange. Anyone who really needed him could reach him at the hotel. Or through the Mindfreak Production Office. No one needed to come to his mother's house.

“Who?”

“Joanne.”

There was a heavy silence in the air between them. Marilyn stood, clearly waiting for some sort of explanation. Criss didn't speak, obviously not willing to give it. He turned back to the groceries and continued to put them away.

In his anger, he knocked an orange off the table. It fell on the floor and rolled, stopping just at Marilyn's feet. She picked it up and examined the fresh dark spot on the otherwise perfect fruit. Without looking away from the orange globe, she spoke again.

“And when were you going to tell me that you were married?”

“I'm not married.”

“Anymore,” Marilyn said the last bit, congratulating herself that her voice was not betraying the storm of emotions brewing inside of her. Her voice was calm and steady. You could not hear her fear, her sadness, her betrayal.

“Listen, JoAnn was a mistake. I should have known she wasn't ready for this type of lifestyle.”

“And why didn't you tell me about her?” Marilyn ran her hand across the orange. It's skin wasn't perfectly smooth, instead it was covered with the strangest bumps. Oranges confused her. They were sweet, but smelled like they shouldn't be. The had that white flesh inside that clung to the meat and got stuck between your teeth. And their juice stung, and God help you if you got some of the skin underneath your nails. The bitterness of the skin ruined the taste of the fruit.

Bananas were much safer. Even with their slightly phallic shape, they smelled and tasted sweet. No confusion there. Of course, she had never tasted the skin, but it had a comforting sort of thickness to it. Like it was protecting the precious fruit on the inside.

“Because---,” he stopped. There was no good reason. She had him. “I didn't.”

“Did you think I didn't deserve to know?”

“It's not like you've told me anything about your past, Marilyn Grace! You never told me where you're from, where you went to school, what activities you did, anything. Every time I bring it up, you brush it off and change the subject.”

“Those things don't matter anymore. They aren't who I am.”

“JoAnn isn't who I am anymore!”

“Bullshit! She was saying you called her last week.” he bit his lip. Marilyn gasped, knowing that it had been true. She threw the orange onto the floor, smelling with delight the citrus juice as it smashed on Dimitra's clean tile floor.

Before Criss could say anything, she had disappeared upstairs into the attic. He heard the distinctive click of the lock. His throat went tight as he stood at the door, staring at it, arms crossed. He thought about pounding on it, thought about picking the lock. Thought about screaming at her until she opened up, talked to him.

But she was right. He'd had no reason to call JoAnn, and still he did. Criss turned away. It wasn't worth trying to open the door and causing her more heartache. It wasn't worth upsetting her anymore. He would be better off just leaving her alone and letting her try to heal herself.

**

J.D came into Criss's room later that night. Criss was sulking on the couch, petting Hammie again. J.D didn't speak, only sat next to his brother. This was often the way it went with Criss. If you were quiet, he would tell you everything you needed to know.

“She found out I called JoAnn.” he mumbled.

“And why did you do that? The two of you have been done for awhile now. I thought you both decided it was healthiest if you didn't try to talk to one another again.” J.D raised an eyebrow. Criss heaved a guilty sigh.

“We did. It's just that, well, I realized that soon I'm going to have a baby. And that means that I'm going to be tied to Marilyn for the next eighteen years—at LEAST. And I know I have to do the honorable thing and be in a relationship with her, you know?
I guess—I guess I just panicked. I couldn't see myself being tied down now anymore than I could then. And I knew she wasn't really over me, so I thought that maybe I could get in just one last hurrah...” he trailed off.

J.D didn't speak. He didn't even look at his younger brother.

“I cannot believe you. Are you trying to see what it's going to take to SHATTER that poor girl's heart?”

“No! I didn't want to hurt Marilyn. God, I'd never want to hurt her.”

“That's the thing, Criss. You never WANT to hurt her, and somehow you always do. You always end up breaking that poor girl. And guess what? She's the mother of your child. There is no taking that back. There is no 'one last hurrah' when it comes to children, Christopher.”

“I know that--,”

“I don't think you do! Jesus.” J.D rubbed his forehead. “Are you done with it now?”

“Yes. I know it was wrong. I was wrong.”

“Did you tell Marilyn that?”

“She went upstairs and locked the door before I could explain anything to her, actually.” Criss leaned his head back against the back of the couch.

“I think you'd better get your ass over there a and try. I don't know if she's going to want to hear you, but I think you need to try and do something. Criss, no matter HOW you feel about Marilyn, there's a child in all of this. And you're going to have to treat her with respect.”

“I will,” Criss swallowed.

***

Marilyn laid on her bed, staring up at the rafters. She pressed her hands against her stomach. She had been in that position for hours, ignoring her hunger pangs, ignoring the fact that her back was getting stiff from that position, ignoring her bladders increasing urge. Sooner or later, she'd get up. It would most likely be later.

She had unlocked the door when Criss left. Dimitra returned shortly and had not spoken to her, most likely assuming she was taking a nap. But now someone was coming upstairs, and she closed her eyes, trying to feign sleep. Anything so she could remain in this precious silence.

But the weight that put itself on her tiny bed was not Dimitra's. And the arms that draped themselves over her hips were not Dimitra's.

“Marilyn... I need to talk to you. If you can listen to me, I've got something really important to say.”
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