More than just a friend || Roger Taylor

19- you always lead

14th June 1978

I woke up with the usual ache in the back of my mind, the same pain I spent most mornings trying to kill, before sliding the same jumper I always seemed to over my head.

I always found myself wearing Roger's jumper. It irritated me how it still managed to cherish the smell of his far too strong cologne and his always leaking cigarettes. I don't even think he knew I still had it, but to me it was the only thing I had left- other than the endless replaying memories.

Every day worked the same as the last. There were no nights out to look forward to or parties with rockstars to eagerly anticipate. The only thing I seemed to ever wait for was another bottle to be pressed against my lips, but I found myself still wanting it to be Roger's kiss instead.

It was way past the point where I should've been over him, and I think most girls would've been by this point, but I couldn't seem to move past what we had. His effortless smirk and soft eyes, and scruffy hair and sometimes his easy smile- it all stayed stuck on my mind.

And he was when I plodded down the stairs that morning, groaning at the pain I was desperate to kill with a pair of paracetamol. It was purely the thick, dark wool I had slipped over my head that was the cause of his permanence on my mind, but I didn't want to let him control it for too long.

Sometimes I would make breakfast, maybe a piece of weak toast if I felt hungry, but most days a cigarette was enough. And it was that day, sat loosely between my two fingers as I sat huddled on the sofa, my legs tightly against my chest as the air turned grey.

I didn't have any work to do, only a suitcase to pack for a dreaded two week stay I was still frustrated by. I'd been telling myself for years I wouldn't do the very things I'd suddenly agreed to, and I knew all too well it was because I'd become too weak to deal with the weight of guilt almost crushing me.

I had only three days before my flight, and now that mum had finally confessed to dad why my room needed to be cleared, I was even more nervous than before. In fact, I was terrified to go home. I wasn't quite ready to see them again after so many years, and I don't think my mind was one bit prepared for the flood of replaying memories it coupled with.

I sat dragging on the cig in my hold, lazily exhaling each grey tangle as I laid sprawled across the sofa, almost contently until the door suddenly rattled.

If it wasn't for what seemed to be a shocking amount of curiosity the knock held, I wouldn't of bothered answering it. But purely because I couldn't think of who could be knocking at that particular time of day, I jumped up within only a few seconds and rushed to the door.

"Thought you would just be getting up." Mel chuckled a little, her painted red lips turned upwards as my slightly scruffy figure let it's head nod. "I would of called... but I thought I'd stop by, I was on my way to town anyway."

"Oh right..." I was only a tad confused as she stepped through the door's frame. "What's up ?"

"Well... I'm just a tad worried about you going home. I know you probably don't want a bloody sob story, but in all seriousness please be careful. I know your dad, and the type of man he is."

"I'll be fine. I'll come home in one perfectly untouched piece, don't panic." I chucked, slightly nervously as Mel hesitantly nodded.

"If you need absolutely anything just ring me ok ? I'm always sat in my bloody office anyway so there's a fair chance I'll answer in a matter of seconds." She smiled again. "I'll see you when you get back. Good luck with filming... I hope you bloody know your lines."

"Of course I know them." I blushed slightly as the lie slipped past my lips, one she knew but chose to simply laugh over instead.

"And don't bloody drink yourself to death. Have a shower... you bloody stink." She pulled me into a hug that caught me even more off guard than her frame as the door had, her almost toxic perfume smothering me as she did.