Bad habits - Roger Taylor

The Blame Game

AN: Hey everyone, this is the penultimate Chapter of this book, which is both really overwhelming for me and also exciting. I just wanted to thank everyone so much who has taken the time to read this fic, comment, vote, and send the lovely messages that so many of you have. I hope you enjoy the ending when it's published and don't cry too much.

Also, we are gonna have to play with time a little bit in this chapter and imagine that the Smiths were about in 1970.

Enjoy, 

MayRogers_ xx

Victoria's PoV

I slammed the payphone violently down on the receiver, ending the call before another word could fall from Cheryl's poisonous lips. I hadn't expected Roger to answer the phone himself, what with his busy tour schedule and it being three o'clock in the morning, but fuck, why did it have to be her? Why couldn't I have given the message to anyone but her?

It was almost as though he knew what this was doing to me, almost as though he was trying to see how much he could hurt me, how far he could push more before I snapped. I was already at breaking point, but he still kept pushing. Why? Why did he want to hurt me so much?

The anger that had coursed furiously through my veins turned to sorrow as tears began falling freely from my eyes. All night, all through the stress of wondering what the press were going to say, trying desperately to figure out a way to stop the story being printed, I had managed to keep a semblance of calm, suppressing my anger, fear, and sorrow as I battled desperately to protect my daughter, my true emotions masked by feelings of hopelessness, determination and confusion. I couldn't hold it in any longer.

I was tired. So fucking tired. In both senses, physical and mental. I had been up since seven am yesterday morning, meaning I had been awake for almost an entire twenty-four hours. That would be enough to exhaust any person, let alone one who was seven months pregnant and carrying the weight of her world on her shoulders. All I wanted was to scream, and cry, and rage, and throw myself to pieces. But I physically couldn't. I hadn't been able to feel what I needed to feel for two months now, lest the added stress hurt the baby. 

Meanwhile Roger Taylor carried on his life as fucking normal.

I hit my palm against the wall, hoping the small action would release some of the built up tension. It didn't. Not even close.

It had been hard not to hate Roger for being able to carry on his life as normal even when I thought he didn't know about our daughter. Now that he clearly knew of her existence, every ounce of my being despised him for not stepping up and doing what needed to be done. Even worse, he actively put her in danger.

It was hard not to hate him for making me feel this way about him; even after everything he had done, my heart occasionally betrayed me and skipped a beat at the thought of him.

Everyone told me lately that I had been ruled by my feelings too much, that I was letting them cloud my judgment. Giles assumed, stupidly, that I kept my pregnancy a secret as a way to punish Roger for the way he treated me. It couldn't be further from the truth.

If I in anyway had let my actions be ruled by my feelings, my inner turmoil and trauma at the events of the last few months, I wouldn't be here right now. It truly was that simple.

If it wasn't for my daughter, I'd have ended it all a long time ago. Except I couldn't admit that, not to anyone. They'd take it to mean that I was a danger to myself, that I would harm myself the first chance I got. They didn't understand that I could never do that: I would never leave her to fend for herself.

I wasn't her father, after all.

Especially after hearing that voice on the phone. That sickly sweet, irritating voice that made me just want to throw something against a window. The rage that accompanied just the sound of her faint voice made my body physically tense with anger, my limbs shaking.