An: I hate this but I had to publish something and this was the best I could do
Roger's Pov
We emerged into the cool night air, walking mere inches away from each other, yet a palpable tension hung in the air, making the distance between us feel like miles. Her eyes were wide, alert, her entire body tense, almost as though she was nervous to be around me, though why she was so nervous I couldn't understand. This didn't seem like the normal nerves girls got around rockstars the first time they happened to meet them; this was something else entirely. I couldn't figure it out. She shivered slightly, biting her lip almost as though she was trying to figure out what to say to break the heavy silence between us. I too was struggling with that task.
"I'm really sorry, what did you say your name was again?" I questioned, breaking the silence. I had hoped she would be pleased that my small talk had ended the awkwardness; instead, she looked a little hurt, and desperately confused.
Jesus Christ Roger, you've already upset her. All you had to do was remember her fucking name, it isn't rocket science.
It isn't her fault that the only girl you ever think about, the only girl who will ever matter to you is Victoria.
"I didn't" she replied hoarsley. She opened her mouth, as though she wanted to say something else, but quickly closed it again, deciding against whatever she was going to say. She licked her lips nervously. "Everyone around here calls me Hannah" She managed to croak out.
"So how long have you been tattooing, Hannah?" I questioned, hoping asking her about her work would set her a little more at ease. It appeared to work.
"About two years now" she answered, her voice a little more confident than before. "I was always into art, but I never really knew what I wanted to do with it. Then I found a tattoo gun and started practicing designs on myself, and I found I had a knack for it" She continued, as we rounded the corner, approaching her little artists boutique. She unlocked the creaky, wooden door, leading me inside as she switched on the lights. They took a moment to flicker on; for a moment I doubted they were going to come on at all. But eventually the small parlous was illuminated with a faint orange glow, revealing shelves full of the beautiful artwork that had been displayed in the windows, which had first drawn my attention to the quaint, little store. In the centre of the room was a black tattoo bed, to the side of which was a small set of drawers, which I assumed contained the different coloured ink and tattoo equipment. I squirmed involuntarily, thinking of the needle that would soon pierce my skin.
Ever since the incident which saw me nearly inject heroin into yy veins, the mere mention of a needle had made me feel physically sick, the guilt I carried deep inside resurging. To think, that had probably been the moment Victoria had needed me most, and there I was, betraying her in a thousand different ways.
I shook my head, bidding the memory of Victoria to fade back into the abyss as I turned to face the girl in front of me, who was already starting to sterilize her equipment and get out various different shades of ink. "How many tattoos do you have?" I questioned, sinking down on to the sofa.
"I have six, so far. I have the two for my daughter on my arm, I have a disco ball on my right shoulder, I have a poodle doodle on my left ankle, and this one on the side of my finger" She showed me the small doodle on the side of her index finger; an intricate doodle of a small planet.
"Mercury" I worked out, gazing at the planet. She nodded slowly, a faint smile painting her lips as she became slightly more comfortable around me. Almost as though she had forgotten she was talking to a rockstar, as though she was talking to an old friend.
I'll admit, I was starting to feel like that too. I didn't know what it was about her, but I felt at ease, as though I didn't have to put on my infamous Taylor Playboy persona, but I could lounge back and be the real Roger Taylor, the one who had thoughts and feelings other than getting into girls pants. The kind of guy who was happy to sit here, in a quaint tattoo studio, and get to know more about the girl in front of him, not because he desired her, but because he craved human conversation. Because there was something about her that interested me. I wanted to know more about her, about her life. I wanted to know what it was like to be a single mother, to raise a child and also own a business, providing hope that if she was okay, if she could manage it, then somewhere out there, my Victoria was also managing it.
