More than just a friend || Roger Taylor

58- is this even real ?

16th November 1982

"Wake up. We're going to the hospital." I shook Roger maybe slightly too hard, trying to disturb his frame as it laid draped across the sofa lazily, his hair scruffy and eyes already baring the weight of heavy bags beneath them. His face was covered in cuts and bruises and marks that resembled the events of last night, and looked nothing like the features he owned. They were swollen and discoloured.

Last night had been left the exact way it was when I rushed upstairs and laid silently in bed, not a wink of sleep I could claim for myself as I let the thoughts take over. Every one of them- they simply consumed me. Including the one that regarded where mine and Roger's relationship was actually going.

"Roger get the fuck up." I shook him one more time before turning on my heel and walking towards the kitchen, glancing at the smashed glass on the floor and empty liquor bottles before a sickly feeling took over. And made me face pale. And made my stomach twist. And made me run to the sink before throwing up.

And of course in the process of running to the sink id stepped in several shards of smashed glass neither me or Roger had cleaned up, leaving me trying to hold back agony as I avoided holding back the sick. It was more than likely the stress of the night that caused me to be sick- I remembered the same thing happening when I was a kid.

I felt a gentle hand start to rub my back as another took my hair, trying to reassure me as I couldn't stop throwing my guts up in the kitchen sink. I could feel blood tricking from my feet, staining the floors, but it's intimidation felt like nothing compared to the stare of worry I could feel Roger giving me.

I wiped the edge of my mouth and slowly stood back to right, noticing his hands not separate themselves from my frame as I edged back and took several deep breathes. I didn't even want to look at Roger in that moment as he pulled me against his chest and hugged me with the guilt consuming him. I didn't even want to be in his arms. Nor our house. I wanted to be in bed beside my mum listening to her reassure me.

"You're bleeding. Your feet... you stood in the glass." Roger mumbled slightly, lifting his head up from its resting position on top of mine in hopes my eyes would wonder towards his.

"We're going to the hospital anyway. Look at your face. It's ridiculous." I slipped out of his hold and hopped onto the kitchen counter, dizzy and still shook from being sick as I started picking shards of glass out from my feet.

"Don't start that shit again." Roger mumbled, turning on his heel and back towards the living room where he decided to finally take a glance at his bruised complexion. I rolled my eyes plainly as he threw last nights shirt over his head, opening a bottle of beer and taking a large gulp as my head shook.

"I think you'll find you're driving us to the hospital Rog. My feet are bleeding. And I'm not arguing with you n-"

"When aren't we arguing Adelynn ? I mean what the fuck have we turned into ? You called me dad yesterday. Pretty loud and pretty clear. Dad. Do you have any idea how much that hurts ?"

"You're telling me it fucking hurts you ? You're kidding right ? I'm the one who called you it !"

"Let's go. You're bleeding everywhere."

-

Me and Roger drove to the hospital in silence before we arrived. I sat and waited besides him as his face was seen to, during the process of which I threw up, but we didn't say a word to one another. He had a few stitches and a fuck ton of medications and creams and everything else you can imagine, but the only thing really hurting him was us. Everyone in the hospital was curious to know how queens drummer got into a fight and who with- but he stayed quiet.