Bed of Roses

Chapter 17

ACT 3 - DAWN

"It's the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out"

Chapter 17

London, 1977

Roger was moving out.

He spent the last months considering moving out of his flat - he had the money, but he liked the flat. He liked the way the white kitchen would turn yellow in the end of a summer afternoon, when the sunlight hit it just right.

He liked the way the house always smelled like lavender - he couldn't really remember if there was ever a time it didn't smell like it.

He liked the unmatching furniture and the old carpets, and he liked the cat that roamed around the neighbourhood - he always left clean water and tuna outside when he was home.

But it was a simple house, one that didn't really fit his name now - he was a famous drummer with an expressive amount of money on his bank account, and it was weird for the women he brought home to find out that he lived in a pretty ordinary flat.

Also, since they filmed a few videos for News Of The World in his backyard, he knew it would get easier for fans to find out where he lived, so it was better if he just moved out.

So he started looking for a nice, fancy, modern apartment, with window glasses from floor to ceiling and a bunch of space between the all-white furniture. It would fit better with him now.

Now he was finally moving out - putting everything in boxes, organizing what he would keep.

It was easy at first - his clothes, instruments, and movies would all go to his new house.

But a few other things were harder - which books should he take? He hasn't read Dracula, ever - he just thought the cover art was cool. Should it go to his new place? And he didn't remember buying a copy of Wuthering Heights, but there it was. Should it go, too? He should probably try reading it.

And he started to move all of the records inside the box - Beatles, Sex Pistols, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, they were all coming. But he didn't remember getting a Simon & Garfunkel album.

It was only when he found a Fleetwood Mac record that he realized he never threw your stuff out.

Roger never really thought about it - you didn't break up in a fight, you were still in good terms, even though you never talk to each other, so it's easier for the both of you to let go of the other.

He kind of always expected you to come back and pick your stuff up - you had your life in London. You couldn't just turn your back to it and never return - but you did it anyway. But he still thought that maybe you were just busy, or you couldn't get in touch with him, and you were still planning on taking it back - it wouldn't be nice if he just threw it away.

And he felt attached to it, too.

This - the albums and the book - was the easier stuff, things that didn't scream they belonged to you.

That was separate from the rest. He sighed, and dropped the album on the box - he was taking Fleetwood Mac to his new place.

He walked upstairs, to the bedroom he once shared with you, and on a straw chest close to the window, under layers of duvets and bed linens, was a small box. He opened it.

The box was filled with things that unequivocally belonged to you - there was a copy of On The Road that was filled with your handwriting, your comments and thoughts all over the pages, and a rose quartz broken in half, too painful to look at.