30 reasons why - Roger Taylor

-REASON SIXTEEN-

June 22nd, 1979.

Roger Taylor
Where are you? Our flight leaves at nine

Roger Taylor
Please answer

Rosie didn't come back last night.

In fact, she was nowhere to be found at all.

Roger thought she couldn't have gone that far after their argument last night, but he was wrong.

He had fourteen more days to make up three months of consistent arguing and an unhappy relationship, this was not going to help him at all. If this were to continue, they may not be together for long, and he would fail.

God, he can't let her go. The thought of that just seems...too much. He can't do it.

And even if it was for their own good, he just can't imagine a life without her. I mean, this is an eight year relationship—or rather, almost—to break it sounded too extreme.

Roger didn't sleep at all last night. He plopped himself in bed and keep tossing and turning to find the spot, but it proved useless as his eyes refused to shut.

It was all Rosie, Rosie, Rosie in his head last night. Churning round and around and digging up the worst case scenarios from the back of his head. The worst one being that she fucking left him in Santorini. Like, really left.

He thought about her actually leaving him this time, no note, no late kiss, no nothing. The whole idea of it hurt him emotionally, almost physically as his hand comes on top on his heart.

He knew it was really unlikely, but it kept nagging at his shirt as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Their bags were packed and zipped, sitting near the door for their departure in just a few hours. It was now six in the morning, and Roger couldn't stop shaking. He lost his girlfriend in Santorini (maybe really lost her), and there's nothing he can really do. Rosie's not answering her texts, didn't return, and he hadn't seen her at all since she left.

It was starting to resemble a missing persons case—you know, the ones where someone disappears under strange circumstances that don't add up, and God, Roger really hoped that wasn't the case.

He had his phone in his hand, fumbling with it until they had somehow found their way to his calls.

Now calling Rosie ❤️!

No answer, still.

He let the voice operator do its thing and heard the long beep.

"Hi, Rosie. It's six o'clock in the morning right now, and I'm really worried about you. You didn't come back at all last night like you said you would, and I know because I didn't sleep. Our flight leaves at nine, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, and all I'm asking is...just come back."

Roger was torn.

He can't seem to figure out if their relationship is doomed or if there's hope because now, everything is fall in his world. There is no Rosie, and there is no relationship, and there is no wedding, no kids, and his head is starting to hurt.

Suddenly, he starts to regret all the time he left her in the house. It was always I'm going out with the boys, ljubav four days out of the fucking week, and every time he came back, it was ten o'clock. And with no emotion or love whatsoever, he brushes his teeth and dresses into just sweatpants as he crawls into bed with Rosie. The opposite side.

But there was one time, he came home drunk. Obviously he didn't drive himself home (John did, thank God), but he stumbled into the living room with a goofy smile and almost like magic, she met eyes with him.