30 reasons why - Roger Taylor

-REASON TWENTY ONE-

June 27th, 1979.

Rosie came home today.

It was late into the evening, and it took her hours and hours to convince herself that she needed to come home. Just after six, she had come to conclusion that she was erratic towards him. Like a crybaby, a spoiled bitch.

More importantly, she missed him.

The way he intertwined their fingers together despite being in the comfort and safety of their own home, his nose bumping into hers so playfully like a child and kissing her on the lips just because.

It became apparent that Rosie Špiljak would always give in to Roger. He was a god-like figure standing in front of her, her saviour and king of all potato dishes. She was always weak for him, and this time, she just broke.

When she turned the doorknob and entered their home, her duffel bag was immediately dropped to the floor to the sound of emptiness.

"Rog?" Her voice echoed throughout the house. Hands rolling up the sleeves of her sweater as she went to look around.

I was stupid. I was wrong because all I needed was you.

"Rog?"

You always said that you wouldn't leave me. And I believed you.

"Rog?"

I always imagined that I would be the one to leave. Not you. Come back—

"Roger!" Rosie's calls for Roger sounded like cries now. She was so weak and broken at the same time, it stressed her out even more to the fact that he wasn't answering any of her calls.

She rushed to looked through all the rooms in the house—bedrooms, bathrooms, garage, you name it—just in case for the worst possible scenario. Did Roger...?—no, he couldn't have.

He left her, that's for sure. Not in the relationship, but physically. Now, he was nowhere to be found, and Rosie was starting to overthink the possibilities. Was he dead? Did he, did he—

Her back met the hallway wall with a loud thump. She was scared. This is my fault. This is all my fault! If I hadn't been such a bitch and told him off, maybe he would still be here.

Jaw shaking, hands trembling, knees threatening to break—it was the worst. It was already bad enough to know that your boyfriend seemingly just left without you, but it hurt even more knowing that you might have lost him completely.

She was a fucking novice—if she had known that it hurt this much, she wouldn't have the thought of cutting it off with him. Now, she vows to never break up just as long as he returns with his arms around her body and remind her that thirty is not that old.

But it was disappointing to her knowing that she is twenty-eight and crying in her hallway like a fifteen year old.

She took out her cell phone and dialed Roger.

Rosie was disappointed in herself. This was not the Rosie Špiljak she intended to be—the one going around and being all independent and shit.

But she grew to know that was pure bullshit, because now, she really wanted a drink.

"Rosie?"

"Roger." Her voice cracked. She hated sounding so weak. "Where are you?"

"I'm at—wait, are you home?" Rosie nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see. "Shit, I took a flight back to Norfolk. Do you want me to fly back? Because I can if you want, I just arrived to the airport and—"