Addictions / Freddie Mercury

Seven: Stopped for No Good...

A Month Later
February, 1977

With a loud groan, I ripped the piece of paper out of my notebook and tossed it into the trash bin next to the counters on the bus. We had officially started tour, and were starting in America in the first half of the tour. The band and I, after a long argument two days after setting the first half of the concert in my hotel room,  finally decided on a decent set list for the tour but yet to manage a solo song for me and a duet song for Freddie and I. Freddie had suggested to me, privately, the night we finished the set list, that I should do a preview song from my next upcoming album. And me, being stupid, agreed.

Freddie lifted his head, his eyes fixed on me as he watched my rip out another piece of paper and throw it into the bin. I ran a hand angrily through my locks after I aggressively shut my notebook closed. The two of us made eye contact, and my cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment, looking down at my hands as he shook his head, continuing on with his things.

I know what you're thinking; what happened the night at the studio? Freddie and I worked on a few songs, drank a few glasses of wine, and talked about anything and nothing. We set our differences aside, and after that, we became friends. He mentioned to me that he didn't realize that I wasn't a, as he called it, "bad influenced druggie," whatever that's supposed to mean. The only thing I was happy about was the fact we could be good with each other, privately, and almost 'enemies' in the public. I didn't mind, whatever floats his boat.

Freddie closed his notebook that he was working in and got up, changing spots so that he was sitting next to me. His notebook sat in his lap as he took my notebook in his hands, which I didn't mind.

Oh, that's another thing, Freddie has convinced me that he was allowed to look into my notebook of lyrics whenever I needed help. How did he do it? I don't know. I wasn't complaining. Even though he told me that he had a hard time coming up with lyrics himself, he wanted to help.

"What's the problem this time?" Freddie asked as he flipped through the pages.

"All my songs are so depressing. There isn't one happy note in them." I explained. "I guess I'm not meant to have a happy bone."

"Please, dear, I highly doubt that's the problem." Freddie stated, giving me a side glance. "What's wrong with releasing a sad album?"

I scoffed. "Are you serious? You know the music industry, it won't fucking sell."

"What do you mean it won't sell? Plus, half of these songs in here are depressing, but they don't have to have a sad note in them."

"What are you saying?" I asked.

"Look, lets go to the one song you wrote about yourself." I leaned into Freddie as he opened my notebook to my song 'Drugs.' "It may be a song about getting high, but if you had a beat, like, add drum in it or- or add some of Roger's falsetto if you bloody have to! Do something that will make it... funky, as you could say."

I nodded, with a smile tugging at my lips. I looked up, and right then and there, our eyes locked and something flashed in his eyes. My stomach dipped as we sat there, staring at each other. Freddie's eyes flickered down to my lips, before they went back to my eyes. That's when both of us snapped back into reality, and pulled away from each other.

I shrugged, taking my notebook from his hands. "I can wait on that song. Besides, who wants to know about my drug addiction anyways?"

That's when we both felt the bus come to a slow stop. Freddie's head snapped to the front of the bus as his eyebrows furrowed. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Why are we stopping?!" Freddie asked frustratingly as he got up from his seat, walking towards the front.

I stood up in my seat as I watched Roger come into view, his hair messy and his eyes drooped. Brian followed behind, along with John. What's going on?"