Show me the stars that live in your eyes (A Maycury Story)

Chapter 7: Anticipated Phone Call

"Now there's no welcome look in your eyes when I reach for you"

The music resonates through the room, bounces on every wall. Freddie has put the song on a seventh time, embarrassed shame filling him; he's being ridiculous. His whole state is ridiculous. He's been living off of the worst tasting pea soup and glasses of the cheapest wine he's found. It's not like he has much choice with how short he is on money. He knows his mum would give him money, but he hasn't dared going back to his parents' house, not after last time; he doesn't want to have to realise even further how much he's disappointed them.

"And now you're starting to criticize little things I do"

It's been 10 days, 5 hours, 18 minutes, 37 seconds—an eternity—since he's seen Brian. He doesn't cope well, can't handle not seeing a guy he barely knows as if they're lifelong friends. It's only been 10 days, but it feels like it's been years. Freddie regrets not asking Brian for his number back, he wouldn't have had to wait for so long. Thinking about it, maybe it's the best idea he doesn't have it, if Brian had called earlier, it would have shown him he wants to see him, but if Freddie had called himself, he would have imagined for way too long that Brian cares about him.

"It makes me just feel like crying"

He's been lying in bed for far too long, feeling sorry for himself because Brian probably doesn't like him like he wished for. He's been miserable for far too long, writing tearful, stupid lyrics, painting things way too dark and listening to the saddest music, as if he's trying to get over a painful breakup. There was never anything, just a few cuddles, a few kisses. The thing is that Freddie yearns for those things too much, so he falls for anyone that gives him that easily, then he falls flat on his back when it doesn't work out or when the guy never calls back, never turns up again to the same bar. No one has ever stayed long enough to show him what being with someone truly is like—excluding the times with women because he wasn't happier in those, even being with a nice girl wasn't enough to make his heart feel warmer, it never helped to make the unbearable loneliness go away. Maybe he isn't made for relationships, he should have expected it when he decided to become the person he wants to be, he should have expected that maybe no man would want him that way, for more than just his cock and his talented hands.

"Cause baby, something beautiful's dyin' "

Maybe it's for the best that he isn't likeable enough to get anyone, maybe it's for the best that he can't find a band, someone to sing for. Maybe it just means that none of this is meant to be, that he can't find anyone to look at him like he's hung the moon and the stars because he would ruin it eventually, or because it's better to be spared from the heartbreak that will eventually follow. Maybe he can't find a band because his father is right, because it would never get him anywhere near success. Maybe it's for the best that nothing is working out like he wants things to be, at least maybe his parents would less think of him as a failure and more as their own honorable son.

He knows he's just fooling himself, they'll never be anywhere near proud of him. He could be working 80 hours a week and they would still call him lazy, he could be dating a perfect English woman and they would tell him she's not Indian enough.

"You lost that lovin' feelin' "

"Oh, shut up!" He shouts.

He gets up from his bed, removing the needle from the record delicately despite his boiling anger. He can't listen to the song anymore, he's sick of it, sick of pitying himself. He hates pity, even when it's his own. Fuck Brian, fuck trying to do something out of his miserable life, fuck the entire world.

His eyes sting, it's too dry in his room, he shouldn't smoke in there anymore, it makes him nauseous. It makes his eyes water. It's the only reason his eyelashes are getting damp.