More than just a friend || Roger Taylor

21- you'll always love them

24th June 1978

Tw- mentions of drug use, abuse

"Mum... I'm home." I yelled, glancing around the dim room to see there were no frames sprawled across the sofa after another long day working besides Natalia Crown- who was of course a stuck up actress who was too skinny to even stand up properly. "Is dad out ?"

"Yeah." She yelled back weakly, her voice sounding as if it was in pain. Dad spent every afternoon out god knows where, which in some ways was beneficial- until he came home out of his head with a temper far too fragile.

Filming was a bore. There was nothing magical about the experience, but luckily it wasn't going to last long. And nor was my visit home.

"You alright mum ?" I asked quietly, rushing up the stairs and then down the corridor leading to the bedroom door slightly cracked open. She was laying in bed on her side, her face in the opposite direction of mine, purposely not letting out eyes meet. "What's happened ?"

"Nothing." She coughed. "I'm perfectly fine don't worry."

I shook my head gently, walking around to the other side of the bed to see what she was clearly hiding, and found a bruise forming at her eye. I gasped slightly, my heart feeling as if it had dropped down as she lifted her hand to cover it.

"For fucks sake... he can't still do this mum." I whispered, taking her hand gently down from her face to further analyse the purple mark.

"It's fine sweet... I'm not bothered anymore. I'm just bloody fed up of waisting away in this bed, nothing to do. I feel useless."

"Let's go out then, me and you. Why don't we go shopping ? Do something fun ? Or atleast come with me to get a pack of cigs." I chuckled slightly, waiting with a patience bound not to last long for her to nod, which she did almost instantly.

I helped her out of bed, sitting her down at her dressing table practically untouched before I ran a brush softly through her dark hair. I didn't want to comment to much on the mark it was clear dad had left her, because if anyone knew what it was like I did. And I know I hated any attention being bought to it. So I instead let it play with my mind and not the words leaving my lips.

"Where'd you wanna go then ?" I asked quietly, placing the brush down besides her as she shrugged. "When was the last time you did actually go out shopping... or atleast to the supermarket or something ?"

"Far too long ago." She chuckled, taking the red lipstick she refused to leave the house without from her drawer, gently tracing it over her lips with almost no effort at all.

"Get dressed then... it's fairly warm out." She nodded, holding her hand out to let mine assist in helping her up from the chair. She walked slowly over to her wardrobe, clearly missing the feeling of glancing through the dozens of dresses after being stuck in bed for what I could only imagine to feel like years.

Mum used to love getting all dressed up when I was younger. Anywhere we'd go she would have to wear a pair of heels, and a bright red lipstick that livened up her smile, not to mention her need to wear a pearl necklace with anything she could. But she was an actress drowning in the height of Hollywood, so of course she felt the need to look like a plastic doll in any setting.

I left the room with the door slightly cracked, padding down the hall to my bedroom to find my purse and bag as she relieved her frame of the nightie she'd been stuck in. I grabbed the bag sat besides the dust collecting box of records, my lips curling upwards as an idea sprung into my mind.

"Hey mum..." I yelled slightly. "When was the last time you bought some new records ? Something other than Elvis Presley ?"

"Me ?" She replied, her voice becoming closer as she walked down the hall in a pale yellow dress to match the weather. "I can't remember."