More than just a friend || Roger Taylor

45- life moved slow without him

25th January 1981

They always say new year new me, but after sharing my usual perfectly platonic kiss with Connie at midnight on the thirty first of December, I felt like a completely different person.

I'd had the addiction of Roger snapped from my grasp, even though I'd only managed to get a very brief taste of it once again, I knew now after the dreadful and horrendous comedown that i was clean from him.

Life moved slow without Roger back. It moved at a harsher pace when he'd left my life the first time, but for the most irritating and frustrating reason the days dragged on for years until they all blended into one. And it hadn't even been a month since I'd walked out his door.

Every time I saw even a glimpse of the word Queen or heard even a beat of one of their songs- every memory seemed to flood back. No details would remain unvisited either. I'd even think about our first dance in Freddie's house, our first kiss, our mornings on balcony's and sunsets at beaches and dances to Lennon and cheek kisses of reassurance and holds I would do anything to stay trapped in for the rest of my life. No part of mine and his story was spared- which just became a harsh amount of sting against the already gaping wound the slamming of the door had left. History was always more interesting to me than the future, but it seemed mine and his past haunted me.

But I couldn't say he'd been seeing much of me. Hardly any company was interested in hiring me, probably due to the pictures of me looking 'drunk and high' that the press had snapped.

I wasn't drunk or high- I was on the downward spiral of what I'll for the sake of simpleness, call a break up. But the paparazzi had caught me leaving Mel's office looking like a (in the words of The Sun) a mislead train wreck who needed to pack her bags and go home.

So not only had my life been deprived of Roger, it had also been incredibly dull. I'd still done few shoots, and Mel was unfortunately certain this wasn't the end of my career, but I hadn't even felt the need to leave the house. It was far worse that the first time Roger had left, and that's because the pieces weren't repaired and damaged again, they were crushed whilst still in desperation to be fixed- which is why the pain was undeniably worse.

Which is also why through everything I wound up sat cross legged in the middle of my bed with Toulouse on my lap and a box of tissues by my side watching the Aristocats.

Numb was a good way to describe it all. Nothing felt the same as it did before. I almost didn't want to process what had happened, and seemed to be on a loop of telling myself Roger would be back. He always was... so I gave myself that answer to defend my constant tears and severe symptoms of what could only be described as heart break.

Roger had taught me a lesson in life that I would forever cherish and value... one I shared with my mum in the time she was alive. He taught me that just because someone hurt you... it never meant that you could stop loving them. Mum knew that too. Even though the pain we suffered came in different forms from the people we loved- we still felt it. And we still loved them.

The day had slipped into night so peacefully I hadn't even realised until I glanced at my watch and noticed how far past two the smaller hand had traveled, and how I'd spent my day ultimately laying in bed with not a task at hand.

I hadn't had one disturbance through out the day, no phone calls or knocks on the door that would need my attention for that minute, until I heard a pair of keys that certainly weren't mine turn in the lock of the door. I sat up right and sighed a little, pausing the glow beaming from the box in the corner of the room as Toulouse let his curiousness beat him, leaping of the bed before padding over to the doors corner.