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"𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮 𝐠𝐚𝐫ç𝐨𝐧"
𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤! 𝐌𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 just killing me! My eyes slowly opened and adjusted to my surroundings, I found myself to be in mine and Roger's bed, still in the same clothes I had on the day before. I look to my right to see if Roger himself was there, and he wasn't, in fact I don't think he slept there at all. Damn myself and my defenceless mind! I peel myself off of my sheets and stand but also wobble, I manage to steady myself and guide my way out of the bedroom, scaling along the walls. As I did, my nostrils were hit with the smell of burnt bacon and a panicked voice going, "Shit! Shit! Shit!" I giggle silently and make my way cautiously to the kitchen.
"The one fucking time I decide to fucking cook, it goes fucking tits up! Why can't fucking technology get fucking better so we don't have to fucking do it our-fucking-selves?!" he fumes while clattering with the plates and cutlery. I tried to hold in my laughter to avoid him realising I was awake and my headache getting worse, although he wasn't making it any better with the plates. "I can't fucking cook one bit of fucking bacon! If that fucking fire alarm starts-" Just as he said that and it was some form of irony, the alarm starts going off. "Fucking great! Now, Lolly's for sure going to wake up-"
He turns around and gets greeted by my humorous face, "Morning, bubba." "I- uh- I tried making you breakfast... it failed." he blushes. "I would never have been able to tell if you didn't point it out." I joke. He managed to get it to stop and breathed out a sigh of relief, "There! A bit of stress relief for myself. But this bacon, is truly cremated." My eyes filled with tears once I realised what I missed yesterday, instead of coming home, I went to a fucking pub and got wasted and high, I found solace in that rather than my own boyfriend and I felt like utter shit from it.
"So bacon and eggs is cancelled, because I used up all the bacon and I've just discovered that the eggs are a week out of date, so we may have to resort to porridge or toast, which do you want, my angel-" He stopped in his tracks when he saw the tears in my eyes, "Lolly?" "Roger... I'm so fucking sorry-" I sob and cry into my hand. "Hey, hey, hey." he soothes and comes over to console me and pulls my whole weight into him, my hands covering my eyes as they lean on his chest. "Come on, let's go and sit down." He leads me to sit on the couch and pulls me into his side.
My words were just repeating themselves, 'I'm sorry', I felt like a malfunctioning robot. "I'm not mad at you, my angel." he murmurs to me over my loud sniffles. "I just wish you had come home so I knew you were safe, you were gone for hours." "I know, and I feel like a complete selfish bitch because of it." I weep. "Don't say that." he soothes. "You're not a selfish, far from it in fact. The amount of stuff you've done for us, for the band, for your mum, for your brother, you're entitled to care for yourself once in a while and right now you need to. You're recovering from anorexia and quiet BPD and yet you still put others before yourself."
