Liar | Freddie Mercury

Chapter Twenty Eight

I felt like I was on the verge of tears.

I hadn't uttered so much as a single word to him, but here we were, in a taxi, on our way to the studio in the middle of the night. I don't even know how he convinced me to come with him.

All I knew was that it'd always been hard to say no to him, even when I was at my most confident.

I was anything but confident on this night.

There was a tense silence between us. He was staring out the window as large drops of rain painted the glass. His hands were restless in his lap, and his shoulders were raised up to his ears. He was nervous, probably as nervous as I was.

I wanted to ask him why he was so insistent on going to the studio to talk, when we could've done it in his flat. I knew for a fact that Roger was out for the night. Ronnie told me.

I opened my mouth, desperately trying to ask him about it, but no words came out. I tried again, and nothing. I felt overwhelmed and shy, like I was sitting next to a stranger.

I'd never felt so small before.

Somehow, those few weeks felt like years without him, yet it felt like I hadn't been gone for long enough. This was way too soon.

He felt like a stranger to me, but each time I glanced over at his face, a relieving sense of familiarity washed over my body.

Before long, we were there. Our footsteps echoed throughout the long, narrow hallways. He walked ahead of me, his hands in his pockets as I hung my head low, following him like I had no will of my own.

What could I do? I knew it wasn't wise to come here with him. I was so stupid for agreeing to this. I should never've stopped to look at his building, I should've walked away the second I laid eyes on him.

My head ached and echoed with my own loud voice as my eyes raised to his body, his hand on the door to the little studio as he pushed it open.

A few seconds later, I was sat on the couch as he stood before me, his bottom lip pinched between his index finger and thumb. His eyes hesitantly met mine, and I had to look away.

This was far beyond awkward, it was excruciating. For the first time in months, he had nothing clever to say. His dark eyes were on me, nervous in anticipation of what was to come of this night.

"Clarissa." My name left his mouth in a whisper, and he quickly rolled his eyes at himself, clearing his throat. "I didn't- I thought- I don't even know what to say." He stammered like an idiot. I frowned when my gaze settled on his face.

"I thought so much about you the last few weeks." He admitted gently as he stared down at me, and it was clear that he was racking his brain, trying to find something to say.

What was I supposed to say to that? I waited anxiously for him to continue.

It'd never been this tense before. It felt like the tension was forcing our words back down our throats. I'd never felt anything like it before. It was almost harder than the night I decided to leave.

"I- I-" he choked on his words, his head dropping when he couldn't think of anything else to say.

I waited for a minute longer, but he was just standing there, speechless.

I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to get out, my stomach was churning and I felt like I was about to be sick. I knew I wasn't ready to see him yet. I was so overwhelmed, my arms were covered in goosebumps as I shivered.

Surely it didn't have to be this dramatic, but I couldn't deal with this.

I pushed myself up, stepping past him swiftly, "I'm leaving." My voice was barely a whisper, my throat feeling like it was swelling shut.