Don't Talk! (Freddie Mercury / Queen)

38. I Can't Set You Free From Me

F.M
Munich, Germany
August 24th

Why the fuck was Hayes hanging about the club if he was hellbent on avoiding me?

Yes, yes, hello, as if I had been chattering his ear off.  All I did was politely greet him, and Hayes acted as though I was some overeager twat that he desperately needed to get away from. He was now even mingling with journalists, people he regularly used to complain about to me, just so that I couldn't approach him.

Hayes was definitely aware that I was skirting about, trying to catch him for a moment, which is the only possible reason he decided to chat with a few of the tabloid writers. They were practically barbed wire. I used to regularly wind him up by suggesting he was in the same group as the Sun and Daily Mail. I don't think there's a quicker way of pissing a real journalist off than by likening them to a tabloid one.

Yet right now Hayes was much more comfortable speaking with a Daily fucking Mail journalist than me.

"Is Hayes wearing a leather jacket?" Phoebe whispered, "Is this the equivalent of a woman getting a new haircut after a breakup?"

"Yes." I replied.

I saw it in his wardrobe a few times, stuffed in the back with any other article of clothing that wasn't cashmere or a luxury suit. It seemed like Hayes was switching things up now. The jacket was rather faded when I found it, as it was now. Phoebe and I used to have a bet on as to whether or not Hayes had worn normal clothes in his twenties. There was no evidence to back either of our theories. Yet.

"He also got the haircut though."

"Well yes Phoebe, I think in six months the man would get his hair trimmed."

I was unable to stop my tone from dripping with the clear irritation this situation caused. Irritated because Hayes wouldn't speak to me, and irritated because I only had myself to blame. I was aware of the fact that I missed Hayes, but was able to temporarily bury it under my recent busy schedule. Nothing could help bury the feeling now that Hayes was in the same room as me.

Phoebe was unruffled by my pissy attitude, "I don't understand why he's sticking around if he's not going to let you talk to him."

Exactly!!! "Because he's now clearly a fucking social butterfly by the looks of things." I growled and let my gaze dart around the club floor, "I need another drink."

Yes, Hayes was always charming in a sort of unassuming way, reserved until he popped out something funny. Now it seemed as though he had finally caught onto the fact he was this bloody glorious looking man with a good sense of humour and was going to town with it. Why does confidence have to make people more attractive? Who decided on that stupid notion?

"You and alcohol haven't mixed well with Hayes in the past." Phoebe noted in a clear attempt to steer me away from acting foolish.

I knew that Phoebe was either referring to the time Hayes and I fell through a table after a gig, or the time I copped off with someone else in an attempt to push Hayes into admitting we were together. Both were stupid. However, all I could think of was the messy drunken night a few months ago that cost me Hayes.

"I should leave him alone." I mused aloud, "Shouldn't I?"

"Probably." Phoebe agreed.