TIMING IS EVERYTHING

"..WASHED UP WANNABE ROCKER?!" - four

Melody's POV:

"C'mon, Mel, don't be like this, you know I'm sorry." Roger lazily sighs from the couch as I hot-headedly pace around, knowing full well that if I sit down I'll explode.

"Sorry doesn't just fix this, Roger, it never does, and I can't just ignore the fact that every time we agree to have dinner you totally choose work over me!" I pinch the bridge of my nose as I continue pacing, a loud thud coming with each step. 

My blood is fucking boiling over here and yet he stays as chill as a cucumber on the god damn couch!

Roger shrugs, "you know how important work is to me."

And with that, I stop, "then what am I to you, Roger? Am I not as important as your work? Am I just here to keep the house looking fucking presentable?! We don't go out, we don't spend time together, and let's not even mention the fact that we haven't had sex in only god knows how long! All you do is work, work, work!" I yell, balling my fists tightly at my sides.

Roger groans loudly as he sits up, "Well what am I supposed to do then, Mel?! Do you expect me to just quit my job?! I'm your-"

"'Boss first and fiancee second'; I get it, Roger, okay? I've been hearing you loud and clear about it since before all this interview shit started, but-"

"Wait, is that what this is about?! That fucking interview?! God, I always knew having you near those stupid Aussie idiots would-"

"This isn't about the fucking interview or the boys, you asshole, it's about me and you!" I huff, beginning to pace again, my anger and hurt hitting their peaks, "You never make time for me anymore, Roger, AND I'M FUCKING SICK OF IT!" I feel the familiar sting of tears in my eyes as Roger stands and storms off towards our bedroom, not saying a word or acknowledging my outburst. Coward. "Where are you going?!" I demand, though I very well already know the answer,

"I'm sleeping at Matt's tonight so we can both calm down. I've had a really long day and this is not how I pictured our night." He blows me off once again, dragging out his stupid brown suitcase full of pre-packed clothes.

It seems like this is how it always happens; we fight over something that's bothering me, he acts like it's no big deal, he leaves, he comes back, I blow him off and say I'm upset and need space, he comes back groveling after a couple days, I forgive him, then we go right back to how it was before the fight and the problems never get worked through.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

"Please don't leave, Rog, c'mon, we can calm down together, just don't leave again." I move towards him and let the tears roll down my cheeks, not giving half a shit about my appearance as I look up at Roger.

The only problem, though.... is that he cares.

He just doesn't care about me.

Roger's nose scrunches up in disgust at the sight of me, making me look down in embarrassment, "You've always been an ugly crier, Mel." He responds coldly, opening the front door.

"OH MY LORD! Is this what you've been doing? HANGING AROUND WITH A WASHED UP WANNABE ROCKER?!" Roger huffs, making me look up to see him pushing past none other than Michael Clifford.

And I just kind of stand in the doorway shocked beyond belief as Roger leaves for probably the fifth time. And as Michael Clifford enters my house for the first time, "You okay, babygirl?" Michael practically has to drag me into the house as Roger drives off, not actually caring much for an answer as he pulls me over to the couch. "Roger's just an asshole, Melody, okay? Don't listen to him, you're a fucking sexy crier." We both laugh at his obvious lie for a while, it's ridiculousness actually lifting my mood a bit.

But then realization hits me hard and fast; Michael could hear our argument.

"How much did you hear?" I ask, looking down at my nervously chipped nails.

"Enough to know that you need a night out with some fun, semi-non-asshole-ish-people." I look up at Michael immediately with an utterly confused expression, trying to determine silently why in hell he would invite me out after hearing all that and seeing all this.

He had to have heard us talking about the interview. I know it.

"Why would you want to take me out? Especially after hearing all that bullshit?"

"Me and the boys are here for another month or so for my community service and we go out every once in a while, tonight being one of those nights. And given your current...condition-" he looks me up and down, not showing either disgust or appreciation "-I think you should come with us."

I search his face for any sign of doubt, but he holds a perfect poker face.

 Am I supposed to just believe that I can trust him? I mean, I don't really do that whole trust thing... I think to myself, knowing damn well that it's true. How could I trust? I'm literally in the business of lying to get infor-

"C'mon, it's just a few guys and me going out?" His eyes get big and I feel my shoulders slump in defeat, all my doubts and worries flying away instantly.

I just can't say no to those big green eyes, "Fine-" he cheers, but I hold a finger up to quickly stop him "-but only if you take me to Taco Bell on the way to meet the boys."

A girl's gotta have her priorities!

He gives me a weird look, as if I'm the strange one here, "why Taco Bell? I mean, of all places why would you wanna go there?"

Stupid question. "I'm starving for some 'semi-good, non-authentic Mexican food'." I mock his descriptive skills, though I'm actually quite serious about the starvation part, "please?"

In all my years, I have learned two things; one, I can't do a pouty face for shit, and two, if you put your hands in a praying position and look as absolutely innocent as possible, you've got a 90% chance of getting what you want.

"Ughhh, fine. But only if you buy me a quesaritto." He crosses his arms, as if it's a difficult deal and he's getting a bargain. Idiot.

"Deal."