Killer Queen | Ben Hardy

6. white queen

    Roger was right: everything is changing.
    With two new members joining, Smile is completely reinvented. Even a new a name labels the group: Queen, a title coined by the lead singer. With Freddie joining that bizarre Friday night, and John, the new bassist, being picked up after a mini audition, the quartet is complete.
    The actions that follow their commencement seem surreal; the band is quickly picking up steam. One week they're being signed with a recording company, the next they're beginning to record their first album.
    But while their lives dramatically shift, mine remains stagnant. Week after week, I work the same nine to five day, having to pick up more shifts after the landlord raised my rent. What a tool.
    Luckily for me, my fears about Roger are far-fetched. Despite both of our busy schedules, he stills finds time to call whenever we can't see each other in person.

~•~

    After work, Roger picks me up, planning to take me along for a late night recording session at the studio. I love watching the band record: their music is so intricate that it's riveting to see the thought process that goes into each piece. It's one thing to listen to only the music, but it's a whole new experience to see how it's made.
    I stub out my cigarette when I see his van pull up, quickly hopping inside. I look a mess with my dark hair pulled into a lazy bun, sporting a baby-blue mini-dress—with coffee stains and all. As part of my uniform, my once white tennis shoes now look more brown from all the dirt and grime accumulated during years of work. On the other hand, Roger looks amazing, his hair falling perfectly to frame his features while wearing sweatpants and a red t-shirt. Then again, maybe I'm a bit biased.
    He drives his second-hand Lloyd, not the most appealing car, but he bought it for cheap and it gets him to where he needs to go. The commute is only ten minutes, and I'm finally starting to relax after my stressful day at work. 'Close to You' is softly playing on the radio while the dark sky from the early setting sun closes in on the van. Roger's hands rest on the wheel while I angle my knees to the right, subconsciously shifting closer to him.
    His eyes are on the road, yet his hand extends out and trails down my leg, landing on my knee. A fleeting feeling, as he soon shifts his hand back toward the wheel.
    Beside the occasional hand hold or friendly touch, he has yet to make a move. In hindsight, we are always in a group when we're together, and I'm not the most forward in terms of the physical stuff. Sometimes I wonder if he's even attracted to me at all; I've heard he's a 'player,' but none of his actions have shown me that side of him. Not yet, at least.
    "Mind if we wait in here until the rest arrive?" He asks as he pulls into a parking spot near the front of the building.
    I shake my head no, which he sees from the corner of his eye. He turns off the ignition, the only light now coming from inside the studio building. I turn my head to face the boy, submerged in the dusk from the early setting sun. Even in the haze, his ocean-blue eyes still bore into my own. I could look into those eyes for forever.
    The thrum from the car has subsided. Now in complete silence, I realize this is the first time we've been alone since that drunken night in his apartment. The revelation is chilling, yet exciting. I shiver, though partially from the cold.
    "Do you need a jacket?" He asks, already unbuckling his seat and reaching into the back of the vehicle.
    I'm fixated on him; I watch as the muscles in his back tense as he strains to find the article of clothing. Snap out of it, Dani.
    "Here's a blanket," he offers as he wraps the wool around me. The heating in his car doesn't work, so this is the best he can do for the time being.
    I'm still foggy from working all day, and I only stare silently as he tucks the fabric around my body. Maybe it's just me, but I notice his hands linger just a little too long on my waist and thighs. But soon he leans back in his seat—I wish he wouldn't.
    "Thank you," I mutter and he meets my eyes. I swear, his gaze knocks the breath out of me every single time.
    For the next fifteen minutes, I tell him how work was: shitty. And he tells me the songs he's working on with the band. We both find ourselves drawing nearer to each other, only separated by a small barrier between the two seats.
    "Roger, what do you think's going to happen?" I ask suddenly, interrupting his anecdote about earlier in the studio. I fight it, but my worst enemy is coming back to haunt me: my own thoughts.
    Roger can sense the nervousness in my voice despite my plastered on smile. He stops his story in confusion. "What do you mean?"
    "After you become famous—after you make it?" I continue, attempting to smooth over my voice. I smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes.
    "I assume we'd go on tour."
    I nod once, no longer able to mask my fear. "You'll leave. You'll leave and never come back." I'm exaggerating of course, but I can't hide my worry. After only a month, I already feel so attached to this boy; now that he's in my life, I can't imagine him not being there. It's unbearable.
    Roger shakes his head with a furrowed brow as his hand instinctively reaches for my face. "Of course I'll come back." His fingers cradle the back of my neck while his thumb lightly moves over my jaw—a touch that feels like a whisper across my skin. "Honestly, you're the only thing that's keeping me here."
    His words strike a chord in my being. My heart flutters as he takes his same hand and tilts my head up, ever so slightly. I'm holding my breath; I'm frozen in time. His eyes, inches from mine. And his lips—
    He's leaning in and all I can do is shut my eyes and await the ecstasy. The whisper of a kiss is placed on my lips—a movement so gentle, like I'm a piece of glass he's afraid to shatter.
    He pulls away only to gaze into my eyes. I want to drown in those blue lenses. And then he's back, pulling me closer. I want this moment to last forever. Our heads tilt as our lips lock, like two puzzle pieces finally finding their match. My fear is gone. My worry is gone. Everything melts away and it's just him him him. I can't get enough.
    A tap at the glass causes us to jump apart. I'm in too much of a daze to notice Roger roll down the window.
    "What are you two lovebirds doing in there?" The voice belongs to Freddie who pokes his head through the open window. He makes sure to look at each of us before breaking into the goofiest grin.
    My cheeks burn red, yet I chuckle at his question. Well, I guess the moment's over.
    Roger is less than amused. "Fuck off, Freddie." He begins rolling the window back up, and the singer pulls his head out with a chuckle.
    When we're alone again, Roger turns back to me. He looks exasperated and I can't help but smile and shrug.
    "Time to go inside?" I ask, my hand on the door handle. There's nothing more to say—not with the rest of the band obviously staring at us from beyond the front door of the building.
    Roger nods, "Yeah. Let's go in." For a moment he looks like he wants to say something else, but he ends up turning and opening the car door.
    I guess there are some things he'd rather leave unsaid.

~•~

author's note:
thank you all for reading! please vote and comment if you'd like to read more! :)