Killer Queen | Ben Hardy

9. somebody to love

I haven't seen Roger in six months.
It's been six months and only now do I realize the truth about that night months earlier. He was saying goodbye. It was the calm before the storm; he was giving us one last good night together before he left. Unbeknownst to me, his attempts were clouded by that subtle feeling in my heart that something was wrong. I think I knew he was leaving before he even opened his mouth to say goodbye.
It's been six months and I'm no longer angry. I remember the skeptical look in Daisy's eyes when he hadn't called for three days. She convinced me otherwise, yet I could see that she knew it was over. And I remember breaking down after one week without a call and catching a cab to his place. The spare key under the mat was gone, but I still didn't believe it. I think the doorman felt bad for me because he opened the door and let me see inside. And sure enough, it was cleaned out. It's like he was never even there.
Once the shock subsided, and I realized he was gone, the madness took over. Anger brooded through my veins until I felt like I was made of fire. I swore to myself that if I ever saw him again, I'd slap him in his smug little face. He doesn't even care about how he hurt me. He's probably off sleeping around every night without even giving me a passing thought.
He didn't even have the decency to properly say goodbye. What, did he think I couldn't handle it? Little did he know that the not knowing is so much worse. I'd rather him walk away once and for all than to lie awake at night wondering if he'll ever come back.
It's been six months and I'd like to say his absence no longer has an effect on me—that after these six months I've moved on. And at least during the day I can numb myself with blind anger, convincing myself I don't care. But the nights, the nights are worst. He's been gone so long that he's become a myth; his name is shapeless around my lips, like some phantom lingering at the back of my mind.
It's been six months and I've taken up smoking again—not that I ever completely quit. And on those fateful nights on the roof of my apartment, with a cigarette between my teeth, I want so much to tell him how curve of the moon reminds me of his smile. And how I believe in the fact that even the even the moon isn't always entirely whole.
Sometimes, under the glow of the moonlight, I can almost imagine his shadow standing in light beside me. I can't seem to separate myself from his memory.
It's been six months and he hasn't written. Not one damn letter in six months. And not one damn call either. He has my number, and if he wanted to talk he knows how to get ahold of me. The fact that he hasn't called only tells me one thing: it's over.
He's on tour. I only know because Daisy heard some people talking about it at work. But I told her I didn't want to know. Whenever word of the band comes up on the radio, I change the station. Or whenever I see something about them in the paper, I turn the page. If he obviously doesn't care about me, why should I care about him?
What hurts the most is the lie he told: he said he wouldn't forget about. He promised. But my own fears are exactly what came true, despite his insistence that they would not.

~•~

Sitting down with Mary is becoming more and more painful. We've grown close since we met more than half a year before. And we still find time to have tea every couple of weeks to catch-up. But it's torturous because our conversation always leads to him.
"Don't fret, Dani," she says as she scoops up the mail from the front porch. "I'm sure Roger's just busy on tour." Her voice doesn't sound too convinced.
I wince at the mention of his name from my spot on the chair. The morning rays shine into her enclosed front porch as I sip my tea. At least it's warm out.
Mary sits in her chair as she shifts through the mail. She comes across a letter addressed to her with Freddie's name in the return address. Her face lights up, but it fades just as quickly when she remembers I'm in the room. She glances toward me to gauge my reaction, not wanting to upset me.
"Another letter from Freddie?" I ask in a spiteful tone. I don't mean to sound harsh, I'm just so sick of it all. I envy her relationship with Freddie—they're so devoted to each other. Despite the dozens of letters Mary's received these past months, Roger can't even give me a single ring on the telephone?
"I'm sorry, Dani," she says with a doleful tone. She looks like she wants to say more, but I don't want her pity. And besides, there's nothing she can say that will make reality any different. Roger is gone and he's not coming back.
She sets the mail on the table, giving me the liberty of not reading the letter in my presence. I give her a frail smile. I want her to believe I'm okay, even though it's far from the truth.
That inescapable sense of dread weighs me down the entire walk home—and just when I thought things were getting better.
But how ever bad the day is, the night is worse. Daisy is staying the night with one of her flings, leaving me utterly alone.
The melancholy settles in, accompanied by hours of tossing and turning—my mind refuses to fall asleep. It's the kind of sadness that's intangible. An ache who's origin I can't quite pinpoint, but the pain is unbearable nonetheless.
As the moonlight passes overhead, and I finally fall into a restless slumber, I dream of him. I'm home, my real home, at the states. And he's there and we're together and we're happy. The picture is blurry except for his eyes. And in my wishful dream, I see forever in those eyes.
I wake, but I wish I hadn't. The pain is brand new; it's as if he left yesterday instead of six months prior. The worst part is the 'what if?' What if he didn't leave? Would we still be together or was his abandonment just an excuse to end things? I torture myself day in and day out with these insane scenarios, just in an attempt to make sense of it all—because nothing makes sense anymore.
I force myself out of bed, although I'd rather lie and sulk all day. I begrudgingly wash up and put on my robe—although I'm up, it doesn't mean I have to look presentable.
The other torturous gripe is the regret. I should have told him I loved him. I should have told him that night in front of my apartment because I felt it, and I know he felt it too. But none of that matters now.
I open the front door and step outside, walking down the hallway to the communal mailbox. Sometimes I just wish I could erase him from my mind, because although I'd miss his memory, I think sometimes it's better not to have to live with the pain.
I open the mailbox and pull out a stack of envelopes. I shift through the papers: bills, magazines, advertisements, more bills. But then my eyes lock on a letter addressed to me. I immediately notice Freddie's name in the return address line and my heart lifts. Before I can even take a breath, I tear open the envelope to reveal a postcard. On the front is a photograph of the Westminster Bridge with a caption that reads 'Greetings From Westminster.' I quickly flip over the card and read over the lines scrawled on its surface:

Dani,

He's a mess. Wait for him.

Yours,
Freddie

My eyes freeze over the words yet I can feel my heart racing out of my chest. I analyze each phrase. Even without a name, I know he's talking about Roger. But 'He's a mess?' What does that mean? And 'Wait for him?' Does that mean he's returning? Does that mean he misses me like I miss him?
Dammit Freddie, why couldn't he say more? I know he writes Mary page long love-letters nearly every week, and he can't manage more than nine words for me?
But no, I'm not angry. I'm elated. At least he wrote at all—it's more than Roger has done. And I was beginning to go insane from the silence on their end.
But does this mean Roger is coming back for me like the letter implies? Or am I supposed to wait indefinitely for a boy that could return tomorrow, or five years from tomorrow?
And the question is, if by some insane miracle he does want to rekindle our relationship, will I even agree?
He's hurt me so much in the past that I would be a fool to take him back, right?

~•~

author's note:
hey friends, hope you enjoyed!
and if dani seemed like she had major mood swings throughout, it's because she's going through a break up. so you know she's sad, then angry, then confused, the whole thing.
but anyways let me know if you liked!