When You Get The Chance (maylor)

Don't try suicide

Y'all are finna start sobbing, so grab some tissues and a blanket. It's gonna be one emotional rollercoaster. Don't shoot me.

Hello!
This is Brian.
I've come to keep a journal, as it helps to relieve stress and anxiety. I hope it works because I've got a lot coming.
Let me fill you in on the last month. The tour just ended, and we're all back at home. We share a flat to save money. Roger and I barely spoke, much less kiss. He's been avoiding me lately, so I've just been in my room. What's the point of coming out if everyone's busy and your boyfriend won't talk? I try to work on songs, but all I keep coming up with is sad stuff and depression stuff. Write more later... x Bri
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Freddie's POV
"Roger, where's Brian?" I haven't seen our guitarist come out in weeks, and we need to start recording. "Probably in his room, as usual. "Oh, well is he alright? We need to get recording our next album, and we can't exactly have no guitarist." "How should I know, we haven't spoken." Why haven't they spoken? If that couple broke up, the band will be in the toilet. "Go up and ask. Now Rog." The younger man grumbled and trudged up the stairs. Grouchy nut.

Roger's POV
Why did Freddie send me up here to check in Bri? He could've done it himself. I went over to Brian's door and knocked. "Brian, are you okay?" I heard a bit of shuffling before he answered. I hoped he would've opened the door; I miss him. "I'm fine Roger. Don't worry about me." Oh my god, his voice was shot and he sounded like he was sick, crying, and dying at the same time. "O-oh. Well, Freddie says we need to start recording the album." "I'm not feeling very well, I can't today." Now I was genuinely worried. If he was sick, he could get us all sick. "Do I need to come in there? Get you some tea, breakfast, anything?" Brian replied no, and I went back down. "And? How did it go?" "His voice is gone with the wind, and he says he's not feeling good. I offered to bring him something, but he refused. I'm worried Freddie, what if he's not alright physically, but mentally?" Freddie's brow furrowed, he doesn't like the sound of this either. "I'm going up there. I don't care if the door is locked, I'll pick it." He tossed aside the paper, and headed for the stairs. I lunged in front of him. "WAIT! If anyone should go, it's me. I'm his boyfriend, and you can't pick a lock if you tried. I can." I turned on my heel and walked up the stairs. I actually can pick locks, but seeing as I don't have a hair pin or a paper pin, I'm praying that the door isn't locked.

Brian's POV
Why is Roger and Freddie wanting me to come down? Roger doesn't care, and Freddie is too busy for people. I stood up with the little strength I had left. The bed was so comforting and warm, I just wanted to lay down and sleep forever. I shuffled over to the mirror and took a long look at myself. I was skinnier than ever, and my eyes were bloodshot with dark circles under them. I looked like a zombie.

Creaaakkk. My door. Shit.

"Brian?" Roger stepped into the room. I kept the curtains and shades drawn so there wasn't much light. "Bri, where are you? It's so dark, let me turn on a lamp." I could hear him feel his way around the room. "Wait, don-" flash. Light filled the room, and immediately my hands were over my eyes. "Bri- oh god." My hands were removed from my face, and I looked down at Roger. "Brian... what happened?" "Get out." I surprised myself, I didn't think my voice could be that strong. "What? I'm trying to help you!" He sounded so hurt, too bad it was all a lie. "Get out Roger. You don't love me, so stop trying to pretend you do." I hated to have to say this, but he needs to know what he's doing. "Oh, I don't love you?! You're the one who's acting all sad every day! I thought you needed your space, I gave you that!" Now he was getting mad. "You're not giving me space, you're acting like a baby who goes out partying every night! That's not how a real boyfriend acts! YOU DONT LOVE ME SO STOP LYING!"
"I'm not lying, Brian! Why can't you be happy for once in your life instead of moping around?!" "You think I want to feel like this?! Well I don't, okay?" "You never talk to me, so tell me oh wise man: how do you feel? Do we still even love each other?" Now I was pissed. "You never care about anyone except yourself! You hate me, that's why you don't talk to me! I don't want you to give me space, Roger, I want to be in a real relationship with you!"
"If you want to be in a relationship so bad, then why don't you tell anyone about it?! Or are you just too scared to take a risk?" Wow. That hurt. I pushed Roger lightly back. "You take that back right now! You know I can't tell anyone!" Roger pushed me back. I stumbled in the wall and damn I could feel my hip bones hit the wall. Well, if he wanted a fight, he would get one. "Yes, you can tell! You're just afraid to have someone say something that isn't in line with you! Push this anxiety and sadness thing to the side and MAN UP!" Slap. Roger flew onto the bed holding his face. I can't believe I slapped him that hard.
Oh my god.
I slapped him.
Roger came back at me and hit me square is the jaw. Oh that is it.

I shoved him- hard -into the ground and attempted to kick him in the shin. He rolled and grabbed my foot, sending me to the floor. He got up and tried to run for the stairs, but I grabbed his ankle and he fell. We were at the doorway by this point, and I grabbed him by his collar and held him against the frame. With one hand, I hit him in the stomach while the other dropped him. Somehow, he landed on his feet and elbowed me in the ribs. Holy mother of god, it was excruciating pain. Like someone has thrown a hammer into my side. The stairs were next to us, and with one swift kick, he fell down the stairs.
Freddie and Deaky were on the couch reading the morning paper, and when they saw Roger tumbling down the stairs and me with a bruised jaw, bloody hand, and tears on my face, they were horrified. I could feel their eyes on us, watching the scene, but I didn't care. Not one bit.  Roger was still laying on the floor, so I ran down the stairs. I put my foot on his arm, and for he first time he was scared. "Don't you ever say that to me again. If you do, I will break your arm so help me." "Brian, no! Stop!" John was terrified, but I wasn't lying. Roger looked at me with the utmost look of disgust in his face. "Maybe it'll be better for all of us if you stayed by yourself. Keep your filthy depression away from us." And that sent me over the edge. I steadied my heel on the middle of his arm, right above where the bone would be and-

Snap.

Roger screamed at the top of his lungs, and not even his falsettos were that high. His back arched, and it looked like he had just gotten defibrillated. It was terrifying. I stepped away and backed toward the stairs. Freddie and John ran over to Roger, who was rolling on the ground, screaming and crying. All of a sudden, the room was spinning. I stumbled backwards and sat on a stair. There was an overwhelming feeling of guilt and sadness, and it felt like the room was closing in on me. It wasn't the first time this had happened, but it was still hell nonetheless. I couldn't keep the tears back if I tried, and the worst outcomes of me and Roger flooded my mind. I eventually curled up on the stairs, and let the floodgates open. I didn't know how to comprehend what I'd just done; I couldn't.

John got off the phone and said something to Freddie, but I couldn't hear him. All I could hear is the overwhelming sound of how horrible I am as a human. Deaky walked over to me but I shot up. "Brian, why di-" "No, I can't!" I ran up the stairs, well, as best as I could whilst being in immense pain. I heard Roger still crying from the living room, and I locked my door this time. I looked at myself in the mirror once more, and sobbed even more at the sight of myself. My hair was a literal poof, I had a black eye and the left side of my jaw is purple, turning black. My lip was bleeding, and my knuckles have blood on them as well. Roger's blood.

I suddenly realized what a broken arm means for Roger. He's older, in his late 20s, and his body doesn't heal as fast as it does when you're a kid. His arm could take 2 months to heal, and the physical therapy could take 2 more months.

He could never drum again.