𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 | roger taylor

XIV

I had very few complaints when it came to living with Roger, which was a surprise all in itself.

For the first thing, he could be a bit loud at times when he practiced drums, but it hardly bothered me anymore. Besides, hadn't I signed up for that when I moved in? He usually played during the day, never at night, which I was thankful for. Roger was a lot more considerate than I'd given him credit for.

The final, major complaint were the girls.

In the beginning, it was merely a girl or two every few days, popping in and out with barely enough time for me to say hello. As the weeks progressed, the numbers of women showing up grew. I never saw the same face twice- it was always a new, fresh one for Roger to play with. It was almost disturbing how many girls he went through. On one Saturday, I watched from my spot in the living room as one girl left, and not two minutes later another one showed up. Back to back they appeared, with no explanation whatsoever from Roger. I was at first disgusted and confused seeing them come and go, but after a while they were like white noise to me. Most of them were friendly.

But, every now and then, we'd find what Roger and I called a "bad egg." Don't get me wrong, I didn't like to lump women into categories, but once the nickname formed it just stuck. It started with a woman named Daisy who stumbled home with Rog late one night. Everything was normal until the next morning, when she stayed for the entire afternoon. We figured she'd even stay the whole night if we hadn't made up a crazy excuse to get her to leave. Once she'd reluctantly left, Roger had mumbled something about a "bad egg" under his breath, causing me to laugh. A handful of women would also give me nasty looks, which threw them into that category as well.

Despite the noise and the constant stream of girls, the good aspects outweighed the bad. Our schedules conflicted, so we weren't together every second, but during the rare time when it was just the two of us, it was good. Being around each other required no social exhaustion. It was easy to talk and exist around him, and I was so grateful it wasn't the other way around.

Furthermore, Christmas was just around the corner.

November had blown by in a blur of cold weather and new beginnings, and December had begun. We were only about a week in, but I was already thinking of Christmas. It was my favorite holiday. Back when I was a little girl, it was the one day of the year that my family got along. No matter what the circumstances, I could always count on December 25 to have no fighting or conflict. Christmas always brought me great memories, which was part of why I loved it so much.

It was currently a Sunday afternoon and I'd just gotten off work and returned to the flat. Although it was in the middle of the day, I found Roger passed completely out on the sofa, an arm over his eyes. I set my keys on the kitchen counter, rounding the corner to peer at the sleeping drummer.

His chest rose slowly in his slumber, arm carelessly tossed over his face, his mouth parted for breath. Roger was much softer in his sleep- as if that was possible- and therefore more innocent looking. He had a journal face down on his lap, and a pen stuck between the two couch cushions. I assumed he'd been trying to write and had fallen asleep in the middle of it.

Should I wake him, or should I not? I didn't have much time to ponder it, because suddenly he began to stir, arm falling away from his eyes. The blonde blinked a few times, my face coming into focus. Then, he smiled. "Watching me, hmm?"

It was an ongoing joke we'd adapted together. Since my accusation that first night, we'd accuse each other of watching the other sleep if the situation came up. For some reason, it often did. We'd stay up late together in the living room, me falling asleep in my makeshift "bed" on the sofa, and him doing the same in the overstuffed armchair. We were rarely asleep at the same time, so that gave us plenty of chances to keep the joke going.