𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 | roger taylor

XVI

December 25, 1972, marked my first holiday spent without my parents.

It wasn't a terrible feeling, but it wasn't a great one, either. If I could describe it one way, I'd say it was heavy. I truly felt the weight of my decisions on my shoulders. And although I liked the point I was at in life right then, my first Christmas without them reminded me that my life was far from perfect. If it was, we'd still be on speaking terms, at least.

Although I wanted to enjoy the day, a small part of me couldn't. I felt dense with regret that I tried so hard to suffocate.

I awoke Christmas morning to the sound of feet against the floor, and then a slight gasp, followed by a sigh. "Jesus," my roommate muttered quietly. "I thought you'd left!"

What? I turned on my side, facing Roger as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "Huh?"

"All I remember from last night was you getting angry at me," he began, shifting his weight. He looked extremely disoriented, and seemed to really be concentrating on getting the words out. "and then I woke up and I was on the couch. I thought you'd left me!"

I sat up, cocking my head at him curiously. "I wasn't that angry with you."

Roger barked out a humorless laugh. "You completely flipped. In fact, that's about the one thing I can remember."

"Well, I left soon after you threw that drink at me-"

"I didn't throw a drink at you!"

"- and you came home later completely pissed. You wouldn't get off the couch, so I helped myself to the bed." I shot him a smirk. "Happy Christmas, Roger."

"Oh yeah!" His face brightened. "Happy Christmas. I need a shower." With that, he turned on his heel and headed straight for the bathroom. The sound of running water was audible moments later.

Roger's bed was quite warm and cozy, and I found it difficult to get up. I was too cocooned in warmth to dare face the chill of the flat, so I hunkered down deeper in the blankets, my eyes falling closed. I don't know how much time passed, but soon the water in the bathroom stopped, and then there was silence. Then, there was a sudden weight on the opposite side of the bed, and my body jolted upwards.

Roger was suddenly beside me on the bed, hair sparkling wet, stretching himself out. "I could get used to this," he said under his breath, the words masked by a deep sigh of relaxation. "Were you still asleep, sleepy head?"

I adjusted my body so I faced him, eyebrows pinching together above my nose. "I can't help it. This bed... well, it's definitely a step up from the couch. How was the couch, anyway?"

"I don't remember a second of it," he told me truthfully.

"Mm."

"Let's just stay here all day, yeah?" Roger pulled some of the comforter over himself, closing his eyes dreamily. "It'll be the best Christmas ever."

"I wouldn't mind it. It's not like I have plans anyways." I didn't mean for the statement to come out so melancholic and self pitying, but it did.

"You're not going to your- oh, right."

"I don't think I was invited this time," I further explained, trying to brush off the lump that was starting to swell in my throat. "She usually calls to make sure I'm coming. Not this year."

"I'm sorry. But isn't that a relief? For you at least?"

I flipped onto my back, locking eyes with the ceiling. "I guess. It just feels weird, you know?"