the drummer boy ❦ Roger Taylor

8

I spent almost the entire car ride crying quietly, eyes glued to my window. The trees blurred, both from the speed of the car and through my tear filled eyes. They were tears of anger, more than anything. How my own sister could leave me, knowing the dangers of going home with a random person.

Brian was driving, with Helen in the passenger seat. Roger decided to sit in the back with me, and had been rubbing my back comfortingly since we set off. It was nice.

"Hey, Julia?" He spoke quietly, ensuring that the two in front couldn't hear. They were too caught up in their singing anyway, currently to a rock mixtape from Brian's collection. I turned my body so that I was facing him, leaning my leg against his. He took this as an answer to continue. "I don't suppose you wanted to come for dinner with me tomorrow? You don't have to, of course. You probably have plans..." he trailed off, quickly becoming shy, which I hadn't seen before.

"Yes! I'd love to!" I replied, maybe too enthusiastically. His face brightened, and a grin etched onto his mouth.

"Great! I'll pick you up at 5?" Roger asked.

"Perfect."

-

Five o'clock rolled around agonisingly slowly.

I began to get ready at midday, showering and washing my hair by half past the hour. By one, I had straightened my hair, and by two, I had washed and re-straightened it again. I wanted it to look perfect.

The doorbell rang at half two. My mum was out, so I had to open it. There stood my sister, looking guilty and severely hungover. I leant against the doorframe in my towel, crossing my arms and waiting for an explanation. She was the first to break the silence.

"I'm sorry, Julia. I didn't mean anything I said." She said in a small voice. I knew that it was sincere; Deborah never apologised. Even when she accidentally killed our pet hamster when we were younger. Or when she slept with a boy I fancied.

Instead of replying, I turned my back to her and made a beeline to my bedroom, locking the door after me. I'd just continue to get ready, she can do what she wants.

-

At 4:50, I was waiting impatiently near the door. I actually had my face practically pressed up against the window, my heart stopping every time an unfamiliar car drove by. Fortunately, my mum still wasn't home, and Deborah hadn't come out of her room since she got back, so no one could see me make a fool of myself. When I wasn't looking outside, my eyes were stuck to the clock. Time was ticking incredibly slowly.

"What are you waiting for?" I heard a voice say timidly from the top of the staircase. Deborah was wrapped in her duvet, only her pale face peeking out of the cocoon. She shuffled down a few steps, before sitting down.

"Roger." I said bluntly. She pulled a face.

"Why?"

"Because."

The silence was cut off when I heard a car pull up to our house. Running to the window, I saw a familiar blonde exit from the drivers seat, a cigarette hanging in his mouth.

He looked incredible. He wore a black tank top, layered with a denim jacket. His jeans, a matching blue denim. I felt slightly overdressed. I scanned my outfit in the full length mirror next to the door; a floral mini dress with some kitten heels. Clutching my bag nervously, I shot Deborah a smug look and opened the front door. Roger was smirking, and I could see him noticeably look me up and down. Jesus.

"Good evening, Julia." He smiled, tossing the cigarette from his mouth and crushing it carelessly.

"Hello, Roger."