Who Knows When (Joger/Dealor)

Chapter 57

After what felt like an eternity, which wasn't long enough, John pulled away and stared deep into my eyes. His glistened in the sunlight, but he remained calm, collected, everything I wasn't.

The bassist met Brian and Freddie's changing gazes and waved to them, and by then they'd both received the message. However, I had a feeling that Brian knew all along that this was how the trip would've ended, and how our return would play out, because although he seemed upset, he smiled at John and waved back. Freddie, on the other hand, stood still—hip popped out the side, arms folded over his chest, and narrowed eyes locked on the two of us. It was as if he was trying to telepathically communicate with John to change his mind. It's too late, I wanted to tell him, I've already tried, but the words got caught in my swelling throat.

John took one last look at me before escaping to the van, all the band members snapping back into position from watching us, curious as to what was going to happen. Would he decide to stay? Would he make me cry? Would Brian and Freddie get involved? They wanted a show, which I was convinced was the reason they kept recruiting our band members. Who was going to be next? Freddie?

"Where the hell does he think he's going?" the singer called out, his voice intentionally louder than normal and his hand tossed in the direction of the van that wobbled as John climbed back in, the door sliding shut behind him.

I picked my bag up from the ground and shortened the distance between him, Brian, and me, answering sardonically, "He's going places."

The guitarist frowned, muttering, "Of course he is," under his breath.

Just as Freddie was about to reply, Tim revved the van's engine—attracting all our attentions—and sped off, leaving us in the dust. The singer gasped in disbelief at the disrespect that had been tossed his way, dropping his jaw and bringing a hand to his chest. We stood there, speechless, as the vehicle shrunk in size. I tried to stay strong, reciting lies to myself in an attempt to hold back the emotions that wanted to take over, but I couldn't.

Telling myself that John never loved me couldn't hold back the tears that began to blur my vision, nor could telling myself that I never loved him stop the closing of my throat. I knew I loved him, and I knew he loved me, but what I didn't know was why he left, why he really left. I heard what he said, but the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice made it hard to believe him. Yet there he was, driving away with my mortal enemy.

I choked back a sob and tried to hide myself behind my hands, but my efforts proved futile. A comforting hand clamped down on my shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze before pulling me into a warm side, Brian's, where he wrapped his arms around me and held me close. I unapologetically cried into his shirt, too upset to notice the strange look I was receiving from my other band member.

"Go inside, Fred," Brian whispered as I clung onto him, losing the strength to keep myself up, "and put on some tea while you're at it, yeah?"

*****

Our empty teacups and saucers sat scattered about the coffee table, the three of us piled on the couch behind it and situated rather closely. Freddie and Brian sat towards the middle, Brian turned sideways so that he was facing Freddie and me, who lied across his lap, my legs propped up on one arm of the sofa and my hands clasped together on top of my stomach. I glared at the ceiling with stinging eyes, taking comfort in Brian weaving his fingers through my hair as we sat in silence.

It had started to rain outside, an ironically perfect outward manifestation of the heartache that consumed me whole. I listened intently to the raindrops hitting the windows and trickling down the gutters, wordlessly berating myself for being so stupid; for letting myself get hurt again.

I thought I was stronger than this. Since when did I let people dictate my life, my feelings? For as long as I remember, it was my way or the highway, then Tim and John came along and fucked me over. They royally fucked me over, and were they even sorry about it? I doubted it. Their heads were too far up their asses to see what their actions had done. It was like I meant nothing to them, even though they meant everything to me. God, how could I have been so stupid?

"You know, my mother used to tell me this one story when I was younger," the guitarist blurted out, a softness to his voice as he continued without invitation (for I didn't really care for what he had to say, and I couldn't imagine Freddie did either), "It was about this handsome young knight who fell in love with a princess—"

"Oh, oh, I think I've heard this story before!" Freddie chimed in excitedly, "The princess loves him back, but she doesn't realize it, right?"

"...Right," Brian agreed begrudgingly, trying to hide the aggravation in his voice with the loud clearing of his throat. "And so, they become friends, but because of the friendship that forms between them—"

"The knight can't profess his love to her!" the singer interjected once again. Both Brian and I shot glares in his direction.

"Wow, Fred, I didn't know my mum told you this story too," the guitarist sneered, his fingers running through my hair just a little rougher than before, "Why don't you tell the rest of it, since you seem to know it so well?"

"Or how about we just shut up and not talk at all?" I suggested, hissing at Brian's added pressure and sitting up ever so slightly out of his reach, turning my head back and leering at him through narrowed eyes.

A moment passed among us where we all exchanged looks, Freddie rolling his eyes in involuntary surrender and me lying back down as Brian heaved a sigh and continued as calmly as he could, "So the knight, because of the friendship he'd developed with the princess, was...ah, what's the words she used..." His voice trailed off, and we both could see that the singer was more than ready to provide the answer, so he raised a finger and silenced Freddie before he could even attempt to speak. Again, Freddie rolled his eyes, however this time, he crossed his arms over his chest too.

The two of us stared at each other, having our own little, wordless conversation in which we devised a way to escape this torture together while Brian struggled to find the words he wanted to say. Just as we shifted our bodies, though, ready to enact our plan, the guitarist gasped and shouted, "Humbled and speechless! He was so humbled and speechless by their friendship that he couldn't bring up the subject of his love. Until one day, he asked her, point-blank—

"— 'Is it better to speak or to die?'" he finished, Freddie mouthing the words with him.