𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 | roger taylor

XXVIII

August 10, 1973

"You alright?"

The voice that spoke was quiet in my ear, and possessed a refreshing softness. I turned to the curly haired man at my shoulder, sending him a grateful smile and a shrug. "I'm okay."

Brian's eyebrows shot up as he fell into step beside me. The air felt different tonight- it was warm, the wind active as it struck against our exposed skin. A starlit sky greeted us, after several nights of fog. I peered up at them as the six of us walked along a crowded sidewalk.

"You've been quiet lately," he gently pointed out. To lighten the mood, he playfully elbowed my side. "Haven't seen you much, either."

I bounced around the statements, knowing how curious the boys were about my frequent absences. "I do have a job, you know."

As much as Freddie pried and as Brian hinted, I refused to divulge them too much into what was going on. I figured they could tell, though. Every exchange between Roger and I was colder than usual. Brisk and short. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. We were young- the honeymoon stage was supposed to last longer.

Yet there I was, walking beside the guitarist rather than my boyfriend, who was several steps ahead of us.

The conversation had drifted towards the pub and restaurant we were moving towards, how starving everyone was and how eager they were to play pool. Another successful gig preceded us, and the boys were full of energy from the on stage high. The place finally came into sight, and we filed inside, the bustling noise greeting our ears.

To our great fortune, there was a large, circular booth available towards the back, and we all jumped on it immediately. Briefly, I locked eyes with Roger, assuming we'd had an agreement to sit by each other. The blonde instead looked away as if he hadn't noticed, sliding in between Mary and John.

I bit harshly down on my tongue, sitting down at the end beside Brian.

Just when I thought we'd agreed to be civil in public, he proves me wrong once more. Being at home with him was bad enough. The constant silence and avoidance of each other; whenever we'd try to have a conversation, it would end sour. And now, there was clearly no escaping it.

Dinner couldn't possibly go by slow enough. I stabbed- almost angrily- at the salad I'd ordered, a new fury entering my veins. It was as if I'd gone transparent, how easily Roger ignored my presence. What could it be about this time? The question banged restlessly around in my brain.

We'd had a spat earlier, only a small one. He'd made a bitter comment on whether I'd actually show up to this gig. I'd given him a fierce look, nodding at the outfit I'd draped over the chair.

"I planned on it," I'd remarked, eyeing him with aggression. "Unless you'd rather I stay."

Roger only flashed an emotionless smile, brushing past me and down the hall.

My meal was only half finished when I pushed it away from me, sinking low in the booth. My heart felt heavy all of a sudden, and that along with my anger was not a good mix. Brian glanced quickly at me, deciding against what he was planning to say. Smart idea. Instead, the guitarist gave my shoulder a warm squeeze. The gesture was so comforting I wanted to cry.

I went home earlier than the others- they'd gotten caught up in a game of pool, which I'd willingly steered clear of. I'd briefly watched them from the sidelines, holding my arms around myself in a physical effort to keep it together. After ten minutes, I slipped away and called a cab. They didn't notice me leave.

-

I was in and out of sleep all night before the August sun finally woke me up. Automatically, my hands reached for the opposite side of the bed, expecting to feel Roger there beside me. Instead, I only grasped cool sheets, and my eyes shot open with the shock of it.