Killer Queen | Ben Hardy

13. crazy little thing called love

    The rest of the day is a blur.
    I'm on a tour bus, watching Finn's Family Diner slowly fade into the distance. Then I'm on an airplane, staring out a small window and watching the earth beneath me. And I'm flying—flying high above the horizon—watching as London, my home for the past four years, passes before me.
    I actually did it. I left. The shock of it all has yet to subside. But sometimes it's important to take the risk before you lose the chance. Because life is happening right now, and I won't let waiting become a habit. I know now that I'd rather take the risk and see, than die wondering what could have been.
    I spend the day mulling over whether or not to to talk to Roger, but luckily, I don't have to make that decision quite so soon. Freddie does me the liberty of  keeping me separated from the rest of the band, knowing well that I'm not in the right mindset to speak to Roger. I don't even begin to process seeing him—or the rest of the band, for that matter—after these six long months. I'm too blinded by the nervous excitement that accompanies leaving one's entire life behind at the drop of a hat. 
    I have nothing to my name except for my baby-blue waitressing uniform and my ratty, old tennis shoes. Freddie assures me that I'll have everything I need once we get to the states. I hope that includes a toothbrush. 
    The boys informed me that we wouldn't have time make a stop at my apartment—what with us already being incredibly late for our flight. That also means Daisy has no idea where I am. I'll have to give her a ring when we get on the ground.
    Before I know it, our flight has landed and we've arrived at our hotel. Brian informs me that this is our last night of holiday, for tomorrow begins the tour. The band is beginning their tour in New York, and will travel across the country until they reach LA—my hometown. It kind of works out perfectly: maybe I'll stay in Los Angeles after tour ends. Well, I'll have a year to figure out that much.
    I give Daisy a ring on the rotary phone the minute I get settled. She doesn't take the news as well as I'd hoped. She momentarily breaks down in tears when she realizes she won't see me for a year. But I assure her I'll have her visit every month if she'd like.
    "Oh my gosh, please! I've always wanted to go to America!" she exclaims into the phone, practically bursting my eardrums with her shrieks.
    Well, at least she's stopped crying. I can't help but smile at her excitement.
    "But oh, Dani! I'm so happy! This job will be perfect for you," she says. "I'm only jealous that you'll be living it up in America while I'll be stuck here with Richard."
    "I know, and I'm so sorry to leave you so suddenly. But I'm sure that I'll have plenty of work to do here," I profess. I'll be doing what I love, but that doesn't mean the work will be any less demanding.
    "Oh sure," she begins with a hint of sarcasm. "Let me know how the parties are. Oh, and give Roger a kiss for me," she teases through stifled laughter.
    I roll my eyes at her comment. "I'm not speaking to him at the moment."
    "I wonder how long that will last," she responds—another sarcastic remark.
    I open my mouth to scold her but am interrupted by a knock at the door. That's strange. Freddie already dropped off everything I'll need to get me through the weekend—toothbrush and all. He promised to take me shopping sometime next week, because let's just say some of the outfits he picked for me are questionable, to say the least. But before he left he assured me I'd have no other visitors for the rest of the night.
    "Daisy, there's a knock at the door. I'll have to call you sometime tomorrow."
    "Okay, bye lovey! Don't have too much fun without me," she exclaims before hanging up the phone.
    I gingerly stand from my seat next to the night-table and walk toward the door. Without thinking to look through the peephole, I swing it open.
    Speak of the devil.
    "Roger, what are you-"
    I'm interrupted mid-sentence as he pushes past me and walks into my room—or, more like stumbles.
    "I need to talk to you."
    I'm about to scold him for barging into my room unannounced, and assert that I do not want to speak with him, especially after everything. "I told you I don't want—are you drunk?" I exclaim in anger as I notice the bottle of Jack in his hand.
    "No, well-"
    "Please, you can barely stand," I heave as I make my way over to him. I'm not in the mood to listen to his drunk babbling, especially when I don't care to see him at all. I easily take the bottle from his hands and sit at the foot of the bed, motioning for him to sit across from me.
    He gratefully sinks into his seat, happy I haven't kicked him out of the room. Yet.
    "Danielle, I just want to explain a few things," he begins in a doleful voice.
    But I hold my hand up to stop him. If and when he tells me whatever he has to say, I sure as hell don't want it to be when he's a babbling drunk. "Listen Rog, now that we'll be working together, I don't want there to be any hostility between us. I'd rather just forget the past and move on. We don't need to talk about it—we don't need to talk at all-" I begin rambling, but I'm quickly interrupted.
    "But I-" he begins, fumbling to find the words. "Fuck, you know that's not what I want. Listen, that night before I left, I-"
    I shake my head, not wanting to relive that fateful night. "So why are you drunk at-" I glance behind me at the clock on the wall, "Eight in the evening? It's rather early, isn't it?" I interrupt, hoping to change the subject. Hypocritically, I uncap the bottle and take a swig for myself, instantly regretting it as I burst into a series of coughs. That was a mistake. I've never been much of a whiskey girl, but I realize that if I'm going to get through this conversation I need some alcohol coursing through my veins.
    Roger stifles a chuckle at my sudden outburst of coughing, and I look at him with an expression that says 'watch it' before reaching over and setting the bottle on the night-side table.
    His smile immediately drops as he sees my warning gaze. He clears his throat before answering my question. "First of all, I wouldn't say I'm drunk," he begins with a tilt of his head. "I just needed something to take the edge off; I was going insane." He sighs as his hand reaches for the back of his neck.
    "Tell me about it," I mutter, my gaze dropping to the floor.
    A silence befalls the room, neither one of us knowing what to say. I know he hurt me. I know. And I'd never admit it out-loud, but having him here, sitting across from me, makes me realize how much I've missed him. God, sometimes I think I'm a fool. But maybe two people need to fall apart to realize how much they need to fall back together.
    "Danielle," he begins gently. I force myself to meet his eyes, finally ready to hear his words. "I know I promised I wouldn't leave. I just-" his words falter and his gaze falls to the floor.
    "It's alright, Roger. What's done is done." My own eyes drop to my hands. Where is my anger from only hours before? I want to force myself to hate him, but in his doleful state—I just, can't.
    "No, it's not," he shakes his head. "I'm a fool. I was scared. I've never been in a relationship—never cared enough to be. But when I met you, it was different. It is different." His words begin to quicken while his hand motions become more animated. "Listen, what I wanted to tell you that night on the curbside-"
    My eyes widen as I realize where his thoughts are going. I shake my head as I will him not to say what he's thinking.
    "I love you."
    I wince and shake my head in disbelief. He is clearly far too drunk for this conversation. He did not just say he loves me, not after everything he put me through. How am I supposed to respond to that? "Alright Roger, I think it's time to call it a night," I mutter as I push myself to my feet.
    "I'm not drunk, Danielle," he assures as if reading my mind. "I should have told you that night; I was a bloody idiot. But I was scared."
    I can't hide my wide-eyed expression as I walk toward the door and do the liberty of opening it for him. This is not happening right now. "Let's just talk tomorrow, alright?" I plead as I motion my hand toward the open doorway. "I don't mean to be rude, but please get out." My eyes are glued to the floor as I try to calm my suddenly quickened breathing. What is happening to me?
    Roger sighs, seemingly giving up, and pushes himself to his feet. He walks—more steadily now—to my place adjacent the open door. But why isn't he leaving?
    I force my eyes shut. Maybe if I pretend he's gone, I won't have to face this hurt. I feel like I'm caving in. All I want to do is cry or scream—anything. Because it's killing me inside. My thoughts are interrupted by the warm touch of his fingers lifting my chin ever so slightly. My eyes flutter open to meet the gaze of the boy that's caused me so much pain these past six months. The boy I told myself I hated. Yet all those feelings falter as I look into his pain-stricken eyes.
    He remains silent, but his eyes reveal so much. For the first time in half a year, I really look at him. I'm stunned by how beautiful he is. His blond hair falls effortlessly around his face, and I swear, his eyes shine brighter than any star in the sky.
    His brows furrow as his gentle hand moves across my jaw to wrap around the back of my neck. I can't help but lean into his touch, no longer pushing him away. His expression holds so much remorse, that all I want to do is lie and tell him that everything is okay. As much as he hurt me, I would never wish that same hurt upon him. Just the thought of it is enough to break my heart all over again. 
    "I know I'll never be able to say it enough, but I'm so sorry," he whispers, his eyes still locked on mine. "I just hope some day you'll be able to forgive me."
    I feign a smile—one so convincing, I almost believe it myself. "Let's just take it one day at a time."
    Roger's eyes flutter before falling to the floor. My response is obviously not what he hoped to hear. He sighs before nodding, finally meeting my gaze again to bid me goodnight.
    He vanishes as quickly as he appeared, but I almost wish he had stayed.

~•~

author's note:
hey y'all! nope, i'm not dead.
just finished my first semester of college so now i'll have plenty of time to write during winter break!
this story is just beginning so i hope some people still read it, lmao.
lmk what you think or suggestions you might want me to include later on in the series! ;)