Bad habits - Roger Taylor

The Blame Game

She took everything from me, and she didn't even care. At least Roger had the decency to act upset that day in the hotel when I had left, and in our brief exchange in the hospital following his overdose. But with her, I got nothing. It was like she wasn't human, wasn't feeling.

Letting out a shaky breathe, I grasped hold of the payphone box in front of me, using it to prop myself up. I felt strangely dizzy, like I could collapse at any moment. I squeezed my eyes shut, resting my temple against the cold, white wall, as I breathed through the pain shooting through my abdomen.

"Victoria, have you even called your parent ye- Holy Shit, are you okay?" Giles panicky voice questioned as he darted into the hallway, at my side in an instant. I shook my head, unable to turn my gaze up to look at him. I had to focus on my breathing.

"H-hospital" I managed to mumble between breaths, my forehead beading with sweat.

"Oh god, please tell me you aren't going to lose the baby" Giles babbled. I shook my head, the dreaded feeling of water whooshing past my thighs. It was happening.

"No, she's coming" I whispered, so quietly I wasn't sure if he had even heard me. "The baby is coming".

Deaky's (as in the John Richard Deacon) PoV

Roger's jaw whipped violently to the side as my balled fist connected with it, the force applied shocking even me. I had never been a violent man, never even considered the use of violence in any situation before, but fuck, he deserved it. He deserved so much more than that. 

He didn't even look shocked. He merely turned back to face me, his left hand slowly rising to cradle the right side of his face, the skin already turning a nasty shade of purple as the area began to swell up. Tears lined his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. He didn't do anything, didn't say anything. He just sat there, looking up at me in a daze, a broken man.

I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Brian was hot on my heels, pulling me back before I had the chance to inflict anymore damage on Roger. He didn't need to bother, once was enough. Roger would be able to sense my displeasure from that, knowing I wasn't a violent man, knowing that ordinarily I would never hurt a fly. I was a pacifist if you will. He had driven me to it.

I shrugged Brian's grip off me, sighing as I took a seat on the couch opposite Roger's bed, placing my head in my hands and running my fingers tersely through my hair as my brain tried to comprehend everything that had just happened, the adrenaline rush that had possessed me to punch Roger the moment I read that dreaded article slowly wearing off. I don't know why I had done that, why I thought it would be the best solution to the problem in front of us, but in the moment, it had seemed right. My brain had been unable to cope with the knowledge that I had let someone treat my dearest friend in the world like that, discarding her, pregnant, like a piece of garbage, literally feeding her to the wolves to save his own junkie skin, without serving them a slice of justice. I couldn't just sit back and allow her to be treated like that, I just couldn't.

If I did, I would turn out to be no better than any one of my bandmates.

They had all abandoned her, all let her down, in some way or another, knowing how much she needed them, but selfishly putting their own desires before her own. This was the first time I had sat in a room with Roger and Brian, my friends through thick and thin, and truly, physically hated them. This was the first time I had sat in a room with the rest of the band and felt like the best person here. Morally, at least.

Freddie rushed into the room, his mouth falling open in surprise as he took in the scene around him; Roger, cradling his disfigured, swollen jaw, a mirror smashed, with millions of glass splinters littering the hotel room carpet, Brian stood cautiously between myself and Roger in case one of us darted for the other. He gulped, for once at a loss for words.