𝙱𝚊𝚍 𝚁𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎| 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫

L

Rogers P.O.V

I couldn't stop thinking about her. I know how wrong it is for me to think about her like this, while there's another woman walking around with a ring that I bought just for her. But I couldn't help myself. It baffled me how pretty she looked, in the most simplest, basic outfit, bags under her greenish blue eyes, and smoke along with booze surrounding the air, as if she wore it like a perfume. She was just effortlessly beautiful, it was difficult not to think of her. But I knew I couldn't ever tell her. Not when I'm marrying Dominique.. Whenever at this point.

Dominique and I have been trying to set a date. But for weeks now, there's something that's been holding me back, and I was unsure of what it was. It couldn't be Ophelia. I was over her by now. Yes, I still find her pretty, but she's a pretty girl. That doesn't mean I still have any feelings towards her.. I could find a million women pretty and not have any romantic interest in them. It has to be something else. I'm over Ophelia. I am.

I was behind the drum kit, hitting the drums with zero effort. My mind was too preoccupied with everything that's been going on lately, and I could tell it was beginning to annoy the guys.

"Alright, I think we need a break. Rog, just go outside and have a smoke. Clear your head, so we can get on with our work, please." Freddie pleaded, holding his hand up to stop the music, turning around to look at me.

"I told you I was cutting down on the cigarettes, when Dominique got pneumonia. I don't want her getting unwell before our.. wedding." It was hard to form the words. I love Dominique. I really do. But for some reason, it's been difficult to announce that we're engaged, since I proposed. I don't know.. Maybe it's normal. I mean, it is new. It feels surreal to know that I'm actually getting married. But I still feel like I should be happier than what I currently am. Most guys who where dating a woman as beautiful as Dominique wouldn't shut up about their engagement, and would keep flaunting it and flaunting it. But everytime somebody brought it up, I'd start feeling tense.

Again, maybe it's normal to feel tense and nervous at a new engagement. Except it's been weeks since I asked for her hand. Surely the tension must subside by now at least a little.

"Roger, just go outside. Have a smoke, and spray yourself with that asthmatic cologne you keep using. Which stinks out the studio, just so you're aware!" Freddie said, as I rolled my eyes, standing up from my drumkit, to nick one of Fred's cigarettes, and go outside to smoke it, so it didn't spread around the studio. When I walked outside into the cold, London air, I didn't even have enough time to place the cigarette in my mouth, before I was bombarded by interviewers and news reporters. Some asked about Freddie, some asked about the whole band, some asked about what songs and albums we where currently working on, and some asked about me personally and my wedding.

I rolled my eyes, and walked back inside, even more pissed off that I couldn't get a chance to smoke my cig.
"The place is crowded with news reporters and such." I announced, as I walked back in, opening a couple of windows, as I placed the cigarette between my lips and lit up.

"Oh Jesus, again?" Deacy asked with a sigh, as I turned my head around from the window to look at him, nodding my head.

"Christ, do they ever stop for a second?" Brian asked, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

"Apparently not. Once you're in the fame game, this is what happens, darlings." Freddie said, as he took one of his cigarettes and placed it in between his lips.

"Great." I muttered out. I knew that since the beginning. But I absolutely resented the questions they had about my engagement and if I had set a date yet. Of course the times I was most pissed off at is when I wasn't really that famous, but still had news reporters asking me about my relationship with Ophelia. We'd made it in the papers a couple of times when we where together. Nothing really Major or newsworthy, just to alert everybody that Roger Taylor and his girlfriend were taking a fucking walk in the park, holding hands. And then there were a few papers asking why Ophelia had suddenly vanished from my life. I'd be followed around from time to time with questions thrown directly at me. And I hated it.

I was in a bad place when I heard Ophelia left. Word spread around quickly. Apparently Ophelia had called Willow and Willow told Raven and Morgan, who told Brian, who told John and Chrissie, Chrissie had told Veronica and Mary who told Freddie who finally told me.

So not only was I last to know, but the information got to me approximately 15 minutes after Ophelia packed up and left. Yeah. News travels fast.
Anyway, when I heard Ophelia had left, I passed time away with whiskey and cigarettes, wondering why the fuck I let her go so easily. All she wanted to do was make something of herself, and for my own selfish ways I tried to hold her back. Because I thought that when I became famous, she'd never need to work again. I'd buy her all the jewels she could ask for, I'd buy her any house of her dreams, I'd give her anything that her heart desires.
But that's not what she wanted. She didn't want anything from me except love. And she didn't want to just sit at home, bathing in jewels or go out. She wanted to make something of herself, and I just couldn't understand at the time, and then I lost her.