“That can’t be right. It must be a mistake.”
My shaky fingers quickly flipped to the page that chapter started on. The title still read Illness and Death, but what caught my heart in my throat was the picture on the page adjacent to it. It was of a middle-aged version of me, sickly and pale. I looked like a walking skeleton. I was fighting myself internally on whether or not I should read what happened to me. In the end, I chose not to and slammed the book shut and threw it on the other side of the couch.
My blood was boiling. She knew didn’t she? She had to have known; she was a big fan of us, of me. The girl I loved knew I was dead and she didn’t even tell me. A queasy feeling was churning in my stomach, telling me I needed to run to the bathroom quickly. My jittery legs took me up the stairs, and I threw myself against the toilet and wretched into it. After a few moments I wiped my mouth and managed to make it to the guest bedroom where my bandmates were still asleep. I flopped face first into my bed and cringed into my pillow. My stomach was still uneasy, but there was nothing I could do about it. I was bound to feel this way forever now, knowing my fate. My eyelids relaxed, and I eventually fell asleep with the nagging thought in my head.
I’m dead…
Brian POV
The sound of whistling had shook me from my sleep. I sat up in my bed and looked around. Deacy’s bed was empty, Roger was still softly snoring in his, and had actually found Freddie asleep in his own bed for once. It was strange that Deacy was up before anyone else; normally it was the opposite. I got up and walked down to the kitchen, where I had found the bassist shakily picking up the kettle and setting it on a hot pad.
“What are you doin’ up so early, Deaks?” I asked.
He then turned around to face me, and he looked absolutely awful. His whole body was pale and covered with gooseflesh. The tip of his nose was bright red, and his usually bright and timid eyes were drained.
“I feewl like shibt.” John said rather stuffily.
I frowned. Deacy didn’t always get sick, but when he did it was painful to watch. It’s like caring for a sick puppy; you watch over him all the time until he’s better and back to his playful self. Roger and Freddie could barely tend to themselves when they were sick, so it was up to me to make sure they got better. Not that I’m complaining, I really don’t mind.
I put my hand on his back and lead him over to the couch. “Just lay down and I’ll take care of you.” I said gently. He did as I said and laid down while I ran quickly up the stairs to the linen closet to grab some clean pillows and blankets. When I returned, I propped a couple pillows under Deacy’s head and tucked the thick blankets over his cold body. As I was doing so, my fingers hit something hard under his back.
“Sit up a bit, I think you’re laying on something.” I commanded softly. John arched his back slightly, letting me slip what I found to be a hardcover book out from below him. I set it down on the end table next to the recliner and made Deacy lay back down. Then I walked over to the kitchen and searched the cupboards for some tea. There was a box of honey lemon in the far corner which I managed to grab on my tippy-toes. My fingers cracked open the dusty box and I poured hot water from the kettle into a cup, dipping a tea bag into it. I set the cup down on the coffee table on a coaster where the ill bassist could reach it easily. He was laying on his side facing the wall and still shivering, so I wrapped an extra duvet snugly around him.
“Tea’s on the table if you want it. Shout if you need me, I’ll be nearby.” I said with a gentle pat to his back. He grunted in reply and I waltzed over to the recliner in case I was needed. Out of the corner of my eye the hardcover I had retrieved from the couch had caught my attention. It wasn’t until I had decided to pick it up and read it to pass the time that the person on the front cover looked all too familiar. Looking at me from over his shoulder was none other than Freddie with his name as the title sitting next to him. I smirked at how well his regal attire suited him. My fingers skimmed through the pages, glancing at the words and photographs every so often. My thumb suddenly stopped on the start of one of the last chapters. It took me a few moments to process what I was seeing, because quite frankly I was stunned.
Chapter 11: There's No Reason For Living With A Broken Heart
Start from the beginning
