Bed of Roses

Chapter 8

But it wasn't. The camera crew constantly invaded their personal space and shyed them away from interacting with the fans as much as they'd usually do, and the lighting staff missed cues constantly. You could see the boys anxiety turn into anger as the show progressed, Brian and John's shoulders becoming more tense, Freddie's movements becoming more charming and quick - as if to compensate for the rest of the show's problems. And you noticed how Roger was hitting the drums with anger, flicking the drumsticks constantly, his concentrated frown turning into an enraged one.

And then John got a bit closer to Roger and you read his lips saying "Back off", and you stopped dancing to their Elvis cover. Roger finished his part of the song and started kicking and pushing his set off the drum risers, a cymbal missing Freddie's hair by an inch.

He barely looked at you before moving to the dressing room, and you exchanged a quick look with Veronica - the one you were the closer to - before following him, the rest of the band also running to the dressing room.

"What the fuck was that? Why was the camera crew in our way? Why did you change the lighting crew? What the fuck was that?" Freddie screamed at the producers, and the rest of the band just looked at them with anger.

Freddie continued to scream at them, and after the producers left, he turned around to look at the band. "Thank you for having my back in this conversation, all of you. It seems as if I'm the only one angry at this fucking mess", he said, looking at Brian and John, who sat in a couch with their girlfriends caressing their arms.

"And you! What the fuck! You missed my head by a fucking millimeter! Are you insane?" he turned at Roger and screamed at him. He was sitting alone at an armchair, his head between his hands.

"C'mon, Mary. Let's get to this after party already", he said, and they both left the room. Brian shot a death glance at Roger, visibly annoyed at him for throwing the drumset, probably thinking it could've hurted someone, and then left, Chrissie following him. "Good luck, Y/N", John said, getting up from the couch with Veronica, who smiled at you as she left the dressing room with Deacy.

You were alone with Roger. You knew he was angry, but you could now hear his heavy breathing, and you noticed as he furrowed his eyebrows in pain after throwing his shoulders back and his head up. He probably hurt a muscle playing.

"C'mon, Rog", you said, offering him a hand, and he accepted it. You guided him through the backstage, following the signs until you got to the stage door. The boys already left, and there was only one car there, waiting for the two of you. You got to to the car, and Roger opened the door for you. "Thanks, Rog", you said, as he sat by your side. He just nodded his head, still to annoyed at the situation to smile at you.

"Where to?" the driver asked, and you turned to Roger. "Do you feel like going to the after party? I don't mind skipping it today", you told him, and he nodded, agreeing with you. "We're going to our place", you told the driver.

The ride home was quiet. The silence wasn't comfortable; you wanted to distract him from the horrible night he had, but his body language was still tense, and you respected his time. You thought about the first time you had an uncomfortable silence with him.

It was the summer of 1973, last year. He confessed through the phone thathe cheated on you in an after party in America. He felt guilty. But you didn't answer him; you put the phone down, got your keys, went outside the house and started walking away from the it, from his house, the one you moved to a few weeks before, away from Roger's smell in your bed, away from his jacket, still in the hanger by the door.

You wanted to walk to New York, back to your parent's apartment, the Metropolitan Museum of Art visible from your window. You'd go around the museum and into the Central Park, and walk to Cleopatra's Needle, and cry on the bench between the thousands of years old obelisc and the glass wall of the museum.