I still love you | Maylor fanfiction

40

Roger's P.O.V.

I entered the bathroom box with my backpack, locking the door behind me. I put down the toiled board and sat on top of it, placing my bag on my knees. I was already starting to feel light nervous tingling in my stomach, but I had beer with me, so I will just drink it now and later on there will be nothing to worry about.
Just three more shows left. Thrice, I will fill my blood with alcohol, trice, I will then walk up the stage, trice, I will play with Queen as the opening act for the crowds of fans below the stage.
I stuck to this habit of mine, and followed it before every gig. I couldn't say I enjoyed every show to the maximum. I also didn't look forwards to them. But I was always prepared, so I avoided my attacks and I was alright, so in the end, the gigs went fine and even drew few smiles on my face which weren't forced.

I sighed, shaking my head and pushing all the thoughts out of my head. Reaching out for the zipper I started to open the bag. I could have been somewhere halfway through when I started to have this really bad feeling in the back of my head. This suspicion, instinct which sped up my heart and made the stress level inside me rise.
I ripped the zipper open, hysterically thrusting my hand inside, but I got to grasp only empty space. A shriek escaped my lips and my eyes flew up to the ceiling as I gripped the fabric of my bag, covered in sweat from head to toe.
There was nothing. The bag was bloody empty. How the hell could I not notice?!

I fell with my back against the wall, beginning to shake. I felt the panic rise inside me rapidly, blood pounding in my head. My stomach started to swirl and my head was spinning insanely.
It was here again. But coming out of the sudden, attacking me as a wild animal.
How could I only allow this? How could I only be this stupid? How could I have not noticed? This was my biggest fear, my biggest nightmare. I never wanted to experience it again, I promised myself I won't ever have to go through this again. But now, only because of my carelessness I allowed it.

I screwed up. I screwed up so bad. It was only a matter of minutes until my body gets caught up in horrid cramps, vomiting everywhere around, unable to move.
I grasped all my remaining will, throwing the empty back mindlessly into the corner of the bathroom box, getting up on my feet. For Dreadfully long seconds, I struggled with the lock on the door, in the end finally kicking the door open, storming out of the room.

"Rog? Where are you going?" I was attacked as soon as I stepped out of the door by a piercing shout of John's.
"Fresh air," I retorted, without even stopping or giving him a single look.
"Should I come with-"
"No! No, no don't," I shrieked, gesticulating with my hands wildly, keeping him away, while still stomping down the aisle.
"Alright," I heard him mumble from behind as he finally gave up and stopped following me.
I continued on walking through the whole backstage. The alleyways were filled with what seemed to be enormous crowds of people. The crew, the musicians, the electricians, the news reporters and people with VIP tickets, all their chatter filling all the empty spaces which were left between the masses of their bodies.
I intertwined between the figures and their extremities, pushing the people away with insane wildness caused by the despair and panic rising inside me.

I ran throughout the whole building at least two times, failing at finding at least one carton of beer. To my disappointment, I noticed that none of the people around had a single bottle or cup of alcohol in their hands.
I wanted to avoid it, but now I didn't have a choice, so I stepped to one of the organizers.
"Where can I get a drink?" I blurted out, grasping him by the shoulder, stopping him and turning him towards me.
"What?"
"Where can I get a drink in here?!" I repeated, annoyed and angry that I had to do so. I was in a rush!
"You can't get a drink in here, if you mean alcohol," he shrugged his shoulders mindlessly.
Of course I meant alcohol, what else would I for the love of god mean?!
"What?" I hoped I didn't hear right.
"You can't get-"
"What do you mean?! There is always alcohol in the backstage!" I interrupted him, hardly managing to hold myself back and not to start shaking with him in rage.
"Well not here. In this stadium, they are really strict, and won't allow any alcohol. Not only a single beer. I'm sorry son," he chuckled and laid his hand on my shoulder in protective gesture. "You'll have to resist your desires."
With a groan I slapped his hand away, and turning around on my feet I rushed away from him. I was heading to the exit of t he building. I knew I didn't have much time but was sure I could find some alcohol out on the streets. It wasn't like I wanted to run away, I will come back just as soon as I get some beer. A small voice in the back of my head kept on bugging me, telling me that there is only a very low possibility of that I will find a store near, and if yes, it might take too long. But I kept on depending on this small hope, and that if this doesn't work out, I might as well just find something laying in the ground and it will be enough. I wasn't willing to let go of this hope. Cause it was the only thing which I had left.