I'm sitting in the kitchen eating leftover spaghetti when the phone rings. I'm exhausted from my study group, so debate not answering. Finally, I stalk over to the phone and pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Hi." A deep voice reverberates in my ear, and it's as if all the oxygen has vacated my lungs.

Luke.

The last time I saw him, we were both drunk at a friend's birthday party. After 15 minutes of searching for him in the crowd, I'd finally wandered into a bedroom to take a breather. For a few horrifying seconds, I had stood in the doorway watching my boyfriend of several years being deep-throated by a perky blonde. I could still hear his eager moans and see the surprised look on his face when he realized that I was watching him.

"Skylar?" Luke's voice brings me back to the present. I take a deep breath, which comes out as a little gasp. "Are you there?"

"I'm here." I hope that my reply sounds as ice-cold as my heart feels right now.  

"How're things?" he asks casually as if we're best friends who chat every day. My heart starts to thump angrily in my chest as a torrent of curses swirls around in my mind, just waiting to be yelled. Instead, I decide to match his level of calm.

"I'm fine." Just a few months ago, Luke's voice would have made me weak in the knees. Tonight, however, it made me want to punch him in the fucking face. "What do you want?"

"I miss you, Skylar. Look, love, it's been long enough-- you've proven your point--"

I tune out whatever else he's saying, astounded at the arrogance of him to be saying this shit to me. He misses me? Fuck that.

He continues to ramble, but I tune him out. The most annoying part of this was that Luke was meant to be the good guy. He was the dependable boyfriend whom my parents loved and who always remembered birthdays and how I took my tea. He was that guy.

Well, when he wasn't slutting himself out, that is.

A lot had changed in the six months since I'd left him. I'd shut down entirely for a while, only going to class and coming home. Jenny finally managed to pull me back to reality, but I still didn't feel like the same person. My faith in humanity was shattered. I was happiest when I was surrounded by stethoscopes and test tubes, immune from the complex world of human emotion.

"I know-- I know what I did was wrong," Luke's voice filtered into my thoughts. Good God, was he still talking? He gave a long sigh. "Look, I know I shouldn't have shagged those girls. You didn't deserve that."

Girls? Plural?

"But you're it for me, baby," he continued, as my hands start to shake with rage. I can barely hold the receiver in my hand, but he keeps blabbing on, unaware, or unconcerned, about the effect his words are having on me. "Just-- it's all water under the bridge, okay? Let's just figure out a way--"

"I'm going to stop you right there," I interrupt him icily, taking a steadying breath. "I'm not sure why you think I'm remotely interested in what you're saying, but I'm not."

"But--"

"Don't call again, Luke." I slam down the phone angrily. The fucking nerve of him. How dare he--

The phone jangles beside me, causing me to jump. I pick up the receiver, feeling like I'm about to explode.

"Fuck off," I scream as soon as I pick it up. "Fuck the fuck off and leave me the fuck alone."

Slamming the phone down with all my might, I slide down to the floor. Tears stream silently down my face as I look blankly ahead.

"Skylar?" Jenny's face hovers over mine. She must have just arrived home. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head and angrily rub the tears from my face.

"Nothing... everything," I reply, standing up. I can't talk about this right now. "I'll tell you later, okay? I'm going to take a shower."

Without another word, I walk into the bathroom and start to strip down. The warm water soothes me temporarily as I reflect on the shittiness of the situation. Just as I feel like I'm able to move on in life, that asshat decided he needs to unload himself on me.

The spray of the shower creates a pleasant white noise, and I wonder if I can just stay here forever. In the distance, I hear the phone ring, followed by the murmurs of Jenny saying something, sounding quite angry herself. I strain to listen to what's going on, but only hear her footsteps approaching.

"It's for you," she says through the door.

"I don't want to talk to Luke," I reply angrily.

"Well, that's the thing-- it's not Luke. It's Roger."

"Roger... Taylor?" I ask, as if I know five other Rogers, all of whom who ring me up regularly.

"Roger Taylor," she confirms with a knowing smile in her voice. I'm absolutely gobsmacked. Why is he calling? I haven't thought much about him since he showed up at our door that morning. Honestly, I figured I'd never hear from him again.

"Well, hurry it up, Skylar, the long-distance call is costing him a few quid." Flustered, I step out of the shower and hurriedly pull a towel around my torso. As I open the door and walk towards the kitchen, steam from the bathroom floods the hallway, and I leave wet footprints in my wake.

I pause in front of the phone. Hesitating a beat, I lift it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"What the fuck, Skylar?" the angry drummer thunders into my ear.

"I-- what?"

"I haven't done anything so bad that warrants you repeatedly telling me to fuck off, and you  know it."

"Roger, what--"

"I was ringing to ask you out for a bloody coffee, and you shout my head off before I manage to even properly say hello. Then I call back, and your flatmate does the same. What the hell?"

"I--" Suddenly, it hits me. It hadn't been Luke calling again; it had been Roger, who had picked an extraordinarily lousy moment. "Oh, shit-- I'm-- I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you."

"Well, who did you think it was? Do you have a habit of yelling obscenities at blokes who ring you?" he asks suspiciously.

I start to laugh. "No-- I... I had just gotten off the phone with my ex-boyfriend, and you happened to call just after. I thought you were him."

"The shithead who broke your heart?"

"The very same."

"Oh," he replies, sounding mollified. "Well, good for you, then."

I grin, and neither of us speaks for a moment."You still there?" His voice echoes through the receiver, and I realize that I haven't yet responded.

"Yeah, hi," I reply. "I'm here. How-- how are you?" I can hear music in the background that's muted as if there are several walls between Roger and the source.

"I'm alright," he replies warmly, a smile evident in his voice. "Exams go well?"

"I hope so," I reply, sliding my back down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor. "I have one left on Thursday. Um, where are you? Which city, that is."

"We're in the exciting town of Lancaster," he replies with a little chuckle. "We're about to go on in a few minutes."

I briefly feel flattered that he's taking the time to call me before a gig, but then remind myself that it's probably some pre-show ritual: different girl, different day.

He launches into a story about something a roadie had done the day before, making me chuckle. We continue to chat for a few minutes about nothing much at all, just little stories and the occasional awkward pause. It's as if we're warming up to each other. I wonder why he's called, and I'm about to ask when we're interrupted.

"Rog, time to say goodbye to your lady friend," someone says in the background. Roger covers the receiver with his band and responds with an irritated retort.

"Sorry about that," he said, his voice clear now.

"Is that Brian?" He hums in response, and I grin. "Tell him that Jenny has been mooning over him ever since he left... ugh, I'm such a shit roommate. Definitely, don't tell him that. Tell him that all the guys are all over her, so he best hurry back."

Roger lets out a breathy little laugh, and there's a brief moment of silence as if our carefully-crafted bubble of small talk has been burst.

"Roger!" I hear someone else in the background as if they're shouting down a long hallway. "We're on in five."

Just as I'm about to wish him luck, he starts to speak, and we end up trying to talk over one another.

"What? Sorry--"

"Nope, you go--"

"Go ahead--"

"Oh," he says. "Well, I-- I was just wondering if it's alright if I ring you again?"

"Roger! Get the fuck off the phone." It's definitely Freddie this time, and I can practically see the hand tapping irritably on his hip.

Roger swears softly under his breath. "I'm sorry, my fellow bandmates are animals. Yeah, so I'll call again soon, Skylar."

This time it's not a question. Before I can respond, I hear a brief scuffle, followed by a click and then the dial tone. Well, alright, then.

That night is the first of many when Roger calls me. He's worked out that the sweet spot is around 7pm when I'm just getting home from uni, and he's sitting around after soundcheck. He's usually chain-smoking, and I'm eating pasta with butter and cheese, which is the only thing I'm able to cook competently.

I find that it's easier to talk to him on the phone than it is in person. I manage to forget that he's a rock-n-roller with a reputation and, soon, just focus on the fact that--underneath it all and, it seems, despite himself--he's a good guy. Considering that I'm the most boring person on Earth, I have no idea why he keeps calling, but, after a few times, I find that I'm looking forward to our chats.

After a few weeks of speaking every few days, I don't hear from him for longer than usual. Then, one night in December, the phone rings well after midnight. I'm jarred out of sleep but refuse to open my eyes, instead listening to Jenny stomp into the kitchen.

A minute later, a thump on my door. "It's your long-distance boyfriend," she calls. "Shall I tell him to piss off?"

I jump out of bed and fling open the door, terrified that Roger heard her say that. "He's not my boyfriend," I hiss.

"Sure, okay," she replies with a smile on her face before she waltzes back into her bedroom. I hurry to the kitchen and pick up the receiver from the counter.

"Roger?"

"Sky! Am I calling too late, love?" He sounds happy and keyed-up. I hear music and chattering from the background.

"Where are you?" I ask, still a bit bleary-eyed.

"Our hotel room," he responds. "I'm sorry to call so late-- the past few days have been absolutely mad, so I wasn't able to ring and I-- well, I--"

I can't understand his next few words because he's interrupted by Freddie's theatrics. "That's too, too much, darling," the singer howls at someone, laughing his face off.

"--to hear your voice," Roger finishes, making me wish that I had heard the earlier words.

"Rog, get off the bloody phone!" Freddie thunders, getting closer. "Is it Skylar?" he asks before his voice fills my ear.

"Skylar, darling! It's been far too long since you last told me to fuck off. We need to do that again soon.

"Listen, dear, we're going to be playing next week at the Odeon. Roger's too embarrassed to invite you himself--"

I hear a noise, as if the phone is being yanked back and forth between two people before Freddie's cheerful, drunken voice comes back.

"So I'm inviting you and your lovely flatmate. Make sure you bring her--between you and me, Brian's knickers have been in a wad ever since we left--"

"Oh, fuck off, Fred," I hear Brian shout in the background, sounding equally drunk.

Freddie starts to say something else when Roger finally manages to wrestle back the phone.

"Sorry, Skylar," he says, laughing lightly. "So, um, yeah, we're playing in London next week. Would you, um, would you like to come to the show? I'll take you to dinner afterward--" I start to interrupt, but he keeps talking. "I know what you're going to say, but an actual dinner, Skylar, not a coffee in the middle of the bloody afternoon. Anyway, you're going to get scurvy with your current eating habits, so let me at least get one decent meal in you."

I feel a huge smile creeping over my face. "What night is it?"

"The 13th at half-eight. I'll leave two tickets under your name, just--"

My face falls. "Roger, I can't that night... I have a late shift at the hospital."

He doesn't respond immediately, and all I can hear is the cacophony of the party behind him. A woman with a shrill voice calls out his name, Rogggie! I twist the phone cord around my finger nervously.

"I'm sorry," I say to fill the silence. "I would have loved to."

"Not a problem," he replies lightly. "I'd forgotten that your shifts at the hospital were starting. Well, we'll be in London for a few days, so maybe we can figure something out."

"I'd like that."

We chat for another minute as the party behind him becomes increasingly loud so that we can't actually hear each other. Finally, he admits defeat and says that he'll ring soon.

I hang up and stare into the darkened kitchen for a few minutes before I walk back to my room and nestle under the duvet, thinking about the blonde drummer.