Finding a Light in the Darkness

Four

That night was the first night in a long time that John felt like he was normal. That's a lot to say about somebody who had previously gotten bashed, beaten, and abused, but there was just something about Roger that allowed John to be free. With Roger, he didn't have to act like someone so desperate to fit into the crowd. He could make small, sly remarks about Roger's room or his taste in music. He could be a smart ass and smirk, even despite the bruises on his lips.

John was settling into the tiny chance he had been given and he was taking full advantage of it as the night carried on.

They talked more about what they wanted to do with their lives. John mentioned that, upon graduating, he hoped to go to New York. He never left Europe before and was curious to know if the big city all the way across the sea was as wonderful as everyone made it out to be.

Roger, who was determined to get his degree just to have the bragging rights to say he did it, mentioned how he had never left either. "I always thought about buying a ticket and just going for it. I always wanted to see a show in the city. Could you imagine it? Sitting in Madison Square Garden, watching a rock concert with that fantastic sound?"

"Do you write songs?" John asked, remembering the drum kit that sat in the corner of his sitting room.

"Yeah, but they're mostly rubbish. I play a bit guitar but I'm better at drumming. Who the hell wants to listen to a drummer sit behind his kit and sing into a mic?"

John shrugged, looking down at his hands. "I used to play bass when I was young. After my father died, my mum wanted me to have something to focus on. All young boys chose a guitar. I thought bass would be fun. A bit unique."

"You certainly have the fingers for it," Roger mentioned, his eyes flickering to the digits. "Do you sing?"

John smirked, raising a brow to the man. "Terribly." He answered. "But I have a friend back home. He sings like an angel. He thought about starting a band. He wants to be big and I think one day he will be."

"You should join him. He'd be your ticket out of here if you could land a few gigs."

John shook his head, sighing. "Not my passion. I'm good at it, but I could never do it professionally." Reaching over, John took the bottle of water he had been nursing, sipping at it slowly once he took the cap off. "What do you think they think?" John asked carefully. "Your friends. What will they think of me? Like what happened to me after they left?"

Roger thought about it for a moment, trying to piece together a correct response. "Probably nothing." He stated. "They beat you senseless, but they didn't rob you. They know you're not dead, but since it was dark and nobody exchanged names, they probably think you won't rat them out. The most you could do is tell the police what bar you were at, but that is highly unlikely. They think you're scared, not stupid. Besides, I know that police don't always take hate crimes seriously. They chalk it off as some poor fairy got what he deserved."

"You seem to have them pinned down pretty well," John told him.

Roger shrugged lazily, sipping slowly at his bottle of lukewarm beer. "The things we do to survive."