Open Your Eyes

I like things to be routine. I have my routine. Everyday starts in the same way.

6:45 - the alarm goes off. 6:46 I press snooze. I drift back to sleep or, like the big red button on the top of the clock says, snooze. 6:55 the same beeping pattern goes off again. A minute later, I switch it off. 7:03 I finally throw my duvet off and I stand up, stretching my arms up, to the side, then up once more before they can fall down by my side. I walk to my door and pull the black, baggy shirt over my head in exchange for the towel that I neatly hang over the back of the chair. I don't fold the t-shirt. I let it sit in a heap and I leave my bedroom at 7:07.

This is a nice time. This is when the only thing I have to worry about is myself. My house mate never wakes until 8:39, give or take a few minutes. I offered him a clock to keep consistent, but he said he liked his life to be spontaneous. He has no idea.

He leaves his room at 8:39 and comes straight into our kitchen where I sit at our small table waiting for him. He makes his coffee, two sugars and no milk for the morning, and he leaves it on the worktop and sits down opposite me to look at the post that arrived the previous day. He makes a pile of envelopes, putting junk or unwanted mail on top, ready for me to throw away on the arrival of that days post.

He'll check the time and notice that it's almost 9 and he'll sit in the living room to watch whatever channel 4 teen drama has taken over his brain. At 8:46, exactly two hours after I first pressed snooze, he'd come back into the kitchen where I would be double checking the dates on the food that filled the fridge, freezer and cupboards, depending on what day of the week it was.

He'd pick up his cup of coffee and tell me it felt like it had gone cold, but he'd still take a sip and put it in the microwave for 50 seconds. With 8 still to go, he'll stop it and take hold of the handle. He'll leave the room with his now warm drink without saying a word to me, just to watch the final 10 minutes of his awful television show.

I think I know Chris like the back of my hand. Six years of living together can do strange things. That and watching him constantly, listening to him. I sat outside his bedroom door with my ear pressed to the white wood when the house was just rented. When the landlord passed away, we got a joint mortgage, like couples do for their first house.

I think I developed a crush for this man, but Chris Morgan was off limits. I could handle him being scatty and not having a perfect timetable, but I hated watching the women skip down our stairs after one of his gigs.

He was too cool for me. He was the definition of hardcore where I was just a pile of mushy peas. He's in an underground band in Wales, playing in smokey pubs after the smoking ban was put in place. Drinking with his band and the group of fans that had turned up, because they're sure to have seen them several times before. They had dedicated fans and even more dedicated female admirers who'd be shared between the band.

For a long time, I was just some sort of help to a band, until that band was in need of a bassist. When Funeral For A Friend needed me, I was more then happy to take over duties in the bass department, not understanding just how much everything would have to change.

Touring is difficult. I can handle the UK, but as soon as we go abroad and time zones change dramatically, I panic. I keep my UK watch on my bunk and I watch the UK time. Chris getting into the shower. 26 minutes later, I go up to my room for no reason other then to get a glimpse of Chris' wet torso and the towel that he holds up with his left hand.

I can sit on my bunk and close my eyes and just see it. I can picture my bedroom as I wait for the time to tick passed and Chris will leave his room. We'll walk down the stairs, him first. He'll go into the kitchen to make a bacon sandwich and I'll sit on the sofa, to the right side of centre. One Saturday night, when I wasn't touring, that's what happened, exactly.

I sat in exactly the same spot, both my feet flat on the ground and I watched the digital clock in the top left corner of the television screen as I was informed of the worlds politics. One minute over can unnerve me. Four puts my mind into panic. Chris is normally sat the other side of the sofa, complaining about the world and its problems that seem the same everyday. He was 5 minutes late when he banged into the room and jumped over the arm of the sofa and curled his legs to sit crossed-legged and side-ways facing me. His black fringe had fallen across his face but I could see the crazy smile.

It'd become official that Midasuno were no longer together and he'd not been getting the same attention as before.

"What are we doing tonight?" He asked, frozen in his position, staring at me through the dark hairs.

"Just staying in, like we normally do." I replied, wobbling a smile back at him.

"But that's boring!" He exclaimed, flinging his arms up. "I want to do something different."

I bit my lip at the thought of change. My routine was everything. It was all I had. Chris shuffled forward so his knees were pressed up against me. Uncomfortable is what I felt.

"Ga-avin." He groaned, playfully punching my arm and puled at the short sleeve of my shirt. "We should do something fun."

His hand was firmly on my thigh. I could feel his finger nails digging into the inside seam of my jeans and he squeezed harder.

My heart rate doubled. Then tripled.

this was supposed to be my dream, but the way things were just about to change was a nightmare. I didn't want to be spontaneous. I was content with the same, just by myself.

His nose was pressed against my head so I could feel his words tickle down my ear.

"You look scared." His hand had slowly worked its way up my leg and my teeth sank into my bottom lip. I wasn't prepared to beg for more. His knees pressed down in the sofa as he jumped over to sit on me, his legs either side. He pushed his lips onto mine, hard.

My head spun. I was starting to enjoy it. I let him know that by pushing back.

Chris was rough. That night was different. He wanted everything to go back to being the same. That's what I do best.

6:45 my alarm rings. I press snooze a minute later.
I wanted it to change.