I Should Have Known Better (Sequel to That Boy)

Chapter 17

Maybe like two more chapters? not sure.

Enjoy!

Chapter 17: Lovely Letters

John drove us home later, or at least dropped me off at my car, before going home. I went passed the car and went into Paul's house, with the door being unlocked. It was late, and I was so tired, I could sleep like a baby.

Richard and George were sitting on the couch, watching the telly and probably without a clue on what has happened with their friend. They looked at me as I went through the door, which a pleasant greeting, or at least from George.

"Ello Holly, you need something?" He asked with a pleasant smile. Ringo said nothing though, wondering about me probably. I rubbed my tired eyes, pulling together the last day or so, and sat down in a chair, diagonal from them.

I quickly spilled everything I though they should know out of my mouth, telling the two, after they turned the telly off, about his fainting, without the reason of course. I told them about his rampage, his condition, and that he would be ok. I didn't give too many details though, not wanting them to know everything. 

I also said Paul wanted for me to stay here, lying but whatever, I needed a reason and I just made one up. And I said that they could see him tomorrow if they like, telling them the details of where he was. The whole time I was talking, and they were listening, I kept wondered what was in that box of his. I had my suspicions but I was itching at the chance to find out. 

"So, he's alright?" Richard asked, sitting forward and worried, like the one next to him, "Or at least he'll be ok?" I nodded, smiling slightly to myself, thinking about his kisses. 

"Yeah, he just needs to heal they say," I yawned loudly, "I'm going to bed, night," I just assumed I could use his room to sleep in, and I did. Quickly, I stood up, and went around them, getting a night for George but Richard seemed to dislike my smile. Fuck him.

I went into Paul's untouched room. It was cold in there, still, with everything exactly like it was a night before. I shut the door behind me not wanting to disturbed, and rushed into his closet, looking for this "box" of his.

It was messy, like he said, with clothes on the floor and all over the place, with other random trash, or at least I thought was trash. It was hard to step over everything, trying to be careful, and I got to the back of the room quickly. I dug through the clothes, looking for a box

I found it, sitting against the wall. A black box, not huge or anything but not really small. I picked it up, carrying it out of the room and placing it on his mattress. I sat down on the bed and put the box in my lap, opening it up slowly.

It was just a book. All these papers stuck out of it, taped to the actual pages of the book on the inside. It was thick, full of all sorts of things, but before I opened it, I mean it is mine now anyway, there was something else in the box, a note it self.

I picked it up, open it and read it, in his curly hand writing.

To my dear Holly,

I would have given you this earlier, but things change. This is yours now, enjoy.

- Paul

P.S. I love you.

His hand writing was beautiful, the calligraphy was lovely. And those three words made my heart skip a beat again. I got curious for the book and began to slowly flip through the pages. I had no idea what to expect from this.

It was full of letters, addressed to My Love, Darling, and Bonnie Over the Sea but none to my name, yet I knew they were to me anyway. Why would he give me this if it was for someone else? Then there were pictures, of him, of us, of me. There were lyrics to songs, some were full songs, others were just bits of pieces of randomness. 

It was huge and I guess I should read it in order, because I figured it would make more sense. Everything had a date on it, earliest would be the first letter on the first page. I smiled at all of it, thinking it was cute he would do this.

I flipped to the cover and took his note off the bed, and slipped it in, planning to leave it there. Closing the book, I felt its black leather cover. I was too tired to read but I was excited to in the morning. I got up, leaving the book, and went over to his dresser. 

I leaned down and grabbed a button up shirt of his and some boxers. I striped down and put on his clothes, which were big for me. I turned the light off and went to his bed. After putting the book on the floor next to my clothes and curled up under the blanket.

I thought about him until I fell asleep, with a smile.

************************************************************************************************************

In a quick laps of time, I would go to see Paul every day for the weeks he was in that hospital. I would wear Paul's necklace he got me, and he loved it when I did. I would show up around 10, he usually asleep, and kiss his cheek as a hello and a good morning. I would sit down next to him, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly.

I would read every word of his book, slowly going through it multiple times though out the weeks/ He put pictures with the letters so I could see what he looked like at the time, and then he would have pictures of me or us randomly. I imagined his life with each letter.  

When he was awake, I asked why he wrote them.

"At first, I was broken because my mum had died and my friends didn't understand. So I wrote you a letter about it because maybe you would understand since you lost your father, but couldn't man up enough to send you it. Eventually letters to you became a journal to me. I promised myself I would send you these letters but never did. I finally put them into a book that I was going to give to you sometime."

He had lost something, so he filled me with it, yet not like he didn't love me before then, just more afterwords. 

We would talk sometimes, when he was awake anyway. On some days he could talk for hours about anything he wanted to talk about, and I would listen. Paul would talk and talk and talk sometimes. Other times though, he would sleep though most of the day, or just sit there and look up at the ceiling, thinking. 

I wondered what he would thinking about, but never asked. 

People came to see him all the time. John, George, and Ringo did. Richard seemed to understand that we couldn't work out, with all the time I surround around Paul, but he didn't speak to me. I hoped he wasn't angry, or sad because of it, but he should have known.

Paul's family came to see him, his father and brother mostly. Paul loved it when I got along with his family, he couldn't be happier. Others showed up too but no one of real importance. 

Paul slowly became himself again. At first, he was stuck in bed, but they slowly let him get up and move around, they let him use a wheel chair if he wished, and he loved to roll around on it. He was like a child and candy with that thing. 

His eyes glowed hazel again first, with happiness I was there all the time. His skin slowly healed to the smooth skin it was before, with very few long lasting scars, and going back to it's normal color. His fat returned, as he ate at first what the doctor wanted him, a special diet, and then eventually normal food. 

His fingers were no longer boney. 

And then, later, usually after dinner, I would go home to his house were I basically moved in. I cleaned up his room for him, repainting the walls, fixing the whole. I cleaned up the floor, set the dresser back up, folded the clothes that laying out across the floor, and finally fixed the bed. i did it for him of course.

Then I would start over the next day, excited to see him again.

My life was simple and revolved around him, but I enjoyed every second with him.

Because... because I think I love him, that stupid asshole.