I'll Cry Instead

Chapter 7

By the time Ringo and George had made it to the hospital, Paul had already been rushed into the emergency room, leaving John to wait and cry in the parking lot.

The oldest and youngest of the four had just pulled up to the front entrance and gotten out of the taxi when they saw John, his suit wrinkled and his hair sticking out in all directions. Bags of worry had appeared underneath his eyes, which were red and watery.

"Hey, Johnny!" Ringo called out as cheerfully as he could muster. "Don't you look a sight?"

"Sod off, Rings," John replied moodily as he took a drag out of his cigarette.

"Just trying to lighten the mood," the drummer sighed as he looked up at the dull sky, which seemed as if it couldn't hold the snow that it had been dying to deposit any longer.

"So," George started a bit nervously, "how's Paul?"

"I don't know, Hazza. He woke up before we got here and then flipped out because he didn't want to be in an ambulance."

George and Ringo both grimaced at John's explanation. Poor Paul, indeed.

"He did calm down for me, though. But I'm not sure what he's like now. I pray that he's not fighting them like he did the paramedic," John suspired.

"I'm sure he's fine, John. You know Paul, once he's into something he's fine, but, beforehand, he's a nervous wreck. Just like he is before shows," Ringo said as he patted John's back.

"I hope you're right."

"So do I," Ringo thought as he faked a smile.

======================

Lights. Lights were blinding him. He couldn't seem to think a coherent thought because of all the lights...and weird pains shooting through various parts of his body.

Then he saw, were they people? Too many people hovering above him! And they were rushing him down a beige hall and he was in a bed and this could all mean one thing—he was in a hospital.

Of course! How could he have forgotten? There was no way he was going to stay here! These nurses ought to prepare themselves for the "Great McCartney Escape of 1964!"

"He's stirring, Doctor!" one of the young nurses stated as she put a stethoscope to Paul's weakly rising chest.

"Good, good," the doctor replied before turning his attention to Paul, who was scrunching his face up in misery and disgust, which caused his sore face to protest. "How are you feeling, Mr. McCartney?"

Paul, instead of answering him, went with what he really wanted to say.

"I want to go home!" he whined, slurring his last word, which the doctor flinched at.

"Well, you've got to get better first," he smiled as the medical team rolled Paul into a room.

"But," Paul started breathlessly, "I don't..."

"Shh, just relax, lad. You don't want to work yourself up," a blonde nurse told him as she patted his arm affectionately.

Paul didn't respond. How could he when he was so utterly miserable? He sighed, lying back into the pillow.

"That's right. Good," she cooed as if she was talking to a toddler.

Meanwhile, the doctor was preparing to aid Paul's wounds...whatever they may be.

After walking over to a now drowsy Paul, he felt along Paul's crown and instantly felt the lump that presented itself proudly. With a grimace, he gently turned Paul's head to the side and took a look at it.

Paul, for some reason, couldn't make out what anyone was saying anymore. Everything was like a dream. He was just so tired. So much for that "Great McCartney Escape," huh?

He knew that the doctor was saying something important, though, because he looked very serious as he told the nurses what to do.

Next thing the bassist knew, his arms were being felt along (for broken bones, maybe?) and then, much to his horror, his white, dress shirt was being unbuttoned.

Just like that, he felt a sudden wave of energy wash over him, for his body's protective adrenaline had kicked in.

"No!" he shouted as he pushed their hands away. "D-don't touch m-me," he yelped between gasps of breath.

"Mr. McCartney, I'm just checking on you!" the doctor explained as he instructed the nurses to hold the Beatle's arms down.

"I don't care!" Paul spat as the doctor continued to unbutton his shirt.

Paul kept thrashing, causing the nurses to grow frustrated. Paul saw one of them whisper something to the doctor, but the doctor shook his head 'no,' which Paul was thankful for...at least he hoped.

Having Paul's shirt now opened, the doctor felt his warm hands along Paul's ribs. Unfortunately, he just happened to brush against a particularly sore place on Paul's ribs and the bassist let out a shriek that could have been heard around the world.

"That hurt," the Beatle added weakly, after his screaming had subsided, as stars danced in front of his blurred vision. Colors merged together to strangely create darkness. Before he knew what had happened, he had passed out from the pain and exhaustion.

A few of the nurses gasped in alarm and turned to the doctor with a worried look. But another nurse wasn't quite so concerned.

"Thank gosh he's out," she breathed sourly.

"Now, that's no way to be," the doctor chided her before scribbling something on his clipboard. "The lad is in pain and he's scared. That being said, we need to help him promptly, and that starts by getting him to X-Rays. He's most likely got some broken ribs and that bump on his head worries me," he finished as he parted Paul's mop top once more, in pursuit of the injury.

"Yes, Doctor, I'm sorry. We'll take him straight to X-Rays," the nurse replied as the team prepared him to be moved.

"Very good," the doctor said before patting Paul's hand sympathetically and following them out.

Okay, the next chapter will be the one where the story begins to actually do something. Again, I'm more than sorry that it's taken so long. I honestly think it's because of the shortness of the chapters, but, if you guys don't mind, I don't. Thank you all so much!