This Boy - Mclennon

Chapter 4 - The Night Before

~Paul's~

John and I stood in the loo for a good 5 minutes, silently. Neither of us knew how to express our emotions, we just stood there inhaling our cigarettes.

I was mad.

Not at John, hell no. I was mad at my father, I was mad at my mother for leaving, and most of all I was mad at myself for not being strong enough to avoid this situation completely. I now had to live with the fact that John Lennon knew I was nothing but a bloody punching bag.

"Uh, do ye want another ciggie mate?" John asked me, breaking the silence. "M-maybe I should go. I don't think I can sit through three more classes.." I mumbled. My head was pounding, there was no way I wasn't concussed. "Paul..." John walked closer to me and tried to make eye contact. I looked away, "What is it Lennon?" Honestly, why did he care? I rarely understood why George cared half the time. I was nothing but a punching bag. A stubborn punching bag. John used his index finger to lift my chin, and I flinched at the gesture but we made eye contact. The eye contact was intense. I suddenly didn't feel the pain inflicted by my father, and the pain of God taking my mother away. John lightly touched my heavily swollen, purple upper cheek. "Don't let him do this to you, Paul." John said lightly, his voice was so soothing. I wanted to curl up and have him hold me again.

I backed away slowly and began to walk towards the door. I couldn't let myself think things like that, all the more reason for my father to beat the living hell out of me. John didn't object, I think he knew that there was no stopping me. I decided to just go home, my father would be at work and I could just relax - perhaps ice my swollen face.

I slowly approached the front door of my home. Although, it didn't necessarily feel like home anymore. Mike was there, which helped. I used to feel safe knowing I was walking into my sweet home, to my sweet loving parents and younger brother. The smell of tea and freshly picked flowers overwhelmed my nostrils at the memory of walking into my home. Now, I was walking into a house. A house that smelt like nothing more than cigarettes and stale alcohol.

~John's~

That bloody McCartney. Fucking Paul. Bloody Paul fucking McCartney.

The damn kid had no idea how to open up and let me help him. Hell, the kid needed more than one bloody friend. Paul and I both knew that we connected immensely, so why was he shoving me aside? All I wanted to do is play guitar with him, write some poems, hold him until he didn't feel so down..... This wasn't queer of me, right? He's just a good mate, like a brother, really..

I stood outside the school after the final bell had rang, smoking a cigarette and waiting for George. "Harrison!" I said as he walked out the door. "Ye, Ivan I'll catch up!" George flashed the blonde boy his big teeth. Quite like fangs, typical Liverpool teeth. "What'd ye want, John?" George's smile instantly wiped off his face. "Woah, George, can't a mate just say hello to a mate?" I tried to sound casual, I didn't want to just jump into asking about Paul. But I wanted to. I needed to. "So how's Paul?" I mumbled, lighting another cigarette and handing one to George. "You probably know as much as I do, John. Paul doesn't talk after something like this happens." George muttered as he began kicking stones. "How bloody often does it happen - to this extent?" I said, pulling my cigarette out of my mouth and turning wide-eyed toward George. George shook his head as he stomped on his cigarette butt.

"More often than you'd think, mate.. More often than you'd think"

And with that, George walked away. It was obvious he wasn't comfortable talking to me about his best friends personal life. But bloody hell, I needed to know. There had to be something that I could do to help him. This was what I call overthinking and getting involved in someone too quickly. But who was going to give me a hard time? I'm fucking John Lennon.

As I began walking home, I thought to myself Paul McCartney would give me a hard time. I knew this was going to be a problem. I couldn't even walk home from school without thinking about the poor bugger. Used to think about birds, Elvis, rock 'n' roll and all that came with it. But now it was Paul.

That bloody McCartney. Fucking Paul. Bloody Paul fucking McCartney.