Baby You're a Rich Man

Ten

"JOHN!"

The man in question winced at the sound of his name. As if public humiliation wasn't enough, here was Cynthia, to add insult to injury.

"Yes?" he asked in a resigned tone, as Cynthia stormed towards him, her braid whipping back and forth from the speed of her pace; already blond locks were falling out.

John concentrated on the air outside, how it blew through his hair, past his fraying sleeves, and made the grass move like soft waves-

"How could you?"

John looked up, and it scared Cynthia to see how devoid of emotion his face was. She'd been expecting shame, regret, maybe even anger, but not this kind of emptiness that made her think he didn't care about what he'd done - surely he, of all people, would understand the implications.

"I'm sorry."

It had no meaning, no emotion behind it; just a bland formality, and Cynthia saw that he'd already moved on.

"John," she hissed, as he started to move away. "John!"

She grabbed him by the tunic's neck and the inexpensive material ripped, leaving a gash where the seams had burst, exposing his shoulder, the weak stitches coming apart even as John tried to tug the neck and sleeve back together.

John looked at her differently now, and Cynthia saw that he was paying attention. It was the moment, now or never, to get it through his impossibly stubborn head.

"You know why we got married," she said, darting a look around the empty camp to verify there was no one to listen.

"It's-"

Cynthia cut him off. "It was never about love. It was a business arrangement," she said, suddenly realizing that what she'd meant as an exaggerated accusation was actually true as she spoke it.

John held her gaze with a sort of regal look in his eyes, as if daring her to continue. "I'm not going to let you throw the life we built away, John. This isn't just you anymore."

Her fiercely whispered words had their effect, and she let go of his sleeve that hung almost in two pieces, shredded beyond repair.

It was only when John turned and left that Cynthia allowed herself a tear or two; then dabbed at her eyes slightly with her knuckles. She couldn't let others see the ugly side of their picture-perfect marriage.

* * *

"He's going to hate you."

"Fine."

"You'll never live this down."

"Brilliant."

"He's going to chuck you out of the camp."

"Alright, Ringo!"

Ringo chuckled; glad to finally have gotten a reaction out of Paul. The musician in question just frowned, the shame of his outburst at dinner not completely forgotten. After a pensively long pause while staring at the horizon, Ringo spoke again.

"What if we get tired of the music? What do we do?" Ringo asked.

Paul pondered his philosophical issue while watching Martha warily. It was the first time she'd been let out, as he wasn't entirely sure whether dogs were allowed, but had been so hell-bent on bringing her along, that he simply "forgot to ask."