Lonely People

Four Months Later

Four months of playing these grueling hours and none of us have gotten used to it. The best we can do is stay high on drugs and play with all the passion we could muster. Afterward, we would crash, and sleep for hours. What sleep we got wasn't good because the drugs we took caused realistic dreams. They kept us active even when we were asleep, leaving us in a constant loop of exhaustion. 

Even the drugs were beginning to stop working. I was up to four pills, the rest of the lads had all passed six. We were becoming more and more tolerant of the drug and less and less energetic each day. 

The greatest days were Sunday. On those days, we could finally take time apart from each other and have a day of rest. It was my favorite day of the week. Sundays were the only days when I could take a step back and breathe. 

That particular Sunday, I had started by calling Molly. We talked as long as two shillings would allow. When that was done, I found a comfortable bench at a nearby park and opened the book I had been dying to start.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was out, the sky was blue, it was beautiful, and so was the city. Summer had come and gone, and now, winter was fast approaching. Fall was still lingering for as long as it could, however, like a stubborn child at his favorite playground. All of the leaves had changed color, and most had fallen off. It gave the city hues of red, orange, and brown.

Even the air smelled sweeter here than in Liverpool. We weren't near the coast, meaning the smell of freshly caught or freshly rotting fish didn't drift through the air. There was no salt, there were no fishy smells, and there were no foul fishermen. The only stench was the occasional whiff of hard liquor or the walk of shame, but even that was scarce. Everything was peaceful.

I was enjoying my peaceful reading. All I heard was the singing birds and distant cars. For the first time in several weeks, I actually relaxed. All of my muscles released the tension I held. My body felt the pain of holding the tension for so long, it made me groan slightly. After a few seconds, that pain was replaced with relief. 

Nothing lasts forever.

"Lia!" a voice echoed through the park.

I sighed deeply, "Oh no."

Only one person ever called me that. Paul, John, George, Stuart, and Astrid were all hurrying from the front gates. They all looked happy, excited even. It was a big contrast to that morning when they all looked pissed off. Just three hours ago, John had threatened to break my drumsticks if I didn't go away. 

"What the hell do you want?" I asked, "I'm trying to get away from you gits."

John ignored my comment, "We got a gig."

"Big deal, we have a gig every night."

"This is different," Stuart put in, "It's at The Midnight Club. Their band backed out, and they said they'll pay us one hundred pounds to play there."

I stared at them for a moment. What they were asking me to do was practically illegal. It would breech our contract, and could have dangerous repercussions. Our boss was cruel as is, he would jump at the chance to punish us. 

Paul grinned, "One hundred pounds, Lia, that's more than we make in a month!"

"But that's a rival club."

"So?" John asked.

"If the boss finds out, we'll get in trouble."

John smirked, "What he don't know won't hurt him."

"This is a terrible idea."

Paul fell to sit next to me. As he does every time he wants something, he gave me the classic Paul McCartney puppy dog eyes. He flung his arm around my shoulder and squeezed, "Come on, Lia, please. We can't do this without you."