/\ October 12, 1961 /\
/\ Thursday, 8:27 pm /\
Song: This Boy
By: The Beatles
It had been a grand total of three months since Paul had stopped speaking to me. Three antagonizing months of his disapproving
glare, along with his cruel and
uncalled for quips.
That's also how long it had been since John and I had gotten together. Besides Paul's unwelcoming attitude in those long, extremely stressful weeks, I had been having
the time of my life.
John truly knew how to treat a lady.
That day my boyfriend had brought me to the studio him and the rest of his band worked at, believing I'd be better off there rather than being alone in the flat he and I
began to share.
During vocal rests and bathroom breaks, Johnny would come straight to me. Like the undercover gentleman he was he'd ask if I needed anything, and every single time
I'd slyly answer,
Then he'd benevolently shift his calloused fingers behind my neck, pulling me in for a swift but passionate kiss.
I couldn't help but feel Paul's piercing gape on John and I whenever we'd have special moments like that. His seemingly disgusted stare saw right through me, becoming the source of my uncomfortable shifts
whenever around my lover.
But for some odd reason, guilt suffocated my lungs when I'd sense Paul's deriding
glare on my figure.
The emotion was left unanswered for
quite some time, until one fateful day I decided to figure out why his loathing gaze
put me in such a state.
After the boys' work ended, I began my search for Paul. I found him on the front steps of the studio- a smoke tucked in between his lips. His heed was focused on the smog created by the stick- watching it combine and wisp
away with the wind.
"Paul, We need to talk."
I took a seat next to the hushed lad, growing impatient of his knowingly harsh and
"Wha's been going on with ye lately?
Yet again his soothing voice failed to echo throughout my ears. All of a sudden a wave of furry washed over me- bleaching my already swollen knuckles as if I were about to
swing a punch at the man.
My once sweet and innocent approach to
the situation resulted into an uncontrollable explosion. I swatted the cancer stick amid
his fingers to the floor, putting it out
with one furious stomp.
"The fuck's yer problem Jordyn?"
"Wha's my problem? My problem is that ye've been sulking like a bloody child for three months! 'M sick of it!"
All the boy did was shrug, pretending he wasn't affected by my ominous speech.
"This is about John and I, yeah?"
Paul's once confident regard plummeted to the ground, now scrutinizing his once lit
cigarette to avoid my gaze.
"Ye don't like him and I together- tha's right isn't it?! Why's tha' Paul? John set ye off somehow? Did he take a bloody
solo from ye?!"
A simple shake of his head informed me it wasn't that. I calmed down from my indignant high, twirling a finger through Paul's
matted locks as an apology.
I continued to purse the subject in a tranquil manner; coming to the realization my rage wasn't doing much good.
"Wha's been bothering ye then Paulie? Because I swear to god, I can't go another day
Every single word I had previously declared washed away, for Paul had crashed his plump lips against mine, tightly squeezing his eyes shut as a way to prevent himself from
viewing my reaction.
My mind raced back to all of the times Paul had ever shot John and I an irritated, disapproving gaze. He wasn't disapproving;
he was jealous. Only I could've
mistaken that as furry.
For a brief moment, I did nothing. Shock paralyzed my whole body, leaving my mind to decipher what my next move would be.
Logic then flew out of the bathroom window
(pun intended), for without realizing it I was kissing him back. I didn't know why.
It just felt right.
The ardent buss was short, although I begged for more. Paul clemently cupped both of
my cheeks in his hands- his two hazel
hues drowning me in their
pools of colors.
"Ye wanna know why tha fuck 'm so pissed at 'im and ye all the time?"
"Is because I want ye for myself."
YOU ARE READING
Colorblind <> Paul McCartneyFanfiction
"You're in color." I stated breathlessly. I wished to know why this was happening. Why here, why now, why him. But my questions where left unanswered, and the inky abyss I called a world had now a splash of color. And I hadn't a clue how.