Everything was a blur.
Her head ached, her soul ached, she wanted to scream but her throat felt cloged up with something.
From a distance, Stella could hear her mother's worried cries and her brothers' stomping feet, but her mind was too fuzzy to comprehend what really was going on.
***
The hospital room they'd assigned her was stark white and it reeked of disinfectant.
Her mother looked after her every waking hour for the entire week she was in there.
Apparently she'd suffered a brain hemorrage, result of an aneurysm probably brought due to... She couldn't remember. Too much medicine, too much light.
There was something wrong in her head, but at least she didn't saw things or heard voices. She'd just have to be extremely careful, for the rest of her life, not to get too shaken by... Well, anything.
Tough luck.
***
Her parents had been silently arguing for days, not that Stella even bothered to properly listen.
More like, her mother kept putting the blame for her condition in all and any thing she could think of, and her father kept telling her to shut up and serve dinner already.
For the while, Stella was banned from leaving her bedroom, or her bed. She also wasn't allowed to paint, or draw, or take pictures or even talk to her friends on the phone.
She wanted to argue back, say she wasn't handicapped, just a bit shaken, that she could talk and walk and move and live, but her mum just wouldn't give in.
It was suffocating.
***
Joan popped in for a visit, to bring her some missing homework and just generally cheer her up.
Mrs Sutcliffe quickly tossed her out, screaming all sorts of recriminations, calling her a lowlife and a troublemaker, amongst other, worse things.
Once again, Stella felt helpless, wanting to tell her mother that Joan had deffended her, rather than thrown her into the fight, but she couldn't quite find her words.
Her mum had hated Joan Lennon since she first showed up in her house, taught her daughter to wear trousers and smoke indoors, and just generally 'twisted her upside down', as she put it.
It was funny at first. Later on, not so much.
***
Stella missed her independence.
Mum had graduated from terrifyingly overprotective to regular overprotective, which meant she could walk around the house and do her art and her homework alright, but she still couldn't leave.
She often wondered what the flat looked like, now that Joan lived alone there. It was probably a mess. She missed that mess more than anything.
Charles Powell had been delivering her their assignements in Joan's name. He was a nice fella, dressed kinda posh with his sweaters and his hair all slicked in place. Mrs Sutcliffe approved.
Stella didn't understood what Joan saw on him, though. He was friendly, but she didn't saw him as her type. There would always be bias and resentment in that judgement, though.
At least he was polite, unlike Her Majesty, Mary Pauline McCartney.
***
Pauline visited sometimes, also in Joan's name. Stella couldn't even begin to understand why.
They hated each others.
More like, Pauline hated her. She was always jealous, Stella knew it and didn't cared. She'd been jealous too, once, but she'd learned to move on.
In her honest opinion, Pauline needed to learn she wasn't the only person in the world who existed or mattered, but that wasn't under her control.
Unlike Joan, (or Georgia, or Phoebe) Pauline was a people-pleaser. Aside her teddy clothes, she kept some nice dresses and still curled her hair every night.
Mrs Sutcliffe also approved of her, but god how Stella wished she didn't. She was always taking her as an example of how Stella could be 'rowdy, but still appear proper'.
Sometimes she felt like her mum would rather have Pauline as a child than her.
***
'Mind if I steal Stella for a while, Mrs Sutcliffe?'
'Oh, not at all, dear. Go on, have fun'
'But-'
'Go on, Stella. You need to take more sunlight, after all'
***
Pauline dragged her around town without so much as a word said between them.
Penny Lane was a busy street, but people parted around them after sparing Pauline a single look.
It was so very odd for Stella, used to being invisible. But apparently, being conventionally pretty and also freakishly tall for a girl had its perks.
***
'Where are we even going?'
'To your house, where else?'
***
She had fucking stolen her. It would've been hilarious if it wasn't so frustrating.
Stella was 21. She was an adult, she lived by herself, she could and should be able to decide when to leave her parents' home.
But she couldn't. She was helpless to her mother's orders. And this literal child in her poofy dress and poofy hair and stupid gloves had quickly bailed her out just by being her.
By being pretty and polite and fake and everything Stella hated.
***
'Well, don't I even get a thank you?'
'Joan made you do this. So, no'
***
The flat was empty. It also looked like a hurricane had gone through it.
So, nothing out of the ordinary. Joan was probably out drinking or getting in trouble or shagging some poor devil behind Charles' back. Or all of them at once.
Pauline invited herself in and started picking things up, while Stella just dropped into a couch and stared at her.
She sure was pretty... Wait. Wait no. She was a child. She was also a royal bitch. But mostly she was a child, she was 17, and Stella hadn't seen any other bird in three months now.
Maybe the hemorrage really did mess up with her mind. Maybe she was truly seeing things.
Maybe. Hopefully.
***
Mrs Sutcliffe didn't called back.
Stella didn't wanted to think about what she was thinking now. Probably that she stayed over at Pauline's, and she just forgot to tell.
However it was, it felt damn right peaceful to be left the fuck alone for longer than five minutes. She'd missed this grotty little cardboard box she called her home.
The peace and contentment was only ever so slightly ruined by Pauline's presence, who had moved from organizing the room, to tossing clothes and toiletries into suitcases.
Wait. Suitcases?
***
'Get up and pack your shit, Sutcliffe. We leave for Hamburg tomorrow at six'
'What?!'
***
So, apparently Joan had decided to expand the band's horizons in Stella's absence, and didn't bothered to tell her, instead tossing that duty to Pauline, who seemed every day less of her best friend and more of her asistant. Or slave. However you see it.
Stella packed hurriedly, realizing most of the things in her room weren't even hers, but rather Pauline's.
The little rat had been staying over while she was gone... She didn't had energy to get mad about it. She just put her shit aside and continued.
***
'Where's Joan?'
'Staying at Charles, I think'
'You think?'
'We... We haven't seen much of each others these days, y'know?'
'Ah'
***
Next morning, at six A.M. sharp, five birds and one lad took a boat from Liverpool to Hamburg.
Stella had almost been glad to see Joan again, except that, as usual, Charles was glued to her side. She still hugged both of them, as well as Phoebe and Gia.
They joked a little about her confinement and the nutcase that was her mother, before moving on to other topics.
None of them really knew what they were getting into. The small group just boarded the boat, and sailed onto the adventure.
***
Pauline filled Stella in the details of the trip. They were to play six to eight hour sets at three or four pubs of the Reeperbahn area of Hamburg, stay at a small acomodation in some cinema of the zone, and remain that way for about six months.
They were also to say absolutely none of that to the immigration agents. If anybody asked, they were students vacationing, and also Georgia and Pauline were 18.
Everything about it seemed sketchy, but they were already on their way. Not much else to do when Joan had already signed the deal for all of them.
***
Sketchy had been an understatement.
The Bambi Kino, their place of residence, was a tiny rundown cinema with only two rooms to spare for all six of them.
It was truly awful, no ventilation and bugs everywhere, amongst worse things, but Stella decided she liked it because it wasn't her mother's house.
Joan and Charlie had immediately picked one of the rooms, leaving the rest of them to squeeze into the other. Two bunk beds, luckily, but no pillows or covers of any kind.
Well... It would do.
***
The real killer were the sets. Six to eight hours of pure rock and roll. Six to eight hours of standing up, playing 'til their fingers bled, belting 'til their throats felt sore.
They sucked, Stella knew they did, but Joan and Pauline were just so insistent, that they were so close to the Toppermost of the Poppermost. That they just had to work a little harder.
And when they were up there, and people kinda sorta bobbed their heads along to their terrible covers, and Stella could almost keep the beat and remember all her chords, it almost felt true.
***
A small group had started to frequent their shows.
One blond mophead, one thin mousy bird, and a few others, all dressed in black and with an odd air of melancholy to them.
Stella felt almost immediately drawn to them.
Joan called them 'exis', short for existentialist. With their deep talks about how nothing really mattered in life and how humanity's purpose was perhaps inexistent, it felt fitting.
Pauline and Phoebe stayed aside, but Stella loved being around them. They felt on the same vibe as her, the same level. They understood.
Aster Kirchherr with his long blond hair and eyes that saw a potential portrait on everything, quickly wanted to photograph them all.
If only he were a bird, Stella often lamented. They still managed to make good friends.
Klaudia Voorrmann was small and lovely, awfully shy but very talented with her pencils. She and Stella could talk art for hours and not get tired, but Stella saw just how she and Georgia looked at each others, both too timid to do anything about it.
None of the other exi girls catched her eye either. Stella felt at home with them, but they also felt... Unfitting. Odd. She wanted to like them, so badly, but none gave them heart palpitations of any kind.
But well, she didn't exactly came to Hamburg looking for love.
(Then again, just *what* on Earth did she came here for?)
***
Aster introduced them to prellies, diet pills that made them crazy with energy when downed with beer.
Joan seriously abused them, but then again she abused all and any thing that fell into her hands.
It was one of the hardest things Stella had to learnt about her, when she called her her best friend. Things had changed so much, she didn't even knew where they stood now.
Charlie hated it all, hated how busy Joan was, and how she ignored him when she wasn't.
To Stella, it seemed like he wanted to blame the drugs or this place for her behaviour. He clearly hadn't learnt the lesson she had just yet.
Pauline, on the other hand, seemed on the right track. She had started pulling away from Joan, stuck with Phoebe more often.
Not that it was any better, jumping from one Queen Bee to another, but at least Phoebe was harmless. She also curled her hair and refused the drugs at first sight. Her drumming might suck, but she was a good child.
Hamburg didn't felt like a good idea anymore, not when everyone drifted apart, but when Stella remembered the long days and hours of being stuck on that damned house, with her mother criticizing her entire life, with her brothers constantly watching her every move, this grotty little corner of the world felt more freeing than anything.
***
Pauline still didn't like her, not that Stella did anything about it. She genuinely didn't care anymore.
Her Majesty kept bitching that Stella should use her free time to practice her bass playing, since it was literally her job now, but even herself could do it better, that if she'd came all the way here was for a reason and she better start doing her part and-
Stella was great at blocking people out. She'd done so for years with her mother, she could do it with a whiny little rat now.
Aster and Klaudia invited her sometimes to their lessons at the local art academy. And she loved every second of it.
She hadn't touched a brush or a canvas since they arrived here, so being able to play with oils again felt like being reborn.
Art education here was way cheaper. And Paris wasn't really that far. Aster and Klaudia often talked to her about plans of moving there when they graduated, and Stella felt such a deep pull on her innards, to chase after them too, to paint and to dream and to leave everything behind.
Her bass was more than often left forgotten, in favor of dreams and paintings.
***
Pauline's bitching eventually got to everyone.
Stella lived in her own little world, but she still tuned in enough to realize things were getting worse by the minute.
She kept pushing Joan for more songs, more original compositions, rather than covers. They wrote music together and ended up fighting half the time. They were good, but they just could never agree on anything.
Everyone else just stared horrified at their arguments. Their general moods were also gloomier by the day.
Joan kept telling Pauline to stop worrying, that they were doing okay, that in a few months they'd be done with the contract and could return to Liverpool and then start looking for more, better opportunities.
But she also dismissed everything and everyone, sometimes even forgot they had shows to play, lost in the eternal party that drugs and alcohol and the many available german lads provided her.
(Charles had given up and left a while ago, not that anybody blamed him. Joan screamed a string of curses after him, but never did she once thought of apologizing).
Pauline seemed to overcompensate for Joan's carelessness. She became a control freak, constantly practicing and telling everyone to do so as well.
She yelled at Stella and Phoebe after every single set, scowled at them every time they messed up on stage, even if nobody else noticed, and just generally behaved like a pest.
It was all too much and they were all too stressed and when immigration police showed up and deported Georgia for being underage, shit really hit the fan.
***
'Well... Aren't you glad you turned 18 while being in here?'
'Fuck off!'
'Hey. It's fine. She's fine, she's a grownup. Can look after herself and all'
'...is it my fault?'
'Unless you went and told the police, I don't think so'
'No... But she told me she was growing sick of this. Sick of here. Of us, fighting all the time... Did... Did I make her leave? Is it my fault?'
'Maybe. Maybe it was for a reason. The Universe doesn't make mistakes'
'You believe in that shit?'
'Not really. But I also suck at cheering people up'
'Figured'
***
Things really fell apart afterwards, not that Stella stuck around long enough to actually see them happen.
Aster and Klaudia had a small flat in Altona, closer to the arts academy. She stayed over very often before, officially moved in when the academy accepted her.
So she shoved her bass to Pauline's hands, picked up her suitcase, and moved on with her life. Away from the mess that was left of the band.
***
Pauline visited her again a few months after. Stella didn't even knew she was still in Hamburg.
They sat on Stella's paint splattered studio, and while Pauline recounted the many disasters that followed her leaving, Stella sketched her.
She'd grown up in there, all of them did. Looked a bit less like a girl and a lot more like a woman. Her clothes fit different, her face seemed slightly sharper. The same odd feeling she'd gotten months ago, Stella felt now. Pauline sure was pretty.
Joan and her had had a row. Well, first Phoebe had left, tired of the constant arguments those two had going on. They'd gotten another drummer to fill in, one Rachel Starr who was good, quite good, but also very busy. It wasn't the point. The point was that Joan had pretty much insulted Pauline in all sorts of manners and broken her heart.
So, she finally learnt the lesson, Stella thought but didn't said.
The thing is, from the moment those two met, Pauline seemed to have abandoned everything just to orbit around Joan. Do everything she said and did, follow her to the moon and back. She was hurt that Joan didn't return that, and lost as to whom she really was, if not an extension of her.
Stella could understand her. She felt like that so long ago...
Despite her distaste at Pauline's general existence, she tried to cheer her up a little. They went out, had some dinner, a few drinks at a nicer place than the pubs they'd played in, went out dancing.
A couple lads and more than one pretty bird sent Pauline winks or drinks or compliments, but she turned them all down. Now that was a novelty.
Instead she just stayed with Stella, sat a bit closer to her, danced closer, held her hand tighter.
Stella knew she just did it to dissuade the unwanted suitors and suitresses. Did she?
***
'Where are you going from here?'
'Back home, probably. My dad must be having a stroke or something'
'Hey, don't joke with that'
'Sorry... You?'
'I... still don't know. The exis wanna hit Paris, but I still got a couple semesters to finish here'
'So, yer stalling'
'...yeah. Yeah, I guess so'
'Well... That makes two of us'
***
Pauline kissed her when they got back. Stella pushed her away, but god how she wished she didn't had to.
Put her to sleep in her bed and locked herself up on her studio the whole night.
Stella didn't fancy taking advantage of anyone. Even if Pauline wasn't that drunk, she was still fragile, emotionally.
***
'...I'm sorry'
'Don't be'
'Do... Do you want me to leave?'
'Do *you* want to?'
'I... I don't know'
'Well, I won't make you do anything. If ye wanna stay, stay. If you don't, then bye'
'...I... I think I could stay a bit longer'
'Suit yourself, then'
***
Pauline was a bit awkward in here.
She clearly didn't belong with the artists, didn't saw the world the way they did, but they appreciated her imput as an outsider anyways.
Stella felt the weird need to protect her. She was still figuring herself out, couldn't have her fooling around with any pretentious bastard who felt like using her for a night.
She was still bossy and annoying, but Stella found herself appreciating those qualities a tad more each day. At least the flat was cleaner.
Sometimes she'd catch glimpses of her in the early morning, while she undid her rollers or zipped her dress up, and it made Stella feel a bit ashamed, like she shouldn't be staring.
Pauline liked it, though. She asked for Stella's help dressing up from time to time. Sometimes 'forgot' to lock the door while she changed. And more often than not volunteered to be the subject of her paintings and drawings.
Stella quickly learnt she couldn't say no to her.
***
'...Joan sent me a letter. Says she wants the band back together'
'And you believe her?'
'I guess so, yeah'
'So... Yer leaving'
'I am'
'Well, good luck then'
'Stella-'
'Hope you make it big'
'I'm so-'
'Goodbye'
***
Paris felt awfully lonely.
Stella realized, it was the first time she was living by herself. Every other time, she shared space with someone. But in here she was alone.
Aster and Klaudia didn't lived too far, but they were busy, as she was too. Each lead their own life now.
She was painting almost 24/7 now, finishing comissions after comissions and gallery pieces and personal projects.
Didn't left her much time to overthink. It felt right.
The months moved slowly but also very quickly. Hamburg felt like ages ago but also like yesterday. Liverpool felt even further.
Pauline and the girls were suddenly everywhere. They had finally made it big, in three piece suits and mop haircuts, prim and proper, nothing like the mess Stella remembered them all being.
Paris, unfortunately, loved them.
Every radio station carried a song of theirs, every young teen spoke of them.
Stella's usual artistic circles disregarded them as childish music, and she felt the need to defend them somehow, but never quite could.
So she stayed quiet, and painted and isolated herself from the world.
***
They came to Paris one time, just one. The city was thrown upside down the few days prior and after their arrival.
Aster and Klaudia, always Aster and Klaudia, wanted to pay them a visit. Stella decided to sit that one out. She was much too busy, after all.
Pauline had been writing her for ages now, but she never opened the letters. Couldn't bring herself to throw them away either.
She certainly wasn't expecting a knock on her door the day of their show. Wasn't expecting Her Majesty Mary Pauline McCartney behind it either.
But she was there. In disguise, of course. The red wig actually suited her a little, Stella thought for a second.
She almost wanted to slam the door on her face. And just like with everything else... She couldn't. So she stepped aside and let her in.
They spoke awkwardly for a few minutes over cold tea and hard biscuits, before Pauline seemingly decided enough was enough and jumped to her arms.
***
'Just... Just what do you want from me?'
'...everything. I want everything, I want you so bad it's driving me... It's driving me mad!'
'Yer on the Toppermost. Got Joan and the band and the bass and the songs, and more fans than you surely know what to do with. What on Earth do you want *me* for?'
'For you, luv. I want you for you'
'That doesn't mean anything'
'It... It does to me. It's alright, if ye don't want me, I just-'
'I never said that. I just... Don't understand'
'Ye were there for me. I really wanted to stay, y'know? I wanted to come here with you. But the band... I had fought so hard for it... I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought we could... Try something. Be something, from afar... But you never answered...'
'Oh. Is... Is that what you wrote me for?'
'Yes! Did you even read them?'
'...no. I'm sorry'
'Hardly matters. We're here, and I want you, and... I want to believe you want me too... Do you?'
'I...'
'Stella?'
'I do. I do, I do, I want you too, goddamnit!'
'Well, thank god'
***
They made love the whole day, long into the afternoon. Then Pauline had to run to play on her own show.
She promised to return later that night, and she did. Stella beamed the whole time, painted with reds and pinks and danced along to the echo of those silly love songs.
***
'I have to leave tomorrow morning'
'I know'
'The tour's almost over... I have a place in London...'
'You want me to, to go with you?'
'If you want to'
'And... And if I don't?'
'Well, I won't make you'
'...will you still be mine? If I stay, that is?'
'Oh, darling. Been yours even before I left'
***