Baby It's You

Baby It's You

K, well I'm deciding to bite off way more than I can chew and I'm writing yet another Beatle love story along with my Beatles Muse story. :) I don't know, I just love writing them, so why stop? Hope you all like it!

Chapter 16

Misery

Sorry this one took so long guys!! I'm working on a brand new story for you guys, so please forgive me! Enjoy! :)

~John~

“Where the bloody hell is everybody?” John barked at George Martin, an angry look on his face.
“Paul and Jane are on a date or something, George is at some kind of conference with a guy from India and Ringo just decided he didn’t want to show up today,” George replied, bored, poking at a couple of buttons on the control panel.
John sneered behind his new mustache. “So unprofessional,” he spat, and turned towards me. “Sorry love, no music today,” he apologized.
I shrugged. “I’d better get back to Jane anyway, she’s probably wondering why I didn’t come to the hotel last night.”
“I’ll call you,” John said as I gave him a goodbye peck.
“See to it that you do,” I teased. “Bye George!”
“Bye (your name)!”
I opened the door to let myself out when it opened up for me. In the doorway stood a man, and older man, at least George’s age, but with a big gut. He was breathing heavily.
Over-protectively, John came up beside me. “How did you get in here?” he asked.
“More importantly, who are-?” I began to ask, but I heard shouting.
“Get back here!” I heard Mal’s voice shouting, and heard the slamming of feet.
The man pushed past John and I and into the studio, slamming the door closed behind him. “Please, I need to talk to you, John!!” he begged.
“Open up!” Mal cried from behind the door. I obliged.
“I’m sorry John,” Neil apologized immediately. “We tried to get him, but he was too fast.”
“Who is he?” John barked, annoyed.
“He won’t say, and we don’t care to know,” Neil replied, eyebrows furrowed.
“Please, just let me talk to him privately, for just a second!” the man cried.
“Let him,” John blurted. My head whipped in his direction, but he seemed confident.
“John, don’t get a big head,” George told him, coming down the stairs. “You don’t have to be big and brave.”
“Are you sure?” Neil asked, thinking the same thing as I.
He nodded. “I can take him.”
“Well, so can we, John, you don’t have to deal with-” Mal tried to negotiate, but John would have none of it.
“Go!” he commanded, pushing him, Neil and George out the door.
“I’ll get go-” I began to make my way out as well, but John grabbed my arm.
“You’ll be ok,” he promised. “Stay.”
I didn’t know if I wanted to stay, but I couldn’t say no.
“What are you?” John barked at the man, who looked incredibly uncomfortable.
“I’m umm… my name is F-” he began, looking confused.
“Not who are you, what do you do?” John repeated, getting very short-tempered for no real reason.
“I’m a… retired Navy merchant?” he replied, as if it were a question, and then chuckled. “You sound like your aunt Mimi.”
John’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “I sound like who?”
He looked confused and nervous, as though he feared having just said something wrong. “Your aunt Mimi,” he repeated quietly.
“How do you know I have an Aunt Mimi?!”
He made a pained face. “John love, I’m… I’m your dad.”

~Paul~

I knew I loved being engaged the second after I became a fiancée. Picking out dresses and a cake and flowers may have been hard for other people, but it most certainly was not for me.
A few months into it, Paul got a call from John on a lazy Sunday afternoon. It didn’t stay lazy for long.
“John, calm down,” I heard Paul say to his band mate seconds after saying “Hello?”
I couldn’t hear what John was saying, but he was talking so loudly I could hear the noise from the other end, and his voice sounded frantic.
“No kidding!?” Paul suddenly cried back, sounding just as scared as John did. “Ok, thanks man, I’ll do that.”
Without another word, Paul slammed the phone back into the receiver and turned to face me. He looked horrified that I was standing in the room all of a sudden.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, standing up.
He bit his lip. “Nothing,” he replied. “Nothing at all. John’s just being dramatic.”
That I could believe, but the lie that nothing was wrong I could not.
“Don’t lie to me, Paul McCartney,” I warned, following him as he made his way up the stairs.”
“I would never lie to you,” he lied sweetly, and pecked my cheek before rushing up the stairs.
I continued to follow him. “Paul, I’m not stupid. What’s going on?”
“Nothing!” he insisted, and shut our bedroom door as he disappeared into it. I furrowed my eyebrows and yanked at the doorknob, but it was locked. Naturally.
“James Paul McCartney!” I shouted, banging on the door. “What are you hiding?”
No reply. (Ha-ha, horrible pun, I’m sorry)
I snarled and continued to pound on the door until finally he opened it.
“Why all the suspicion?” he asked with a horrible poker face, and tried to pass me, but just as he did, I noticed his jean pocket was bulging. It wasn’t before.
“What’s that?” I questioned, pointing at it.
He continued down the stairs, trying to pretend as though he didn’t hear me.
“Paul!” I shouted, following behind him. “What is in your pocket?!”
“My wallet, babe,” he lied again.
I didn’t believe him for a second. “Then pull it out,” I challenged, standing in front of him.
“Why?” he replied, trying to act casual and confused as he tried to pass me again. But I had had enough, reached out, shoved my hand in, and pulled out faster than Paul could react.
My jaw dropped as I saw the item and threw it to the ground in disgust, realizing what I just touched.
I looked up at Paul, who looked ashamed, and hadn’t even bended over to grab it. The damage was done, and his secret was out.

~George~

George and I went to the memorial for Brian, along with the other three Beatles and their wives. Everyone in the entire funeral home wore dark, depressing shades of black, and none darker than the Beatles.
John walked around with an expression that looked like he just saw a ghost. Wide eyed, jaw dropped, face pale white. Shocked, speechless, and... slightly afraid. He said very little, and even acting a tad paranoid, as if he expected someone to jump out and kill him at any second.
Ringo looked very near tears. He was constantly blinking his eyes and looking down at the floor, like he was trying to get rid of them. Maureen didn't try to hide her tears as she followed him around. She bawled like the baby she just had.
Paul was very quiet, which was highly unusual. He acted very shy, and said very little. If someone asked him how he was, he would answer with a simple, "Fine," instead of a long sentence explaining in detail how he felt.
And finally, my Georgie was very distant. He had a far-away look in his eyes, as if he was dreaming for another day, which was pretty understandable. People would have to repeat their sentences multiple times for him to hear it because he was so out of it.
“How are you doing?” I asked halfway through the event.
Still staring into the distance, I thought maybe George hadn’t heard.
“How are you-” I began to repeat myself.
“Fine,” he interrupted quietly.
I didn’t believe that, but didn’t say so. Arguing was clearly not the best thing to do at the current moment.
Around us, more people were crying than I had ever seen in one room. Men and women, young and old. It was very, very quiet. I hadn’t known Brian as well as the Beatles had, and I suddenly began to wish that I had.
“Hey George,” Ringo was the first to greet his friend, and the two immediately hugged. Beside me, Maureen wiped away a tear and hugged me as well. We had only spent that little time at the train station together, but I guess a death in the Beatle family brought people together.
“Hey Ringo,” George replied back, his eyes squeezed tightly, no doubt, trying to keep his composure. Ringo was also keeping his cool, but it was clear it was painful for both of them.
Sticking fairly close to each other, John and Paul also made their way over to the four of us, arm and arm with their girls.
“Hi, guys,” Paul said to George and Ringo quietly.
John said nothing, but only stared ahead of him, breathing deeply, like he was trying to catch his breath.
“Hey you two,” Ringo responded.
“The mortician says he’s going to take the body away soon,” Paul tried to continue the conversation. “And if we want to see it, we should see it soon.”
The silence came back quickly. Of course the thought of seeing the body was always there, but still had no idea if I wanted to see it. I had no idea if George wanted to see it. Would it bring closure and comfort, or just an emotional breakdown?
“Who wants to go?” Paul continued his thought.
“I will,” George suddenly piped up.

~Ringo~

“It’s not what you think,” Ringo repeated. “I promise.”
“Then what is it, Ringo!?” John demanded his eyes firey. “How did she get that on her face?”
“Oh shut your gob, John!” Ringo shouted. “Don’t preach to me about hitting your girlfriend when the whole world knows-”
“Do you did hit her!” Paul accused, pointing at Ringo suddenly.
“No, I didn’t!” he cried.
“Then what happened, Ringo?” George asked much more calmly than anyone else.
He looked over at me, a begging look on his face. “Still think we shouldn’t have called the cops on Fredrick?”
“Who’s Fredrick?” Paul interrupted.
I sighed. “Fredrick,” I began, and pointed at the bruise. “Is the real reason for this.”
All three Beatles suddenly appeared embarrassed. What a way to meet, huh? Oh, hi, I’m Ringo’s new girlfriend, the one who just got out of an abusive relationship, nice to meet ya.
“We had no idea,” John finally said.
“Clearly,” Ringo hissed, narrowing his eyes at John in particular.
“Be nice,” I scolded, elbowing him in the side. “They were only worried about me.”
“But once again, you three think I’m your little brother who has no idea what he’s doing,” Ringo barked at his friends.
George frowned. “Ring-”
“ George!” he shouted. “I’m not wrong! I did everything right, but you three naturally assume I was the one who did something wrong. I beat Fredrick’s _ss the second I realized what he did and got her out of there!”
“What do you want, Ringo, a pat on the back?” John barked back at him.
Ringo gritted his teeth, but I spoke before he could. “Look, there’s no real reason to argue,” I insisted. “We all have a common enemy here-”
“And apparently, it’s me!” Ring shouted.
“Ringo, don’t play victim in this,” Paul said. “Look, let’s just forget it.”
But he wouldn’t. “Get out of my house,” he snarled, opening the door. “And don’t ever come back.”
“Ringo, you’re being rid-” John spoke, but stopped when he noticed his glare.
Silently, John, Paul and George all exited the house, staring down at the floor like punished schoolchildren.
“You handled that well,” I told him sarcastically. “Great job.”
Ringo wrinkled his nose but said nothing as he too stormed away.

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