I've Got A Feeling

Fourty Five

C'mon, pick up, pick up. Please pick up. "Pick up, goddamnit!" Buzzing. No click. No glorious sound of the other line clicking. "Who ye tryin to call this early anyway?" I nearly jumped, clutching my chest to slow my heart rate. "No one, Da'." "Doesn't sound like no one to me." I rubbed my face tiredly, feeling the dryness get to my eyes. "I had a row with someone and they haven't been answering my calls for days." I saw the head shake he was giving me from the corner of my eyes as he poured some hot water for tea. "You can't spend your whole life waiting on that Lennon boy, son." "It's not John." I snapped defensively. "Then who is this "person" you're talking about?" Dad asked wearily. "George. We were talkin' about this one bird and then he got his feathers ruffled and we haven't spoken since." "Oh. Well, it'll work itself out. Anyway, I gotta head into work soon, so no messin' about while I'm gone." I smiled, knowing he'll probably say that until the day I move out. "Love ye Dad." "Love you too son."

I swaggered back upstairs, deciding not to let this relationship trouble get in the way of my day. The sun's finally out for summer, albeit with a few clouds, but that doesn't take away from the beautiful warmth outside. I flounder the sheets around on my bed, so then it looks neater than the crumpled mess it was in from hours and days before. Starting to organize the papers on my desk, the weight in my stomach expands. Those are John's papers he left here. Water surfaces in my eyes and I can feel my lip quiver. God, why can't I just leave this alone? He's not a fucking child.

Then there's a knock at the front door. Shoving a jumper and trousers on hastily, I rush down the stairs to pull the door open but not without adjusting my hair to get it out of my face. "Hazza? What are you doin' here?" I ask, sighing lightly. "I came to see how you were. Ye haven't been answering me calls, haven't been showin' up to gigs, haven't even been answerin' Ritchie's calls. What's up with you?" I could tell from the glint in his eye that he seemed actually concerned for me. "I don't have time for this, Geo. I'm really busy and-" "Ah! Don't think you can shut the door on me, Macca. I may be younger but I'm no dumbass."

I scrunch my face up, wanting nothing more than to just bite down on the stupid finger he's wavering in front of my face and see how he enjoys it. He lets himself into my house. A snarky one I see. Now who's gonna take me seriously? "You okay Paul?" "Hmm?" I look up, being pulled out of my thoughts once again. It's only then that I notice how aggressive my teeth had been to the ends of my nails and little bits of skin around it. Ashamed of what I've just committed, I hide my gross fingertips away inside my pockets.

"He misses you, y'know." We make our way up to my disorderly bedroom, since I need to get more suitable clothes on for going out. What's the point of gettin' dressed up if you aren't going anywhere? What would John think though, if I just showed up to his house in basically nightwear? You're not going to John's, and that is that! But what if John got hurt when he left? Or what if he got into a row with Mimi and she really did kick him out this time? He knows he shouldn't drink past seven on a regular night. He gets too tipsy and needy....and hot headed, oh fuck.

I felt a whip of pain across my face, feeling the electrical tingles morph into heat. "Ow! What was that for, ankle biter?!" "That's for not answerin me, also yer not too far off from my age either, Paul. Now get yer mind out of the clouds and listen." George's gaze locks mine into place, my cheek feeling bruised. "Why won't you go see him?" My body froze as I heard George's words, my hands moistening just feeling the papers that John once touched. How do I answer that? Specifically that sort of question. The one that makes my bones shake from fear.

"Paul," He sighs after my name leaves his lips. "Don't you care about him?" I chuckle mockingly, feeling how unnecessary that inquiry is. "Of course I do. That's a stupid question, why would you-" "Then if you love him, you'd ought to get that big ass of yours over the phone and dial it up, or go see him at Mimi's for fuck sake. He's probably in the same way as you by now." I lower my voice, feeling as if I'm about to back away into oblivion. "But I can't."