Help! | McLennon

Suprises

"What... the hell—" Paul mumbled as a series of loud noises woke him up. To be exact, what he was doing could hardly come across as sleeping. It was more like a semi-concious state, which had been following him since the day John walked out of that room. The day Paul gave up on trying to live his life and made the decision of isolating himself from the world. No one needed him anymore so the best he could do was to step away and stop being a burden to those who were in the pain of having him around.

Because of that he had realized that he actually enjoyed being alone. When there are no people around, you don't have to worry about being judged or them being sick of your company. The only one sick of Paul McCartney now was Paul McCartney himself.

He forced himself to sit up and the second he did, his head started spinning. He hadn't gotten out of bed since five hours earlier, which was the last time when his body and mind signaled withdrawal. During the last week the only thing that had motivated him enough to move was the desperate need of the burning sensation in his nostrils, the bitterly sweet taste, which would come along with it, and obviously the need to feel the rush of endorphines go through his body. A quick escape from his never ending misery.

He was close to abandoning the idea of checking out what had caused the disturbance in his beloved silence. He was mostly likely just imagining things. After all, it wouldn't be the first time. All of the sudden he heard something again. This time it was definetly real. There was someone in the house. Paul could hear two, male voices, even through the thick walls.

- 2 hours earlier -

"I don't know, Ringo. I'm not sure it's a good idea."

After John and Paul's falling out, The Beatles had simply stopped existing. No one knew where John was, because he had gone away somewhere without saying a word to anyone and clearly didn't want to be found. Paul, on the other hand, had returned to live in their shared house. Any time someone knocked on the door he would tell them to leave him alone. There was no one he had agreed to let in yet, so no one knew how he was doing.

All of their plans had been, and still were, getting cancelled and the world was buzzing with curiosity about what might had happened to the Fab Four. Unluckily it meant that there were many stupid rumours spreading around. Some of them suggested Paul and John being kidnapped by crazy fans or even them being dead. There wasn't any theory about a failed romantic relationship, at least not yet.

In the meantime the other two Beatles kept trying to figure out what to do with the situation. So far they had been hiding away, watching the whole thing from behind. Brian had told them that if John and Paul didn't somehow contact them soon, they would have to make up a good reason for the band's temporary break and sell it to the press.

"George, we have to do something! He's in there all alone and you told me yourself, he's fallen back into his addiction!"

"I know, I know..." George let out a sigh and poured them both some tea. He sat across from his friend, took a sip and they sat in silence for a moment, while he was thinking Ringo's idea through one last time. "Alright. We can't just sit here and do nothing, we should help him."

"Yes, we should. Should we go there now?" Ringo drank all of the brown liquid from his cup in just one sip and looked at the other, waiting for the answer and hoping that he would agree.

"I'll call Brian to arrange the transport for us, I guess." George nodded. "But I am not telling him that we're breaking into Paul's house."

"I don't think he'd approve." A dry chuckle escaped Ringo's lips, but shortly after that he became serious again. "I'm worried about him."

"Me too, Rings. Me too."

- now -

"I can't believe you just kicked out the fucking door!" George exclaimed, but it was hard to tell if he was more excited or terrified.