𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 (𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴)

❛❛chapter thirty-three: mad as a bag of ferrets❜❜

Memories are the most challenging part of dealing with death. It was like they purposely replayed in your head just to taunt the fact that they were gone. I couldn't stop thinking about them. There were a few memories in particular that liked to linger. One of them was the first night Isaiah came over to my house. I can remember we laid on my rug just talking about our lives. He kept his eyes on me most of the night, looking truly interested in what I had to say. What I'd give to go back to that night. I would love to lay beside him, talking into the night. 

Paul came and sat beside me, "You have a good snooze durin' our performance?"

"No."

I really didn't. My back hurt because of the sofa, and I could stop thinking about my deceased lover. Also John? God knows what reason, but he was there too.

"It's all tha' negative energy you got. You need to have some fun. Nothin' good comes from mopin' about."

"I've heard it all before," I rolled my eyes.

Both of us quoted George, "It's all in the mind, y'know?"

I sighed, "Doesn't change tha' he's gone. I miss him so much; it's unfair."

"I know you do, but he's not comin' back in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

"Oi," I gave him a warning stare.

He leaned back, "Harsh, I know. But it's the truth. Why don't we find you a new beau."

"Paul, I've sworn meself off of men," I waved him on, "I hurt everyone, and they hurt me. Wouldn't end well, you see?"

That's true; I've officially decided that I'd rather die alone. Maybe I'll try women. I just didn't want to give the time and effort to something that wasn't worth it. 

"Ah, come off it-"

"I'm dead serious! And I don't very much appreciate it when you act like I should already be over him. It's only been two weeks. Obviously, I'm not okay!" I bickered, "And don't you look at me like tha'. I'm not fuckin' mad as a bag of ferrets."

"Look, I'm sorry, but it's depressin' lookin' at you," Paul put his hand on my shoulder, "I swear you haven't eaten! You look like death warmed up."

I hugged myself, "I'm just not hungry."

I was starting to feel a bit insecure about my weight. I know I'd lost a few pounds since Ash's death.

"You can't just decide to not eat," McCartney shook his head.

I raised my eyebrows, "I literally can't eat."

"Yes, you can."

"I honk it back up."

We sat in silence for a second. I hadn't been able to keep the nosh down that I did eat. I felt guilty tucking into a meal, and that reaction was so intense I'd chuck up. So recently, I just didn't eat, so I wouldn't have to deal with that. It was far more manageable and didn't bother me much because I wasn't even hungry. Anyway, Paul blinked a few times while still looking at me. He looked like I had just confessed that I'd murdered a whole class of children. I didn't think it was that big of a deal.

Paul grabbed my wrist and pulled me up off of the couch, "Liz, you got to eat."

I tore my hand from his, "I'll be fine, alright? You can relax."

"No," He said sternly, "I can't just sit 'ere and let you starve yerself. We're gettin' you some proper grub."

"Paul, would you sod off! I'm not bloody hungry. For christ's sake, you just want happy-go-lucky me back, but tha's not gonna happen anytime soon."