A Better Life (Beatles)

Chapter 1

I was running.

Running from that terrible place I called home for my whole life.

I would run until I couldn't run anymore.

Until something good would happen to me.

Until something bad would happen to me.

Whatever happened, I run.

...

I kept running, staring intently at the ground as to watch my footing, with tears pouring out of my eyes.

Since I wasn't looking at where I was going, I forcefully ran into man and toppled to the ground.

"I'm sorry sir." I said, sobbing harder when I felt my ankle crunch. 

"What's wrong love?" The man asked, revealing a soft, velvety voice. Those three words rolled off his tongue so easily, they sounded like poetry. 

"Nothing..." I choked out, knowing very well how unconvincing I sounded. 

"Here, let me help you." He said, holding out his hand for me to grab. I gripped it tightly and he swiftly pulled me off the ground. I winced once I was reliant on myself to stand, and I knew that my ankle was broken. 

I looked up at this man, who was only a few inches taller than me, and admired him. 

He was wearing a grey suit and a lighter grey sweater underneath it. He had a fluffy haircut, hazel eyes, and chubby cheeks. He was absolutely adorable, to say the least. 

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Tiffany. Tiffany Garcia. Yours?"

He let out a small chuckle and blushed a little bit. "Paul McCartney. Why are you out at this late hour?" He asked me.

"I could ask you the same question." I said, smirking at the look he gave me. 

"Just getting some fresh air. Though, I asked you first." He said. I rolled my eyes.

"Just running." I said, without elaborating in the slightest. 

Paul chuckled. "That doesn't look to me like running clothes you've got on. I mean, those certainly aren't running shoes." He said, looking at me intently, waiting for an explanation. 

I glanced down at my brown moccasins before looking back up into his beautiful eyes, knowing very well I couldn't tell him the truth. He seemed trustworthy though. Nothing about him seemed twisted, like he'd take me right back to where I came from. 

"I had to get out quickly, so I grabbed the first shoes I saw. I'm running away from home, you see." I said, looking down and kicking a small pebble. I could feel my face start to heat up, and I regretted what I said immediately. 

"Why?" He asked sympathetically.

"It's a long story." I told him, shaking my head subconsciously. 

"I've got time." He said with a light smile, probably trying to get me to smile back.

"Okay." I took a deep breath before I began.

"My mother invited a bunch of her high class friends over. She told me and only me to clean the house. I cleaned every inch and every corner of our house except for the kitchen counter, because I was too focused in the little things. When her friends came in and sat at that counter, there was a small spot on it that was really sticky. Her friends flipped out and left. My mom got really mad and-" I stopped, feeling a large lump form in my throat that I had to swallow back.