Roses Are Red

Chapter 17

Warning: this chapter contains some explicit content. Feel free to skip over it if you are not comfortable. 

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Autumn

September 22nd, 1960

2 AM

George had never felt more alive yet more dead at the same moment. Hopped up on prellies and alcohol, everything was blurring together. He barely remembered the show they played, or even recognized that they had walked off stage until Paul slapped him on the back and told him that he'd done well on his guitar solos. Someone handed him a warm beer that tasted like piss and he drank it with a sour look on his face, wishing he was somewhere else, preferably with Samantha. Her birthday was coming up but he had lost track of the days. Every evening he was playing and every morning he slept until he had to play again. Either that, or he didn't sleep at all due to the drugs running through his blood stream. He kept himself occupied and wrote to Samantha and his mum, and he kept a pile of Sam's paperback books, the ones she was willing to part with, under his bed for when he finished his letters.

George blinked and realized that he was now in a booth with John and Stu across from him. Stu had his new girl Astrid under his arm and John was speaking to him quickly. "What'd ya say?" George asked over the loud music and chatter.

"I said I'm fuckin' tired, but Paul's got a girl in the room so I can't go to bed. I'm debating sleeping right here on this booth with Stu as a pillow. That alright, Stu?" John asked and poked his friend. Stu didn't answer and swatted John's hand away from him. "Bloody hell, he won't even answer me! Ridiculous," John scoffed and stood up. "I'm gettin' another beer. Ye want anythin'?"

George shook his head and held up the half drank bear bottle in his hands. John turned to leave but George grabbed his arm. "Wait, what day is it? Sammi's birthday is coming up. I want to send her a letter on her birthday." George's words came out rushed and slurred, but the five of them had developed an ear for what each other were saying in such a state.

John crinkled his nose and furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "Er... It should be the twenty-second today. I think? I'm not completely sure. Grab the paper in the mornin' and check."

George frowned. Her birthday, it was the twenty-second of September, wasn't it? George tried to remember her birthdays over the past couple years, but everything was too much. The music, the talking, the smoke, the smell. He could barely see anything it was so dark, but when he looked at the few lights they were so bright. He debated taking another prellie, he was so goddamn tired, but if he wanted to sleep tonight he was best off if he didn't. George groaned and laid his head on the solid wood table. Why couldn't he remember her fucking birthday? He was an awful boyfriend.

George pried his forehead off of the table and stood up. He stretched and blinked, trying to force his brain to resister what was going on around him. John came back and raised an eyebrow at him. "Where are ye off too, la?"

"To interrupt Paul's good time. Ye should come with me," George offered and a smirk spread across John's face.

"Gladly."

John and George shoved their hands in their pockets as they walked along the red-light district of the Hamburg. All the neon lights were blurring, and George had to squint it was so bright. "Ye got a fag?" He asked John.

"Only if ye got a light," he countered. He'd been complaining about his lost lighter for a couple of weeks now, trying to place the blame on one of them. They all swore that they hadn't taken it. John would get in a tizzy every once in a while and turn the room over searching for his light. Every nook and cranny was to be scoured. He was never successful.