Changes

Chapter Twelve - We Can Work It Out

I went home immediately to tell Y/N everything that had happened at George's house so we could talk properly, especially before the wedding.
"Y/N, you home?" I called out, once I came back in.
"John?" She questioned. I then saw her coming downstairs, slowly. "Where were you? I've been trying to get a hold of you but I couldn't reach anyone that knew where you were!" Y/N spoke, worriedly.
"I was at George's." I answered, shortly as I mentally prepared myself for the conversation we were about to have.
"I called him but no one answered. Where were you really?"
"At George's, let me explain." I told her, seriously. She said nothing, and continued to look at me. "I went to talk to him to hear his side of the story, and I'm sorry I got so upset with you."
"What?" She asked, confused.
"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I know you were trying to tell me that it was all George's fault and you were the victim. He kissed you and you couldn't do anything -"

Y/N's Pov:

John continued to ramble on about how this was all George's plan to get me back and how it backfired, and how he forced me into the kiss ... I don't know what George told him, but that's not what happened, unfortunately. Although he kissed me, it was more that we kissed each other. We both kissed each other that night. I couldn't tell him that, though. I know it was selfish and wrong, but things were starting to smooth over between us and it was two days before our wedding. I couldn't let another fire be set, and we can work things out with George once the time is right. Besides settling this, the only thing I hoped was George would still come, although I wasn't expecting it at this point.

"We'll talk to George and hopefully things settle down before the wedding. But what I'm more worried about is the cuts and bruises on your face! I never knew George had it in him!" I said, jokingly. "Let me get you a cloth to clean it up. Sit at the table." I told him.
"I'm sorry." John said, for what had been at least the fifteenth time this whole conversation as he sat at the table.
"It's okay, John. I understand." I gave him a soft and reassuring smile as I went over to him with a wet cloth to clean the cuts and ice to heal the bruises. I began to clean his face as he continued to speak, which made it a bit harder since he was moving but I didn't stop him.
"That bastard, my best friend, he knew damn well you're mine!"
I silently listened to him rant about George, not knowing what to say but also knowing that's all he needed.

"All better." I told him, once I finished cleaning his cuts.
"Thanks, love." He got off the chair and crouched down to where I was and pecked me on the cheek. "I have a song idea, so I'm gonna work on that now." He smiled brightly at me, and walked away.

A few moments later, his guitar plucking coming from our bedroom echoed through our house as I was reading on the couch in the living room. I recognized the tune and quietly hummed along,
"Is there anybody going to listen to my story
All about the girl who came to stay?
She's the kind of girl
You want so much, it makes you sorry
Still you don't regret a single day
Ah, girl, girl"

Little did I know what this song truly symbolized for him ...