As the sun colours flowers | Paul McCartney - Beatles Fanfiction

36. Your smile hasn't changed

"When I know your soul,
I will paint your eyes"

― Amedeo Modigliani

***

February 1967

I flitted in and out of consciousness for the rest of the day, or maybe it was longer than that, but I kept the drapes shut, keeping the world at bay for as long as I could. Paul's last words resonated in my dreams, like trails in the sky, amplified by how terrified I still was of my acid trip that didn't quite seem to end.

You shouldn't have come back.

Then, a week passed, and the feeling didn't get better. I felt empty, cold, lifeless, like I was alone on a rock floating into space.

It seemed that all my attempts to forget and have fun had come to a dead end. I couldn't shake off the feeling that I'd lost sight of myself recently. I wanted to be in control of my life, and make my own decisions so that nobody else could make them for me, but in the process, I'd pushed away what I loved. Most recently my best friend, and for what? Because it sure didn't feel like I was any happier than I was a month ago.

I thought facing Paul would help, but it only made us miserable. I thought apologizing to him would free me from regret, or at least some of the burden, enough for me to start moving on, and it had worked for a short while. But without even meaning to, I'd been hanging on for too long, hoping for something that wasn't there anymore.

As the days passed, it was quickly becoming more than clear that there was nothing for me here, not even the hope of moving on. It held me back from my job, only adding to the guilt I had about the whole situation as the opening of the gallery was coming dangerously close while there was still so much left to do. But London was too full of memories that would be best tucked away deep inside my mind. Until then, they would only keep hurting, more and more, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could handle it. I had to do something before completely losing myself to it.

I was getting restless, and eventually, I decided to go for a walk.

I slipped on my warmest coat, making sure I was dressed appropriately and brushing my unruly hair for the first time in a week before heading outside.

You shouldn't have come back.

I shivered as his words repeated again in my mind, like chimes on a windy day. I'd had a week to think about why he'd said it, and I was still as clueless. But I had to make sure he meant it. Even if it ripped my heart out, I had to know that he truly meant every word of it. That he hated me so much that staying here would only mean I'd slowly fade away, that it wasn't just all in my mind.

I had to know so that I could finally let go. Stick the knife in, twist it, and drown this feeling that made me so careless around Paul. Because without the proper precautions, I'd go back to him in a heartbeat if I had the chance. And I had to do something, anything, before it completely ruined every other aspect of my life.

My feet knew exactly where to go before I even made the decision. If I wanted to move on, I had to remove myself from Paul's life completely. I had to run as far as I could before it entirely consumed me. But first, I had to face him one last time before leaving for good. Out of his life. Maybe I'd move to Paris or Istanbul or Rio, it didn't matter where as long as I could keep the Beatles far away from me.

And as I walked, I kept repeating Paul's last words to me over and over again, until I was numb. The pins and needles in my heart could hardly sink deeper as I was ready, for my sanity at least, to do what I should have done all along.