Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

14. Her Face at First Just Ghosty Turned a Whiter Shade of Pale

Carnival of Light (Part 2)

14.

Paul looked like he was caught in a trance as he watched me shout at Stash, who still had not put his cock away and was still smirking at me. It made me even more blind with rage as I lost my mind screaming at the both of them — I don't know what I said, it just kept spilling out at such a high volume my throat was aching. It felt like a dam breaking, the entirety of the last godawful month erupting out of me.

Paul seemed to snap out of it and crossed the sitting room to me, putting his hands on my arms and attempting to herd me out into the hall.

"Alright, alright, let them put their clothes on, c'mon." He was using this gentle voice like he was trying to calm down a child or an animal.

I huffed indignantly and spun on my heel, storming out into the hall where I swung back to face him.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" I demanded.

"Nothin, let's go upstairs," Paul nodded to the staircase. "Give them some privacy to sort themselves out."

"Some privacy?" I scoffed. "They were shagging in our sitting room!"

"Yeah, well," Paul put his hands on my shoulders and turned me around. "Sometimes putting your clothes on's more awkward than taking them off."

I shot him a look over my shoulder. "And you would know, wouldn't you?"

"Baby, let's just go upstairs, alright?" Paul tried nudging me toward the stairs again.

I made an infuriated sound and shrugged him off before fleeing up the stairs.

"God, you're unbearable!" I spat back at him once I reached the first landing. 

"What the fuck did I do?" Paul said incredulously.

I made another outraged sound and ran up the rest of the stairs, having every intention of locking him out of our bedroom, which Paul apparently worked out for himself because he chased me up the stairs, catching the bedroom door with his hand before I could slam it shut

"You're overreacting," he shot me a meaningful look.

"Overreacting?" I demanded. "Overreacting?" I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Yeah, overreacting," Paul pulled the door shut behind him. "Calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down, you arsehole," I snapped.

"Don't call me an arsehole," Paul looked taken aback.

"I'll call you an arsehole when you're being a bloody arsehole," I shot back.

"Stop shouting at me, Beatrix," Paul gave me a look. "You're acting hysterical."

I stabbed my finger at the door. "Get out."

"Why are you freaking out about walking in on people shagging?" Paul demanded. "It's not a big deal."

"Not all of us feel right at home in a whorehouse," I shot him a withering look.

"Hey," Paul's eyes widened.

"Will you get out and leave me in peace," I said tartly.

"No, I won't get out," Paul said indignantly. "I'm not leaving you alone when you're acting like this." 

"Oh, so now you're interested in me?" My eyebrows rose. "Now you care?"

Paul's lips parted like he was going to say something but he hesitated.

"Well?" I pressed. "Are you going to pretend you've not been avoiding me for weeks?"

"That's not fair," Paul took a step toward me.