Paul Mccartney Imagines

3

I remember that day like it was yesterday. It was a Tuesday, I think. It was one of those dreary London afternoons when the sky couldn't decide if it wanted to rain. I was exhausted, dragging myself home after a long day at work. All I wanted was to curl up on the couch with Paul, maybe watch some TV, and forget about the world for a while.

Paul McCartney. My boyfriend. Sometimes, I still couldn't believe it. I'm dating one of The Beatles. It felt like a dream most days. He was my rock, my haven from all the craziness of dating a famous musician. At least, that's what I thought.

As I fumbled with my keys outside our flat, I daydreamed about kicking off my shoes and feeling Paul's arms around me. But when I finally got the door open, something felt... off.

There was this sound. At first, I couldn't quite place it. It was faint, like a whisper or... a giggle. My heart did a funny little flip in my chest. Paul hadn't mentioned having anyone over.

"Paul?" I called out, shrugging off my coat. "You home?"

No answer. It's just more of that muffled sound. It was coming from our bedroom.

I remember standing in the hallway, my coat half off, frozen. Part of me knew. Deep down, I think I already knew what I would find. But the rest of me, who loved Paul, couldn't even imagine it.

With each step towards our bedroom, that giggly sound got louder. It wasn't just giggling anymore. There were other noises, too, ones that made my stomach churn.

I pushed open the door, and it was like the world stopped spinning.

There they were. Paul and... some woman I'd never seen before. In our bed. The bed where we'd spent countless nights talking about our future, where we'd made love, where I thought we were building something real.

For a second, nobody moved. It was like one of those scenes in a film where everything goes silent and moves in slow motion. I could see every detail with horrible clarity – the rumpled sheets, their tangled limbs, the look of shock on both their faces.

Then Paul's eyes met mine, and time came crashing back.

"Y/N!" he gasped, scrambling to cover himself. "I... this isn't... I can explain!"

The woman – God, she was gorgeous, all long legs and perfect hair – let out a little squeak and tried to hide behind Paul. As if that would somehow make her invisible. As if that would undo what I'd just seen.

I couldn't breathe. It felt like someone had punched me in the gut. All I could do was stand there, my hand still on the doorknob, staring at the wreckage of my relationship.

"Explain?" I finally managed to choke out. My voice sounded strange, all high and wobbly. "Explain what, Paul? How did you accidentally fall into bed with her? How did your clothes happen to fall off?"

Paul was out of bed now, pulling on his trousers frantically. "Please, love, it's not what you think. It was a mistake. I never meant for this to happen."

A harsh laugh escaped me. It sounded more like a sob. "A mistake? That's what you're going with? Do you think I'm stupid?"

The woman was gathering her clothes, looking nowhere but at me. I wanted to hate her, to scream at her, but all my anger was focused on Paul. She was just a stranger, but he had promised to love me.

"You should go," I told her, my voice flat. She nodded, clutching her clothes to her chest, and practically ran from the room. A moment later, I heard the front door slam.

Then it was just me and Paul. The man I loved. The man who'd just shattered my heart into a million pieces.

"Y/N, please," Paul started, reaching for me. I flinched away from his touch. "It didn't mean anything. I love you. You know I love you."