I Will [Paul McCartney/Beatles Fanfiction]

eighteen

The slender silhouette of Paul McCartney raced around the corner onto the street in which the air was filled with smoke and the rushing of wheels and the occasional whistle were the only sounds amongst the chatter of those waiting to board the train. The station at the end of the road, he could see, was packed with people, some actually there for the train and others merely desiring shelter from the downpour. Paul himself was soaked at this point, but he didn't really care. The only thing on his mind at the moment was Carmen, and he felt nervousness grow and grow with each shaky step he took towards the train station.

He couldn't stop reminding himself that this was pretty much it. If he didn't find her here, he wouldn't find her at all.

Paul arrived at the building and managed to slip inside, working his way through the dense crowd to get to the front desk. Behind it stood a man that looked to be in his mid-thirties and clearly hadn't gotten his hair cut in a while; it just barely reached past his shoulders and was a dull, faded blonde that clashed with his vibrant sapphire eyes. However, Paul didn't take much time to acknowledge the man's appearance.

"Hi, yeah, do you have any trains leaving soon for either London or Durham?" he asked breathlessly.

The man eyed him skeptically -- I mean, again, Paul was drenched, barefoot, coatless, and desperate-looking -- before shrugging and briefly scanning over a list (while he did this, Paul was thinking that he was one to judge by looks).

"The next one to Durham isn't for another hour, but one for London just left ten minutes ago."

"Alright." Paul glanced around the room quickly, seeing no one that looked like Carmen. "Uh, has a bird come by with straight blonde hair? A little longer than yours," he added awkwardly, "and a bit...brighter. She would've been wearing a light blue dress with a brown belt and, um, had brown eyes. She's beautiful."

"Uh, not that I recall, but I can look over the list of signatures of people that bought tickets today."

"Could you?" Paul asked hopefully.

"Sure." The long-haired guy flipped his locks backward, and Paul, not used to seeing a man with long hair, tried his hardest not to look awkward. "What's her name?"

"Carmen Dalton."

Nervously, Paul glanced around the room once more, knowing it was only a matter of time before someone recognized him. He began to tap his foot absentmindedly as he waited for the man to complete his search.

"No, she hasn't come by. Or, at least, she didn't get a ticket," he said after what felt like an eternity.

Paul sighed. "Well, that's just great. Thanks anyway."

"Speaking of which, are you planning on getting one?"

"No, that won't be necessary."

Paul left the counter and entered the room next to the one he'd just been in, scanning this crowd over as well. Come on, she has to be somewhere. He was looking around the cramped and clustered room so quickly that the many faces of the people inside it were beginning to blur together. He felt his heartbeat grow faster and the organ thumped loudly in his chest, his palms beginning to grow sweaty. Oh, man, oh man, what if she's not?

He swallowed hard and went from room to room to search each group of people thoroughly, but his efforts proved fruitless. The realization slowly dawned upon Paul that she wasn't there. Finally thinking of this, he swore his heart stopped for a moment.

She's not here.

The optimistic part of his brain countered. No, no, she has to be. She wouldn't leave you like that.