Tell Me What You See

Don't Bother Me

John woke up late in the afternoon. After a bowl of cornflakes he took a bottle of booze and hid out in his favorite room. He sat in the sunroom on the small couch, the sound down on the T.V. as he watched the pictures move. He remembered doing this with his mates at a younger age. He would often make them laugh as he filled in the words for them. Now, he just sat there, drinking and wishing he could jump in to it and be anywhere but where he was.

Cynthia knew to stay away from John. He was in one of his impossible moods and had been very curt with her. She took Julian into another room to put off the inevitable. She knew when he got like this and started to drink and at times take drugs that trouble was brewing. She would make sure that Julian wouldn't be in the middle of his out bursts. Cyn knew he would turn on her when the alcohol hit him and his sulk on became too much. Why did she always allow herself to be his punching bag? He would spit his hatred out on her, the words hitting harder then when he slapped her. Yet she loved him and only hoped he would love her back. Love her the way he did a long time ago. A time before fame and riches, a time when he couldn't get enough of her, and a time that seemed so long ago. He would be his old self once in awhile only to have his evil twin return and that twin seemed to return more and more these days. For now she kept Julian safe as she bathed him and got him ready for bed.

John cursed his life as he took another swig. He hated the prison he had put himself in. Hated the boring life he led, pretending to be a husband and father. John knew he was bad at both and again cursed himself for his failings. Then again if Cynthia hadn't gotten pregnant he wouldn't have to pretend. He poured the liquor down his throat, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He hated feeling out of control, losing his band to a control freak like Paul. Sure he loved the stupid git, but it was his band now wasn't it? He thought about the falseness of being a celebrity, how everyone wanted a piece of him because he was a Beatle. He had always hated that. The music had been pushed aside with fame and fortune, both things that Paul loved. His temper brewed over all the things he hated that made up his life as he watched the distant lights on the T.V. in the darkness of the night.

It was half twelve when Cynthia snuck down the stairs to check on John. She tiptoed into the kitchen and through to the sunroom. The light of the T.V. lit her way. She saw John fumbling with his guitar. Angry he slammed it down, the strings twanging loudly as it hit. Cyn backed up, but it was too late, John had seen her. Her heart raced as he slowly rose. She saw that angry look in his eyes and spied the half empty bottle on the floor along with an ashtray that over flowed with cigarettes.

She stepped back into the kitchen and turned around to quickly get upstairs. Her movement stopped and she was held in place, John's hand tightly around her arm and bruising it as she twisted to get away.

"Not want to be around me Cyn? I s'pose fuckin me is out of the question, unless I decide to just take you. Naw, don't want yer sorry arse." John threw her to the floor like a rag doll and stood tall over her.

Cynthia winced at the pain and fear she felt, "John please you're drunk. Why don't you sleep it off." She wished she hadn't said it, as John's face grew redder with anger.

" You bleedin bitch!!!! Drunk!!!! Drunk am I? Of course I'm drunk 'avin to live 'ere with the likes of you!" John bellowed.

Cyn got up and two strong hands pushed her against the wall. Holding her there he gave a disgusted look.

" You sicken me you bloomin cow. Getting preggers to hold on to me. You 'appy Cyn? 'Appy ya married me?" John said in a menacing tone as he shook her hard and the tears rolled down her face.

" I never got preggers to trap you John and you know that. I know you love Julian and he adores you. Why can't you be happy with our life? What have I done so wrong except make a nice home for you and raise your son?" Cynthia knew she was being brazen as the tears rolled down her face harder then before. She felt his hot breath against her ear and smelt the poignancy of the booze filter up to her nose.