In My Life

Chapter 65

John's POV
The brightness of the next morning made my eyes sting like mad. I only narrowed them at first, steadying myself to my feet from where I could see had been a park bench of which I'd slept on.

My head pounded, like I'd become so used to tolerating in the mornings, and from what I could recollect, the past few days had been nothing but a mindless blur.

Then it hit me. And hard.

As abruptly as it had done the morning beforehand, the realisation of my mother hit me like a firm kick in the stomach, forming a lump in my dry and aching throat.
And at the thought of my only comfort, came yet another surge of guilt.
As if she'd want to see me now.

I shook it off for the time being, more focused on making a start to the day, despite how abysmal I felt. I wandered into town, which was a huge mistake as that's where all the noise and chaos was; the echoes of the city's rowdiness booming into my hammering head, making me feel dizzy and nauseous.
I stumbled through the streets for a while, blinded by the brightness of the day, and suffocated by the noise and gushes of people surrounding me.
I lurched for the stoney wall of a building to steady myself, hopeful enough to use it to guide me through town.

"John? Are you okay?" Said a voice from behind.

My vision was still hazy, making everything a blur, and my pounding head made almost anything incomprehensible. All I could do was shake my head at the stranger, regretting ever leaving the quiet park.

A guiding hand clutched my shoulder gently, acting as my eyes and ears, and lead me away to a more desolate area of the city centre near a low-key market of minimal people; their gripping arms helping me sustain balance as we travelled. I was never concerned by the identity of the stranger, as they already appeared to know my name, comforting me slightly that there was some consideration for me.

"Is this better?" Asked the kind voice, as they sat me down steadily on a step.

I nodded breathlessly, cupping my wincing face into my palms, squeezing the sides of my scalp to ease the pressure in my head.

"Thank you." I gritted my teeth in agony of the tensions.

I focused on the shoes of whoever had taken me there through the gap between my palms to take my mind off my head. They weren't exactly the upmost of shoes, but had been kept immaculately in tact, with not a single scuff.

"Why do you do this to yourself John?" Sighed the voice, which I could now unmistakably distinguish as Paul's. "Why repeat the same ridiculous actions if you know you're just going to wake up the next morning regretting it like this?"

"Why don't you shut your mouth McCartney." I growled back, losing my temper with him already.

As much as I'd expected him to turn to his heels and leave me (or at least, that's what I'd have done if things were the other way), I was surprised to find he'd instead taken a seat beside me on the step; not a trace of impatience or frustration on his countenance.

"You need to control your temper John." He said placidly.

"Easy for you to say!" I snapped. "You've got it made! You've got nothing to complain about. You don't know what it's like."

He gave me a perplexed expression, causing me to roll my eyes at his sheer idiocy.

"From what I can see, your life seems nothing less of perfect Paul." I made fists against my head, digging my nails deeply into the skin of my palms. "You just waltz in here with your dazzling smile, charm, and musical ability, and swipe it all from me. It's like you don't even try, and yet everything is just handed to you."

"If this is about Sam, it's not my fault you've made these decisions to drive her away." He raised an eyebrow at me. "If you really love her, you'd have made the small sacrifices she asked of you."

"Don't bring her into this." I choked.

He eyed me nervously, raising my suspicions of him.

"What's going on with the both of you by the way?" I couldn't help but ask. "Don't think I didn't notice a thing or two yesterday between you both."

He bit his lip, perhaps contemplating his options before finally softening his expression with a friendly smile.

"You already know what I'm going to say." He attempted to comfort me with sympathy. "But I know you'd rather hear me lie instead."

I felt my heart sink to my stomach at that moment, heavily weighing me down with my own miserable state.
Had she really moved on again so quickly? Or would we have a constant back and forth between both McCartney and myself?

"Is she happy?" Is all I could say, aware that Sam had rarely seemed joyful by my side.

Paul gave a small nod with a smile, his eyes lost in his thoughts, most likely about her.

I gave a small shrug, and attempted to casually laugh it off, which really only got stuck in my throat to penetrate a weak croak.

"Well John I can't sit and chat all day, I've got places to be." He rose from his place on the step beside me, stripping me of the small mass of comfort which I'd felt with him beside me. "I hope you're alright John." He patted my back humbly.

I felt more alarmed and bare as I realised he was leaving me, it was like I needed him. Like he comforted me.
I'd never actually realised how close we'd become.

"Where are you going?" I asked him, already aware of the answer I was to face.

"To be there for her." He gave me a slanted smile of empathy.