Peace (lennstarr)

Shame

>> shame <<

<> the painful feeling arising from the consciousness of something dishonorable, improper, ridiculous, etc. <>

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he was about an hour late for work and John still hadn't moved from his spot in the kitchen. he was mesmerized by the small scratches on the plate he used almost everyday. did he always eat like a monster?

he hummed loudly to keep the room alive in the meantime. normally the Telly would be on or he'd have Ringo nearby to talk to. today the television set wasn't touched and his friend had left before he could even say so much as sorry.

just as he finished throwing out the untouched food in the trash, a ringing noise came from his room. it must've been Stu.

John trudged to his room, making sure to stretch out the amount of time from the kitchen to the white room. even after purposely dragging on it just seemed so long.

when he finally arrived at the soft bed the phone was already on its last ring.

"hullo?" John mumbled into the line before a soft gasp came from the other side.

"John! I thought you were dead by the looks of it! you didn't come early today, did Brian give you the night shift?" Stu's panicked voice came through and John sighed miserably.

"no actually. I'm coming I just, woke up late." he said and traced a hand over his pajama print.

"well hurry it up Lennon. you still need to turn in those portraits for the next exhibit." Stu continued and John sighed for effect.

"tell you what Sutcliffe," John said and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. "I'll be there in a few minutes only if you distract Brian in the meantime."

"alright, alright, just hurry up." and with that Stu Sutcliffe ended up being the first person in years to talk to John in the morning instead of Ringo.

he grabbed a towel nearby and jogged to the bathroom. he was slow, exhausted, didn't want to go to work, didn't want to talk to Stu, didn't want to see Brian, didn't want to hold a pencil to paper for hours at a time, didn't want to go through with the day.

though his mind wandered towards the thoughts of his bed, John disrobed and entered the shower wishing to wash away all this heaviness. his hair fell into his eyes and it felt like he had a mop of lead on his head. he couldn't help it, he sighed and let the water fall while he stared at the wall.

he wished he could wash off everything. yesterday, this morning, tomorrow, the days after, those blue eyes that could look right past his mean demeanor, those pearly whites that brightened up his life more than the sun, his sweet little giggle that was purer than a Saint, the man that singlehandedly manage to ruin his life with just one word, Ringo.

John's tongue felt like cotton, lips dry and chapped despite all the water around him. the water hit his skin like bullets, stinging before they glided off his pale skin. his pulse couldn't be found, it was like he was already dead. he wouldn't be surprised if he actually was. the blood ran cold and his spine sent a shove down his back as he turned up the heat all the way. he can't be affected by something that he can't even feel can he?

(In case anyone was wondering, yes that last paragraph did fuck me up. I didn't even want to write it considering the fact that I almost broke down in tears. So if I suffer so you you. Enjoy)