Honey Pie

Chapter 1

There Paul sat in his room, the bliss of the weed he had recently inhaled slowly washing over him. His television inches away from his face, a little piece of paper rolled with the sweet substance he longed for and craved so deeply in one hand, and a bottle of whiskey in the other. Each time her face played upon the black and white screen of the television, his heart would race even more than it already was and his hands would shake violently, some of his Jack Daniels spilling out of it's bottle. He longed for her just as much as he longed for his sweet cannabis. Her perfectly curved body he could still feel under his trembling fingers. Her sweet scent intoxicating his lungs, and her lips of honey against his own. He craved her, but she was gone.

His eyes scanned around his dim bedroom, eyeing each empty whiskey bottle and empty cigarette box. His usual big, hazel puppy dog eyes had turned into a two, seemingly hopeless, black orbs. He quckly raised himself from his seat and trudged across the room toward the door, pushing his roll of cannabis into the ash tray as he did so, stopping as he felt and heard a crunching sound under his shoe. His gaze cast downward as his foot raised slowly to see what he had stepped upon, only to see glass of the broken whiskey bottle that he had thrown across the room in an alcohol-induced rage. He quickly moved toward the door again and gasped the doorknob in his trembling finger, quickly pushing the door outward and cringing from the bright light.

John quickly looked up quickly looked up toward the stairs as he heard Paul's bedroom door open in what seemed to be weeks. George's eyes soon followed as well, tearing his gaze away from the television as he looked up toward the staircase. Richard almost didn't hear the faint noise, as he was too wrapped up in his book, well Paul's book, that he was reading. It took a nudge from John and a loud groan from the top of the steps to obtain his attention.

"What the 'ell are all of yeh doin' in my house?" Paul groaned as he took heavy steps down the wooden staircase.

John's eyes narrowed as he examined Paul and the current state he was in. His untucked, white dress shirt was covered in stains of God knows what. Probably whiskey. His hair was going in all directions, and his eyes had intense bags underneath them. The last thing he took account of was the rather long and untrimmed beard that was on his face. John finally opened his mouth to answer Paul's question, but Richie beat him to it.

"We're worried about yeh, Paul, you probably 'aven't eaten in days, and you certainly 'aven't showered in what looks like weeks..." George could only nod in agreement at Richie's words. He had no clue what to say himself and wasn't sure that he could even speak at the moment because of the pure shock to see one of his best friends in such a broken state.

"But how did yeh even get in, I had the door locked...I think," Paul's voice was unsure, in all honesty, he wasn't even sure what day of the week it was, let alone whether he had locked the door when he had come in all that time ago.

"Yeh think?" John raised an eyebrow at how unsure Paul seemed to be, biting his lip softly before continuing, "It was locked..but we all know where yeh

keep the spare key, the potted plant right next to the front door isn't as clever of a hiding spot as yeh might've thought.." John smiled softly, hoping to get any type of smile on Paul's face, just wanting to see some kind of happiness on him at all; but all he did was nod a bit

It was overwhelming for Paul to see the three of them all at once, he eyed each of them slightly, he could see the fear in each of their eyes as they looked at him. He sighed and shaked his head, continuing down stairs and toward the kitchen, questioning why they even cared. He was broken, they had no reason to care, they should just let him waste away, he was unfixable. It was his fault that she was gone now, his fault that he had lost her, his fault that he let her slip through his fingers, It was his mistakes that had caused all of this, all of his pain. He put it upon himself.

As John saw Paul pulling out a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, his eyes widened and he quickly sprang up from his seat, grasping the bottle from his hand and pulling it from his, causing Paul to swing around toward John and growl slightly. John narrowed his eyes at Paul's growl and placed the glass bottle upon the counter with a loud "clink".

"Give me the fucking whiskey.." Paul spoke firmly, standing up a bit taller and giving the almond-eyed man before him a confrontational look.

John kept his firm gaze upon his best friend, his brother. He couldn't bare seeing him like this any longer, and was determined to put an end to it, no matter what the cost.

As Paul quickly reached up to grab the glass bottle from the counter, John's hand quickly caught Paul's wrist. Paul let out a noise almost like a hiss as the feeling of John's hand on his bare arm seemed to burn his skin. Richie and George watched in awe as John growled out, "Stop."

Paul didn't plan on stopping, his plan was to drink himself to near death, but John knew that he would stop that from happening. Paul looked up toward John quickly and then stepped back quickly shouting out, "Why the 'ell do I have to?! Why the fuck do yeh even care?!"

John's eyes widened softly at Paul's sudden outbreak. George quickly getting up and Richie quickly followed, George finally speaking up. "Because we need yeh, Paul! We wouldn't be The Beatles without yeh and we fucking need yeh! We'll help yeh with yer problems with this woman! But we can't help if yeh don't help yerself!" Paul's eyes widened immediately at George's words, his breath growing uneven as he hesitantly nodded. John nodded as well and quickly grabbed the bottle of whiskey, opening it and pouring it down the sink.

"Now c'mon, we have an album to work on," John said as he made his way toward the living room, George following him.

Richie sighed as he followed the two of them, mumbling under his breath, "And a bloody woman to track down.." Paul looked down briefly as Richie spoke, looking up towards the three men as they walked, then hesitantly following.