I Want to Tell You (A Beatles Fanfic)

Chapter 25-Got to Get You OUT of My Life 🕒Friday, November 15th, 1963🕞

"Cigarrette?" George offered, removing his box of cancer sticks from his pants pocket.

"No thank you." I replied, upon entering the flat. He shrugged and lit up, giving one to Ringo and closing the door.

I trailed behind them awkwardly, stepping into the living room.

"Well, this is it." Ringo said, collapsing on the sofa and taking a nice long drag. "What do ya think?"

I smiled as I gazed around in wonder. It was just as I had always imagined it to be; messy, cluttered, and yet very comfortable. A boy's appartment is a boy's appartment no matter if it's 1963 or 2016. I paused thoughfully.

"It's...nice..." I said, looking around more as I observed the scene.

There was a small balcony at one end that looked out over the city as we were on the top floor. There was a sofa and two chairs surrounding a coffee table covered with ashtrays and empty beer bottles. A television set sat in the corner surrounded by empty potatoe chip bags, coca cola, and dirty laundry.

As Ringo sat enjoying his fag, George was rushing about cleaning things, which mostly consisted of shoving them under the couch. I stiffled a giggle.

"Sorry if the place is a mess." George said, looking a little sheepish. "The maid hasn't been in since last Tuesday."

"You guys have a maid?" I laughed, sitting down on the sofa next to Ringo.

"Yeah...she comes in twice a month."

"If Brian saw the place like this, he'd really have it out." said Ringo, picking up a dirty sock and shoving it under the cushion.
"Would yer like anything to drink?" George asked gently, gazing down at me from where he had stopped running around. I smiled.

"Yes, please."

"Is tea alright?"

I nodded and watched him head for what I assumed to be the kitchen, leaving me alone with Ringo, who had kicked off his shoes and was making himself quite comfortable.

"So, Wendy." he said, picking up a pile of magazines and tossing them behind the sofa. "How do ya like modeling then, love?"

I hesitated, pondering this question for myself as well.

"It's alright." I said slowly, leaning back into the plushness of the sofa and sighing lightly.
"It's more work than you'd expect, that's for sure. Lot of changes and what not."

"You look great up there, by the way!" Ringo said, his blue eyes twinkling slightly. "And I know George thinks so, too. I'd buy that magazine anyday of the week, pet."

"Do you often subscribe to Vogue, Richard?" I teased, as George entered the room with a plate of tea and cookies.

"I will now." he said, winking at George who scoffed slightly in annoyance.

"Don't pay him any mind, Wendy, he's just a miserable ole sod." George said, sitting down on my other side, frowning slightly.

Ringo laughed, shaking his head in amusement. Though I couldn't quite put my finger on it, there was some kind of tension in the air.

We sat in silence for a moment, sipping our tea thoughtfully as I felt a lump forming in the back of my throat. Guilt began to creep its way back into my mind once again and I swallowed nervously. Now I was at the flat and this was it. This was my time, the opportune moment had presented itself.

'Tell them, Wendy,' my conscience begged. 'Tell them you're leaving.'

'I can't do that,' my id fired back. 'I only just got here.'