Hello, goodbye

Like dreamers do

     "Come on!" Paul shouted from the bathroom. I woke up slowly, and my forehead was pounding. I made my way towards where he shouted from. The bathroom door was wide open and he was in there looking in the mirror. He was combing out his hair, and I rolled my eyes.
"You woke me up for this?" I asked, sounding agitated. He looked at me with wide eyes.
"This is a crisis!" He shouted, and I covered my ears.
"Can you hush? And what's the crisis, diva?" I asked jokingly, and he huffed at me.
"Are you hungover? And my hair won't cooperate!" He yelled, and I held my head again.
"You're hair looks fine! And maybe just a bit," I said, and he sighed.
       "Love, are you okay?" He asked, and I wanted to say yes so badly, to be over it already. To not feel that constant aching in my chest that yearns him.
      "No, but that's okay," I said quietly, and walked off before he gave me a pep talk. Thankfully, he didn't follow me.
       Once we were both ready, we hopped into the car. I put a very small effort into my appearance. I brushed my hair and my teeth, but I didn't put on any makeup or dress fancy.
     "Woaaahhhhh," John said as soon as I walked in, obviously mocking my appearance. I just flipped him off and kept walking. I sat criss-crossed on the floor of the recording studio. They normally let me sit there being as I was quiet. It was mesmerizing to watch them work. The whole time I kept looking at George, and when he would catch my eye, he would look away uncomfortably. I knew it made him feel strange to have me there. I wondered if his heart was as unrepairable as mine.
 
What I didn't know, was that it in fact, was.

   I dreamt of my past, or I guess the future. I thought about what my bitchy step-mom thought of my sudden disappearance. I also drifted back to that dreaded thought of if I could be changing the Beatle's future as a whole. I was so angry at myself for being unsure, but I couldn't help it.
     When they were done playing, they all went outside to smoke, except George. Paul seemed unsure on wether to leave us alone or not, but George seemed alright so he left.
     "Hi," he said awkwardly, and I was just thankful he was speaking to me at all. Another talk with George was another day in paradise. His voice could make my insides melt.
     "Hello," I said back, and we didn't look at each other. We just spoke, and I looked at the floor. I think he looked at his guitar, but I'm unsure.
     "I miss you living with me," he said in a monotone, and I felt the waterworks fighting to gush it, but I stopped them. I didn't deserve to cry, not after what I did.
      "I miss living with you," I said as casually as I could, and he suddenly stood up,
      "I hate that it's ruined," he said, and it was like a kick in the stomach. He hated that I  ruined what we had, what we could have been.
      "Is it?" I asked, a small sliver of hope reaching the surface, but he knocked me down.
      "Yes. It's tattered. Tattered means old and worn, in poor condition. We are in poor condition," he explained, and I thought of how poetic that was. Most people use the word to describe clothes. We were like some old shirt worn just one too many times. It had been kicked around, and I was the destroyer.
     "I'm so sorry," I whispered, and for a minute I didn't think he heard me.
      "I know. And I really do wish we could go back, but we can't. Goodbye, Rose," he said, and I just let the tears fall silently down my cheek.
     The boys were done, and Paul offered to take me to his flat, but I told him I had errands to run and that I would be home soon after, and I promised to be safe.
      So, I did what me and George did only a week ago. I went where life took me. I rode the subway, and I saw the old man once more. This time, he had a cat nuzzled into his coat.
    I sat by him, and petted the feline. I handed him all of the money I had, only about 50 dollars. I wish I had more.
     "You have a cat?" I asked, for he didn't have a cat before, when me and George met him.
      "I do now. Many people ask how I support him, being as I can barely support myself. But he is only a few days old, and no one should come into this world beaten down. My name is Wilfred. What's yours, darling?" He asked, and I answered.
      "It's Rose, and I suppose you're right, can I ask you a favor?" He asked me, and I nodded my head at the old man.
      "Do you think you could take my cat?" He asked, and I looked at him with a very confused expression, "just for a while. You seem to need him more than me, but you can bring him back to me when you're done," he said, and I nodded. I grabbed the cat from him, and immediately felt his matter fit, and I'm pretty sure he had fleas, but I didn't care. He was my new friend, and I was going to treat him right for the time I had him.

Something I neglected to do with George.
-------------------------------------------------------
OKAY, LOVE THIS CHAPTER THOOO