Nineteen Sixty-Four // Starrison

Chapter 14

 "John, what are you playing at?" George panted, running into his friend's house. He didn't expect Lennon to even talk to him again, but now... this? What was he up to?

He looked around the room, but the older man was already throwing his coat away and going upstairs. Harrison still had no idea what was going on, but something told him to follow John. Lennon reached the secret hatch, but suddenly stopped and turned to Geo. He grabbed him by a shirt's collar and brought closer.

"Promise me that what what you'll see here will remain as a secret. You won't tell anybody. I know how much you adore the Party, but this one time just give it up. Promise me."

The younger one was very offended by this Party remark, but he didn't dare to say anything, not when the wild flame of determination burnt in Lennon's eyes. He could see in them that it's serious.

So he answered honestly: "I promise."

John believed him. He breathed a sigh, opened the hatch and got inside, with younger man following him. The room wasn't dark as usually — many candles lightened the whole place up. George was hit by a familiar scent of dust and something uncommon — indistinct smell of blood, tickling his nose. But he's never expected to see what he just saw.

He froze.

Ringo raised his gaze, looking at his ex-lover with shining eyes, opening mouth in amazement.

Harrison's heart started to beat faster; he should be used to it anyway.

But no word was said. Richard glanced away at the young man in front of them.

He was unconscious, sitting with his back against the wall. Harrison has never seen this person before and needed a moment to look at him carefully. He had very delicate facial features, nearly femine, but he was certainly a man. Or more likely a boy. Beautiful boy. He seemed young and innocent, with long eyelashes, plain cheeks, thick, luxuriant brown hair — and dark brown eyes, doe-like. Deep as the sea. However, the effect was ruined by a nasty, bloody cut on his forehead and some smaller wounds. The boy was wearing torn leather jacket and dirty t-shirt, also covered in blood. Just now George realized how profusely he was bleeding, probably from a wound on chest, that Ringo was desperately trying to stop, pressing a rag against.

"Who... who is this?" The young Party's member took a step into the stranger's direction, unsure.

"Harrison, we have no time for this. He needs your help." John gave him angry look.

"Who is this, Lennon?"

The older one sighed, impatient, biting his lips. "Prole... most probably. I don't know, who is he exactly. We heard screams. Loud bang. We saw Thought Police. And then he hid in my house. Barely alive. And now he is more barely alive."

Harrison tried to get things straightened in his mind, even though everything was so shocking and chaotic. He didn't know how to react; he's known John for so long, known, that his friend can act like a madman sometimes... but this?

"And you decided to take care of him? John, you don't even know him! What if he's a criminal? Thought Police was chasing him!" George's voice was raising and raising, until he found himself screaming.

"We're all criminals in this world," his friend answered, stone-faced and with stoic voice that the younger one managed to hate. Why did he act so calmly? Why didn't he fear even a bit? Harrison himself couldn't fully understand what was happening. Although he knew pretty well that if he were John, he'd do the same, he'd help without a second thought — but he ignored this fact.

"John, it's..."

"Stop fighting, for fuck's sake! He's losing more and more blood!" Richard screamed, interrupting them.

It wasn't right moment for George's heart to riot, to run out of control. But he couldn't help — seeing beautiful, blue-eyed man. Especially because they haven't talked to each other for so long and Harrison missed him in every second...

"Why did you bring me here?"

Lennon hesitated. "Your mother is a doctor... Geo, we won't handle it. We'll more likely hurt him, than help." He laughed gloomily. "But you... you could help him." The man swallowed, preparing himself to say the word he hated the most, that hurt his throat like a sharp blade. "Please."

The young man looked at him. Looked right in the desperate brown eyes, hidden behind the glasses. Need to help this wounded stranger. Act of kindness that'll become another revolt. He looked at Ringo, who tried to stop the bleeding. Finally, he looked at the boy that he didn't know, that he owned completely nothing.

And then Harrison felt anger, growing inside of him silently, accumulating for so long, like an acid — burning, dangerous, potent. Unspoken ire towards the Party. George felt that he's tearing away from the emptiness digging hole in his tormented heart. He walked towards the injured boy in a sudden fit of humanity, lost in the wasteland of the previous world.

George knelt by the stranger, forgetting for a moment, how close he was to his ex-lover.

He took the boy's shirt off, watching the wound. He wasn't a doctor, and he certainly hadn't had the proper course, he didn't even know if he'd be able to help anyhow. But this yanking need of riot that he felt probably under the influence of John and Ringo and the view of this broken young man, made him now say, harshly and professionally:

"The wound doesn't look like a mortal one. But he needs stitches. Give me threads, bandages and something to clean it. An alcohol."

"Will a Gin make it?"

"I think so."

Lennon saluted and ran down the stairs. Ringo sighed quietly and backed off, letting Harrison do his job.

Along with the first touch, George knew that no matter what happens, he was now involved in all of this. No escape. In what madness was he taking part in? He didn't know. Was it only a matter of time to Thought Police to find them? He didn't know. What will happen next? He didn't know.

He just worked.

"Joj..." said Starkey, his voice sounded like a weak whisper. "You know... we couldn't leave him like this."

The young man raised his head and looked Ringo right in the eyes.

"I know."