The Life We Once Knew

Knock Knock, Get The Door, It's Depression

I hated to think that Paul was like this because of me. His longtime girlfriend had broken up with him, and now he wouldn't even get out of bed. There was a strong chance I was wrong, Jane could have easily fallen in love with anybody else, but my sixth sense was tingling. Something told me what I felt wasn't felt in solidarity.

Paul was a wreck. His heart was shattered into so many pieces, only someone with delicate fingers like a pianist could pick them up again. I was not the one who could heal Paul's wounds, but I could bandage them. For the moment, I could provide a distraction.

"Paul," I called, "Paul, get up."

The lump underneath the quilt stirred. It had been two days and he only ever came out of the room for the toilet and to grab something to eat. Each time, I couldn't see him because he kept the quilt tightly wrapped around his body.

"Bloody hell, Paul, get your arse up," I kicked the edge of the mattress.

Paul groaned, "Don't wanna."

"You don't have a choice," I replied, "Come on, get up, we've got places to be and people to see."

"Bugger off."

I sighed deeply. Kneeling at the head of the bed, I lifted the quilt and smiled at him. He opened one groggy eye to glare at me. I grinned, "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey."

"Sleepy sleepy."

"Paul, you better get your arse up before I drag you from the bed."

Paul groaned, "I don't wanna go anywhere."

"Too bloody bad," I replied, "The babysitter's already takin' care of Vera, I've just got to get you out before we're late."

"For what? More disappointment?"

I sighed, "No, Storms Over London is filming a few promos videos in a park and I'm bringing you along."

"I don't wanna go."

"You don't have a choice."

"Sod off."

He pulled the quilt over his head and snuggled deeper. Groaning, I stood, "Honestly, Paul, I am doing this for your own good."

I moved to the end of the bed and jerked the quilt off. Suddenly, Paul's body was exposed to the chill beyond his blankets. His curled into a tighter fetal position and glared at me, "Lia, give it back!"

"No!" I replied, "Listen here, James Paul McCartney, you need to get out of your slump and the only way to do that is to get out and do something."

"I don't wanna."

"I don't give a shit. You're going and that's final."

Paul glared at me, "I'm older."

"I'm wiser."

"Are not."

"Are too."

"You-"

"Don't make me call the others," I interrupted, "I swear, Paul, I will call John, George, and Ringo and they'll help me drag you to the park if necessary."

Paul glared at me, "You wouldn't."

"I would and you know it."

We had a stare down. Both of us glared at each other, unblinking, waiting for the other to cave. In fights that like, the stubborn one always prevailed. Paul and I were equally as stubborn, neither of us ever won those fights, but, at that moment, I was the stronger one.

"Bloody hell, fine," Paul grumbled, "Only so you'll leave me alone."

"Ah, but even then, you can't get rid of me."