How Could I? //// THE BEATLES STORY

Yellow Submarine

time skip because I'm a lazy twat.

2 years later.

"Fucking hell."
The boys bowled into the small, shitty hotel room, sweating like mad men and panting furiously.
Paul was red with not only tiredness, but anger.
"The goddamn fans!Lunatics!"
I rushed to Paul with a glass of water and a towel and ran back out to get some for the other boys.
I quickly gathered everything, knowing that this routine had been repeated for the last 3 years.
I swept back in and the boys had thrown their shorts off, sitting there shirtless.
Paul was sitting up straight, staring ahead of him, his fists clenched.
As I patted each boys forehead from sweat and gave them water, with grateful smiles, I turned to Paul and kissed him swiftly on the cheek.

"Have a rest, Paul. Calm yourself."
He looked up at me, his eyes softening.

"Meadow, dearest, I'm sorry I-"
I pushed my finger to his lips, shutting him up.

"Tell me what's wrong, guys. You all seem frustrated."
They really did, John was now pacing, looking angrily at the floor, George had his head in his hands and Ringo was pounding his head against the wall.
No one acknowledged me as I asked.

"GUYS!"
Their heads snapped my way and they obediently day down.
"Please. Tell me."

"It's the fans."
Ringo, surprisingly spoke up.
"They're batshit crazy."
John nodded furiously.

"There's something that doesn't feel right anymore. It's gotten so stupidly stupid."
He gushed.
I nodded. It was late August and we were cooped up somewhere in Memphis.
The whole controversy with the Philippines, Jesus being less popular than them and the fire-cracker on stage malarkey plus the crazed, sexually driven fans had weighed the Beatles down with pressure and sadness. 
John had pleaded for help, via the Help! Album, but the fans weren't listening.
And that was the problem.

"I'm going to be honest guys."
I was wearing flares and a hot green bell sweater.
I perched on the edge of Paul's armchair.
"The fans don't listen to the music. I think we all know deep down. But you've expressed it the wrong way, all of these problems have led to this. You need somewhere to stay, stop touring and reside somewhere. In the countryside, maybe in Surrey, I don't know. Just lay low for a while. You need a break. Because this will drive  you up and down the wall and you'll be making more mistakes in pent up anger and frustration and fury. I love you all. So so much. I can't bear to see you hurt like this. You don't deserve this. You deserve the youth you deserve."

I finished, panting. I had just repeated what we were all thinking. I was already fed up and tired, so keeping it together was really hard.  But I had to.
For Paul. 
The boys were all in shock. Paul was staring at me with wide eyes.
"You can't even hop on a bus, or see a movie, or do anything!"
I protested.
Their freedom was lost.

John stood up and walked directly at me with vague eyes.
He stood, staring straight down at me. I wasn't scared of Lennon, he knew I was Paul's.

"John..."
He suddenly grabbed me and hugged me tightly, but not in a intimate way, in a brotherly way.
He buried his head in my shoulder and I felt him crying.
"Meadow... I can't do this no more."
I patted his head.
"Shh, now John."
I felt someone hug me from behind. It was Paul. He placed his head atop of mine and I could feel the tears fall onto my hair.
George stood next and hugged my side and I drew my arm out to Ringo.
We slowly all slid to the floor and the boys leaned on me, crying loudly and messily. I caressed them all slowly and whispered calm messages.

"It's all going to be alright. I promise."

And we held each other.

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