The Less I Know The Better [complete]

22 ;; wondering

John almost wished that Paul had never told him the truth.
Ever since that fateful afternoon on Saturday, he was in a perpetual state of madness and utter turmoil; he didn't really process the words at first, walking home from the fish and chip shop with a blank mind, vaguely greeting a dish-washing Mimi - who had grown concerned at his strange state, though didn't press him with further questions - before sitting on his bed, arms leaning on his knees as he stared at the floor below his feet. It was then he really realised what it meant, and his brain went to the conclusion that Paul regretted what he had done. That the reason why he'd been acting strange and avoiding him was because he remembered what had transpired on John's birthday, and had wanted to pretend that nothing had happened because he didn't want it in the first place. That Paul was just a normal straight guy who didn't want to get involved with a revolting queer like him. From Ringo and Georges' reactions, they seemed oblivious to the situation, so it seemed the raven-haired boy gave him the liberty of keeping the whole thing secret and not alerting their friends of John's preferences (Ringo knew and didn't mind, but who knew how George would react), but that was it. Paul regretted what he'd done and now wanted to avoid John as much as he could for fear that he would think he actually wanted him. What great fucking luck.

For the rest of that Saturday night, John lay awake, unable to sleep; lamenting over his situation and just wishing that he'd never befriended Paul in the first place so he would never have gone through the pain of falling for someone who toyed with his feelings and regretted putting out the wrong message. He felt an intense anger, too - anger at himself for being such a fucking pansy, for pining over Paul, and at Paul for doing what he did. And being the amazing, insanely attractive person he was in the first place. He didn't end up sleeping that night, though passed out after smoking an entire packet of cigarettes within a few hours. When he awoke at around three in the afternoon from Mimi awaking him and reminding him he was supposed to hang out the washing, then promptly complaining that his room "smelt like you just set your room on fire and let it burn for the entire night". He barely even listened, just staring at her blurry figure above him from myopic eyes. Eventually he was able to muster the energy to properly exist and dragged himself from bed - only to go to the pub at six and drink himself into a stupor. He then awoke on Monday with probably one of the worst hangovers he'd had in a long time in some random hotel room with a naked, also hungover girl beside him. When she finally awoke and turned over to look at him, he almost let out an audible sound of despair. She had a striking resemblance to a certain person, and he scoffed aloud at himself for being such a sad sap while pissed and bedding a girl that seemed to be a doppelgänger to the boy he harboured queer feelings for. They'd talked for about two sentences before he gathered his things and left without another word. He felt bad about it, but.. being around someone who looked so alike to Paul was just painful. He didn't remember almost anything of that night, and he was almost scared he'd given himself alcohol poisoning just because he was devastated about a boy he never even had in the first place.
Mimi had begun to yell at him about how he had disappeared on Sunday night without a word and now had missed half the school day, both George and Ringo had called, being worried about him and "do you even realise how much you reek, John??". He had only two words for her - piss off. He then got into bed and slept through the rest of the day, feeling stupid and dumb and loathing himself to the ends of the earth. Why would Paul ever like him back? He was just an ugly, miserable arsehole who pushed everyone away when they got close to him and harboured no talent at all. Paul had to teach him the proper fucking guitar chords, for god's sake! It was a hopeless endeavour.

That day felt so long ago now. It was only a few weeks, maybe a month ago; so much had happened since then that it felt like it'd been two years.

So now it was time for John to wallow in self-hatred, smoke like a chimney and snap at anyone that dared look at him wrong, a normal feat for him. He was used to it by now.
He eventually forced himself to go to school on Wednesday (well, it was more like Mimi threatening to kick him out if he didn't make use of his education, which - when was he really making much use of it in the first place, anyway?) and he was greeted by a distressed George and Ringo, who seemed to have been waiting for him outside the front gates. They pressed him on what had happened, George kindly pointing out "you look like a rats' arse from the Black Plague", but he had just waved them off, eventually threatening to bash them if they didn't stop asking questions about it. They shut themselves up, but he could see the hurt in their eyes at his harshness. It just made him feel all the more worse about himself, really. He was unsurprised to find that Paul wasn't at school, either.