temporary fix || george harrison

45%

WARNING: Depictions of Sexual, Emotional, and Physical Abuse in this chapter. If you are uncomfortable and or triggered by this, once the font is not italicized you are safe to read!

"JULIET DARLING come into the front room! There is someone I'd like you to meet." My father called for me from downstairs, and the breath in my lungs stalled. It was him- and I knew it. The man that I was to wed. Why did it have to be so soon? I was barely just 18...

I made hesitant, calculated steps down the marble staircase of the summer villa my family had owned. It was located in the south of France, my grandfather bought it in the late 60's, 70's? I'd always hated it there. Cold tile that burned the soles of my feet, endless and empty hallways that resonated with a piercing silence. I thought it was haunted, when I was a girl. And when I'd grown into my own, I came to realize it was. It was haunted by terrible condition of the apathy that my family held for each other.

I eventually made it downstairs with my cheek between my teeth, my hand clutching the soft cotton fabric of my tunic, seeking purchase in my anxiety.

"Juliet, meet Jackson Dawson. Jack, this is my daughter." My dad spoke, his voice speaking to me as if it were through some thick plate of glass.

I stared at him, my would be fiancé.  Handsome, deceptively so. A fallen angel with volumes of secrets lurking behind those obsidian eyes of his. His beauty was enough to catch me off guard, lower my defenses. My first mistake.

"Nice to finally put a beautiful face to the name. Please, call me Jack." He took my hand into his into a warm and firm shake, asserting his physical dominance over me from the very moment we were introduced.

"Where where ye, jus' now?" I heard John's voice from beside me, breaking my reverie of thought. He was staring at me in that way of his - his almond eyes revealing to me that the guitarist was trying his hardest to suss me out.

"Nowhere." I simply replied, not exactly lying either. I was just in a space that truly reminded me of the liminal hell I'd survived. Truly not deserving of a tangible place.

"Nowhere, is that right girl?" John scoffed, lifting his head as Paul tuned his base a little louder to the sound of John edging towards trouble. it seemed to be a reoccurring theme, even Paul and Ringo would agree.

"Nowhere that you'd understand, John." I said with finality, not feeling particularly antsy enough to humor him. Very out of character for me, in my own opinion at least.

Thankfully enough, George came back from the loo and noticed my discomfort and plopped next to me on the sofa and draped an arm over my shoulders, all the while ignoring John's presence.

"Ye 'right love?" He asked me softly with a kiss to my temple, and I nodded with a demure smile. I didn't feel like troubling George with something so silly, especially right before a show.

"Yes, Geo. I'm chipper! Come 'ed, aren't ye lads supposed to be gettin' all revved up for yer show?" I jeered, steering the attention away from myself.

George laughed and he shrugged beside me, his perfectly molded face a picture of confidence. I knew better than that though- he'd always gotten those pre-show jitters so badly he'd nearly thrown up every time.

"Yeah! Don' worry. John's got the mantra down pat to rid us of our shakes!" Ritchie called out from in between his cigarette. I glanced over at John, whom was wearing the shadiest scowl I'd ever seen on him to date.

We locked eyes, and he rolled his at me, prompting me to grimace and turn back to George. The unspoken tension in the room has yet to cause a quarrel between John or George, or John and I for that matter.