Sweetest Little Show - Paul McCartney Fanfiction

Chapter 32 - Not Again

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Marching back into the living room with bags in my hands, I gave Paul a menacing look as I gave him a piece of my mind. I didn't know why the hell these bags were in here or what the hell he wanted to pull, but I sure was he excited to hear his plan.

"What the fuck is this?" I asked, tossing his bags on the ground.

He was resting on the couch, his hands behind his head as he leaned back into the cushions. "I decided that maybe it's best I stay here and keep an eye on you. You are not going any further with drugs."

"Like I'm gonna listen to you!" I scoffed, my hands on my hips in frustration. "Get the fuck outta my house, you dumbarse. And give me back my shit!"

"Too bad, I chucked all of that away," Paul said, shrugging.

I ran to the liquor cabinet, to see that it was completely empty. As I scurried around the kitchen, trying desperately to find anything, Paul just stood at the bench. He grabbed my wrist when I was in reach, making me stop and look up at him. His face was so worried and concerned, it almost made me feel bad for him. Almost.

As bad as it sounded, I needed those. They were my way of getting through a hard day, which is nearly everyday. Without them, I would find myself struggling way too hard and having these terrible withdrawal symptoms. Sometimes I felt worse off without them than when I was on them, they had become something I depended on.

With my face becoming red from how embarrassed I was with the state I was in now, I took my hand away from Paul's and leaned on the bench, my head in my hands. I flinched as I felt his hand on my back, rubbing it slowly and gently.

"I need it," I said, feeling a lump grow in my throat. "Without it I'll go crazy, Paul. I gotta have some."

"I know, I know. I'll help you cope," Paul said softly, moving his hand up to stroke my hair.

I shook my head, feeling tears stream down my cheeks. Trying to wipe them away, I hid my face even more; I didn't want him to see me be so vulnerable. However, I knew he could sense that I wasn't okay at all, and that I was sobbing in my hands. He always knew about everything. That was why he could reach me the first time around and really connect with me.

"I can't, you can't help me! There's things that have happened that I can't get over. You don't know."

"Because you won't let me! God, please just let me help you. I want to... get you out of the mess I put you in," Paul said. He sighed as he went to grab me a glass of water, before putting it down in front of me. "Right now, my only priority is you, but you aren't letting me prioritise your needs."

"Because I don't want your damn help. Why the hell should I trust you when all you've done is hurt me!" I shouted, picking up the glass of water. "I damn should have never even considered being with you. You manipulated me into falling in love with you, you no good twat! All my secrets, time, feelings, all the fucking little bit of love I had left was given all to you, and what did you do?" Before I could continue, I watched myself act completely rash and throw the water over him. "You threw it right into the bloody trash. You were selfish and had no heart. You still have no heart. The only heart you had was mine, but we both know damn well that you didn't want it, yet you still took it from me."

With no verbal response from him, he just looked down at the ground and leaned against the counter. I couldn't really tell if he was crying or not, but I knew he wouldn't be absolutely breaking down weeping and wailing. Paul would never. He was the type of guy to hide any signs of weakness. After all, he was Liverpudlian, and if I learned anything from growing up there, it was that the men there never cried.