this made me cry while writing it, so be ready.
1966
—
04/16/66
"Paul, look at me."
He turned around to face her, and before he could react she flashed the camera. He rubbed his eyes, focusing on her while she apologized profusely.
"I'm sorry, my finger slipped! Are you okay?" He could tell she was trying so hard not to laugh, so he eased up a bit from the annoyance she caused and cracked a toothy grin. She took that as an okay to laugh, so she had at it, and it drove him crazy. The way her lips curled over her teeth and how she tried covering them up because she hated them. He thought they were another gorgeous thing on her already gorgeous face.
"Come 'ere," He reached out to pull her body into him, muffling her laughter.
"I really am sorry though," she said, her giggles dying down some. "Swear it."
"I was about to have at ye," he answered back, pulling away to push a strand of hair from her face back behind her ear. She smiled and leaned her head into his hand, closing her eyes and relishing in his touch.
"Let's go back to the hotel, yeah?" Paul said, admiring her.
It began to rain when they made it to the car, so he gave her his jacket and she held it up above her head high enough to cover the both of them.
"This is for you!" Paul argued, pushing her arms away but she smiled and threw it back at him. And she danced so he could dance with her in the pouring rain like they never had before.
07/29/66
"Ms. Hamilton, on your relationship with Paul McCartney..."
"It will not be commented on," Collin answered, pushing past the man who held a camera right up to his face to snap a photo. She was pushed behind Collin's arms as they maneuvered by the hungry reporters and journalists crowded outside their parent's house. The deranged people spit questions at the deadpanned girl, obviously noticing her distress about the man she dreaded hearing the name of anymore.
Never again, she thought.
—
08/01/66
So many tears had been lost. "Paul called, again."
"Tell him I'm busy."
—
08/03/66
"I need to speak to her."
"She doesn't want to speak to you."
"Please, Margaret, I need to apologize-"
"That's Mrs. Hamilton to you. Stop calling, Paul."
—
08/06/66
Paul kept phoning. Again and again and again until she couldn't listen to the phone anymore.
"Mum!"
She'd stopped her mother from grabbing the receiver, who had answered it all week, only to be met with the same voice asking for the same thing.
Y/n forced herself to walk into the foyer, picking up the receiver. She hesitated, but placed the phone up to her ear.
"You need to stop calling," She didn't even have to check if it was him on the other line. She didn't want to give him a chance to speak, either. "You're making it worse."
