Unfortunate

Chapter 2

Paul struggles with the man's weight over his, as they roll over on the cold street. He throws him a few punches, most of them landing on his jaw or directly in the center of his face. The man pins Paul down and pulls out a pocket knife, flicking out the shiny silver blade. Paul stares wide eyed at the man who has a black ski mask pulled over his head, and dressed in black attire. The man places his blade along the side of Paul's neck and drags down slowly. Paul's breath picks up, his eyes widening in panic.
He can't move his arms nomatter what, and he hears the other three struggling to come to his side. The man punches him in the face several times, each one harder and more hateful than the next. The young man's face is a bloody, purple mess, the dizziness stopping him from throwing any landing punches. The man goes from his face to his ribcage, punching so fiercly until Paul feels a small crack inside of him. He screams but his mouth is quickly muffled by the man's hand. Suddenly John is there, tackling the man away from Paul's body.
George and Ringo pull on Paul's arms, trying to hoist him up on his feet quickly but he stumbles and falls each time, clamping his hand on his cracked ribs. Paul glances over at John who is now shooing off the culprit. He runs away and with great concern goes to Paul's side. Paul is breathing raggedly, his body shaking from pain and fear. "Paul, Paul ! It's okay, he's gone, calm down Macca" John says, propping him up correctly. "What the fuck ?!" Paul yells still in a state of panic.
"Did you know who that was ?" asks Ringo. "Oh right, I know the strange man who I was running away from" he responded sarcastically. "Come on, it's best we just get back to the hotel" George says a bit nervously, looking around him. "Yeah, let's get back quickly" says the short Beatle, frowning at Paul's bitterness. The four of them quickly returned to the hotel they were staying; it was at a secluded part of the dreary town where girls couldn't stalk or find them. As the boys approached their shabby rooms, a note lay pinned harshly on Paul's door.
He sighed, snatching the note before the others could see it. "This band'll be the death o' me" he bickered to himself in his posh accent, slamming the door behind him. Paul walked a few steps forward, heading to his bathroom but stopped at the few quiet raps at the door. His anger subsided, replaced by a fear of the unknown. Fortunately John's voice could be heard, still in a drunken slew. Paul chuckled, sighing and shaking his head in relief and went to let in his old friend.
Just as he opened the door John stumbled inside, trying to overcome his tired yet giddy path of destruction. "Just wanted to check that you're alright" he says, his face becoming slightly serious. Paul's shoulders sag in further relaxtion and admiration for his friends' concern for him. "Could be better, I think my rib's cracked but besides that and a bloody headache, I feel chipper" he responds with a smile at the end. "Jeeze McCartney, your sarcasm and wit grows by the day ! Do ya kiss your mother with those lips ?" he laughs, unknowing the meaning behind those words. Paul couldn't kiss his mother, hell he couldn't even remember what she sounded like.
The sting from her death had become easier to handle over the years, and now it barely hurt. It made him happy to think of her now instead of how broken it'd made him before. "Too much to drink John ?" he asked with a smile. "Probably" he responded with a toothy grin. "O'right get out of my room" Paul chuckled, pushing the drunken Lennon towards the door. "Get out me room, I'm so posh" he could hear John mocking him, his voice trailing down the hall.
Paul headed towards the bathroom which was his original destination before his clownish friend interrupted. He stared at himself in the small, rectangular bathroom mirror, touching the spots on his face that were starting to bruise into a sick plum-like color. "Wonder who that was" he whispered to himself before exiting the room once more.