Paul's POV
She looked stunning. I longed for the time when she was mine and my smile faltered a little.
"Look who decided to show up." John exclaimed in a cocky tone, according her a wink. She blushed and sat down on the last empty chair, right betweeen Robert and I. Robert had been trying to skewer me with his eyes since I sat down but I noticed how his scowl was softer.
Well that's a start .
Forks started scraping on plates as we all began to eat.
"Congratulations to the chef." I tried tentatively, flattering Maya but I blushed when Robert was the one who uttered a thanks.
So much for trying. Twat.
I heard Maya giggle and I looked up, watching her exchange glances with Ringo and George. A pang of jealousy hit me and I sighed.
You're the one who stopped writing. I forgot, okay? I admit it. Acceptance, last stage of grief, we skipped a few, because you only went through denial, oh well. Alright, stop psychoanalizing me. I ask permission to change my name to Freud. Denied. Too bad, psychoanalysis it is. Bloody hell.
"So Paul, how's the song-writing?" Robert asked noisily for a third time as I snapped back into reality
"Oh, sorry. Well it's great. You should ask John he's always got good ideas. " I stuttered
"I already did." I heard Robert snicker and I looked down at my plate. Maya kicked my foot under the table and I looked up at her. She gave me a smile, the only genuine i'd seen since the one i'd been accorded when I reencountered her. She gave my hand a squeeze under the table and asked Jimmy to pass him some potatoes. I saw Robert narrow his eyes at me and I decided to ignore his cold green eyes. I helped Maya bring the plates back to the kitchen and we scrubbed food off plates without speaking. I started washing them but she took the sponge away from my hands, handing me a towel so I'd dry them and she'd wash. Our hands met for a short instant and that forgotten feeling of an electric current zapping through your body came back to me. She grinned like she always had and I proceeded to dry the dishes.
Take that, Freud. Name change. No. I'm going to be Dalí from now on. Why? Because you're an egocentrical surrealist artist. Surrealist? Since when? Since i'm in your head, avida mccartney. Does that mean that you're obsessed with putrefaction? It's sexy.
"Paul?"
Oops, your Gala's calling you.
"Yes?"
"Where do you go when you tune out like that?"
To the champs magnétiques. I should really stop reading surrealist litterature, it's affecting you. How about, no.
"In my head." I responded very matter of factly
Bread. Melted clocks. Shh
Maya gave me a strange look but she shrugged.
"I have a bad habit of talking to myself." I explained
"Oh."
Now she'll want you to send you to see Dr.Freud. Weren't you supposed to be Dalí? Yes, wait let me curl up my mustache. Oh! that's right, I don't have one because i'm you. I know you're me. It took you two years to finally accept it, it's wonderful how much progress we're doing today.
"It's unusual."
"No, not really." she said with a shrug as she handed me a plate, her fingers touched mine for a short instant and I dropped the plate.
Congratulations. If we add a slice of bacon to that we can make it a piece of art. We can call it the Persistence of Breakfast.
I bent down to pick it up at the same time that she did and our foreheads collided. We fell back, laughing and rubbing our foreheads.
"Désolé." I apologized and she giggled. I offered my hand to help her stand up, and she did, standing right in front of me, her face a few inches from mine, so close that I could bend down and kiss her...
And then the kiss would turn into a rhinoceros. Or a stringy elephant. Oh shut up you're ruining the moment. Joder. So now cursing in spanish is the solution?
She watched me for a second and she placed her hands on my chest, standing on her tiptoes to kiss me. I kissed her back and she started curling her fingers in my hair, pulling me closer and molding herself into me.
Can we talk about melted figures now? Can't you fucking see that i'm busy? There is no busy when i'm inside you. Please. Fine, but you're forced to have a conversation on elephants. Alright.
My hands reached down to grasp her hips, pressing her even closer as our tongues met and she moaned. She pulled away for a second, taking her breath but she abruptly covered my mouth with hers again, pulling me towards the kitchen counter.
''Dude, what's for dessert?'' Jimmy's voice called from the door.
Bacon and melted bodies.
((Michu, have you died yet? YEES MY IMAGINATION TOOK A CRAZY TURN))
