What a Beautiful Boy

Chapter One

~AUTHORS NOTE~ Hey! This is the first fanfic that I've made, so I hope you enjoy. This is a McLennon fanfiction in John Lennon's perspective. Thank you so much for reading! 

Ugh. History is the most useless and boring classes in the world. Honestly, when will I use this in life? No one is gonna walk up to me and ask, "When did America establish the constitution?". Also, I don't wanna learn about dead people! Like, why does it matter what they did in there life? I don't give a single shit about Benny Franklin, or whatever his name was. I'm to the point where I walk into history class, sit down, and stare at the wall. However, today was different. Today, I couldn't stare at the wall with a blank mind. My mind was full. I had so much to think about. So much to stress about. My face felt hot; burning hot. My hands where sweaty and shaking. I was trying to hide my emotions. I had to keep a straight face. I had to look intimidating, just as I always did even though I was hurting inside. 

Tough it up Lennon

 I thought to myself. I didn't want Stu, Pete and all the other guys to think I'm nothing but a suicidal, queer, wuss. But, at the end of the day I was. And I couldn't keep it in anymore. Paul was the only person I knew that I could put my defenses down and be myself. I told him everything. Well, not everything. I teared up while thinking about how I felt. I was so close to just- to just killing myself! I was so done with my life! It seemed as if there was no reason for me to live. I've made so many mistakes and have done so much shit that could get me in huge trouble, I'm a lost cause. I was practically crying at this point. My teacher was in the middle of a lesson, but I shot up to my feet.

"I HAVE TO GO TO THE TOILET!" I exclaimed.

The whole class started laughing. My teacher glared at me. He let out a sigh and responded,

"Just go, Lennon, just go,".

I casually walked out of the classroom without saying a word. As soon as I walked into the hallway, I started running to the men's room. Tears where pouring down my cheeks. I burst into the men's room. I suddenly ran into someone. He was walking out the door, at the same time I was running in. Then I looked at him. It was Paul. I don't care what others say, it was meant for me to encounter him at that moment. I felt a wave of relief rush over me. it was the exact thing I needed. 

"John?" Paul questioned, "What happened? Why are you crying-". 

He stopped midsentence as I instantly hugged him and buried my face in his shoulder. He held me close and said in an assuring way,

"It-it's okay, John,". 

That's when I started sobbing. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, that I was in love with him, but I couldn't. It would only make things worse. Paul would hate me. I know he would never talk to me again and my life would be destroyed. So I decided to tell him to something else that was bothering me after I calmed down. After a few minutes of silence, I finally whispered in his ear in a shaky voice,

" Paul, I want to...".

"You want to what?" Paul asked in a concerned voice.

I hesitated.  "I want to kill myself,". 

Paul tensed up. He held me tighter. I realized how terrible that sounded out loud. I was pretty sure that Paul was in a state of shock just as anyone would be. 

"But why...?  " Paul winced, "I just... I had no idea..."

Look, I know it sounds crazy. Randomly telling your best friend you want to kill yourself. That's the thing. I mean the thing between Paul and I. We trusted each other and knew that we would never judge one another. 

"I've just made so many mistakes, and I'm only eighteen. To top that off, I always have to lie about how I feel. I have to pretend that there's nothing wrong, and I act like an asshole even though I'm just a qu-". I stopped myself. 

I almost called myself a queer wuss. I couldn't say that, especially in front of Paul. I stopped hugging Paul, even though it felt amazing to smell him and touch him and hold him. 

Stop being so fucking queer Lennon, or Paulie's going to find out... 

Paul pulled away and and exclaimed,

"John, you're amazing, I really mean it! You're not an asshole or a swine or whatever else ya call yourself!" 

I knew he would say that. But I was convinced he meant it. 

" You say you've made so many mistakes, and you're only eighteen! Well, John, you're right! You are only eighteen! That means you have so many years to become a better person! Plus, what you do now, will it really affect you forty years from now? I'm telling you it won't. And to tell the truth, it hurts me to know you're hurting inside, to the point where you feel like you need to kill yourself..." He stopped talking, for someone had walked in the men's room.

 He silently looked at us and awkwardly went to do his business. He quickly washed his hands and walked out the bathroom. That had to have been the most awkward seventy-eight seconds of my life. When the boy finally left the bathroom, Paul waited a few seconds, then continued talking,

"If you wanna talk about it, I'm here to listen, you know that though. And I hope you know, how much I love you,". 

He blushed then looked away. He said he loves me. PAUL MCCARTNEY SAID HE LOVES ME!! I felt my heart leap. I was suddenly in a great mood. He said he- no. No way, he probably didn't mean it in that way. I was sure he meant he loved me as a friend. That had to be it, right? There's no way he was queer. Maybe I was just overthinking the whole situation. I really wanted to ask him if he was actually a queer and if he loved me. 

Pull. Yourself. Together. John. Fucking. Lennon.

"Thank you Paul, I really appreciate it. I'm sorry that I told you out of nowhere. I just needed to let it out I guess..." I mumbled.

"Of course, Johnny. Anything for you... just please don't hurt yourself," Paul stated. 

I looked at the ground and started fiddling with my fingers. 

"John? You didn't hurt yourself, right?" I didn't respond. Paul firmly asked, "Right, John?"

 I was about to roll up my sleeves then I decided not to. 

"What do you say we ditch school," I asked him, changing the subject. 

"Fine, but, you have to show me all the places you've hurt yourself, if any," He replied.

What a drag...

"Okay, whatever," I moaned. 

 I hesitantly took off my jacket and showed him my arms. Paul then placed the palms of his hands on the bottom of my hands. 

"Oh, John," Paul whispered. 

I had red lines on both arms drawn by a blade. I lifted up my shirt showing him more cuts. Paul stared for a second then he asked as calmly as possible,

"Do you have anymore?"

I fixed my shirt and put my jacket back on. 

"No." I lied. 

I did have more cuts, I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

"Let's get out of here, I did what you wanted," I pleaded. 

"I care about you John, I care about you so much," Paul whispered. 

Paul got closer to my face in a sexual way. I tensed up. 

God, why? Why do I have to love Paul so much? And why, just why did Paul have to get me constantly questioning if he loved me to? Why? Why? WHY?