Things We Never Said

Chapter 7

A/N: TRIGGER WARNING!!!

Okay guys.. you've reached the final chapter. It's the end we've all have been waiting for and it's only going to get worse from now on. 

Warning: this chapter deals with serious subjects such as depression and suicide. If you feel like you are unable to read such topics scroll down and read the summary or just don't read this at all. If you want to talk about anything you want I am always going to be a text away for all of you. Just take care of yourselves guys and know that I love each and every one of you.

...

If only I could turn back time as I am sitting in a chair in my garden, holding a bottle of whiskey in my hand, while I stare at the fading colors of the seasons being sucked into whiteness.

There's nothing to look at; it's very empty, very dead.

It's freezing cold! And I would go back in if Yoko wouldn't bother me every now and then. But it's not like I can hear what she says, for the only thing I can hear is the words typed on the newspaper on my lap:

Paul McCartney... DEAD!

I have lost count of how many sunsets have passed while I've been sitting in this same spot. I have been drowning in alcohol and the only movement I got was snatching the bottle of whiskey out of Yoko's hand whenever she tries to talk to me, and whenever she actually gets me another bottle, being the 'good' wife that she is.

They say, "what doesn't break you makes you stronger." But that's not true.

What doesn't break you makes you vulnerable. It makes you so weak that the slightest wave can massacre you. It would steal your identity and bring you down to your knees begging for mercy, begging for relief. It would scar you just enough to torture you every second of every day, and it will never even think about the idea of having the thought of donating a second of bearable torment.

I've spent a lot of my time trying to change and deny what I really know to be facts, or rather he knew.

For instance, I'm not really a rock n' roll kind of guy: I don't like fast-paced music, I try to, but it doesn't seem like I can write that kind of music anymore.

I also happen to despise being in a group. I'm just glad I was with 3 lads that I liked. But not being the center of attention most of the time really sucked.

And most importantly I hated liking men, but I couldn't deny it. At first, I thought it was just me wanting even more attention. Now I know that it's only the attention of one man that I really wanted: Paul's.

But alas, that could no longer happen.

It took me so long to let it sink in, and it finally did. He's gone. I can no longer talk to him or be by his side or even fight with him.

I can feel the pain suffocating me; leaving me helpless and in misery.

My best friend is gone. It doesn't matter that I was and still am in love with him. The fact still stands that I will no longer be able to see him.

I have no more tears to cry; they have dried weeks ago.

How could I possibly live without him? We have walked side by side through everything.

Yes, we had our quarrels, but we were closer than ever, or at least I thought we were.

I wish I could throw this newspaper away, but I can't bring myself to do it.

None of the news outlets knew about Pauls' real death. But it's not like it would make much of a difference now.

He was dead before he even faked it...