Ten Petaled Rose

Chapter 2: Eyes

John didn't sleep much. He rarely did, but something else was keeping him up. Eyes transfixed on the empty ceiling as Mimi passed by and told him to shut off his lamp and go to bed. He turned the lamp off, but nothing in the world could put him to bed. Not now, in the dead of the night. Wind whispering through his window, extending the drapes like two languid arms reaching out for him. He watched them numbly. Empty thoughts and feeling leaving him like a corpse in his bed. He was tired, but not the sleep kind. It was inherent. This weariness he'd felt for quite some time.

But tonight it was different somehow. The weight was there, like it always was, but somehow it felt... just the faintest bit lighter. Almost as if his heart had the audacity to breed hope. By now, he knew better. He'd suffered enough disappointment to learn by then that there was no point in hoping. For anything.

And yet, there it was all the same.

Mocking him.

Needless to say he wasn't in a pleasant mood the next morning. Swiping some cigarettes from the bookcase as he leapt out the front door. Trying to get away from that wretched place. He felt trapped in it, like it was a box with a hole punched out the top. He didn't wait for Ringo to meet him at the corner like he normally did, and he didn't bother to pause when Miriam called his name from across the lot. In fact, he didn't stop walking and thinking and moving without knowing where he was going, until he met Pete, who smiled at him with something like admiration in his eyes. John couldn't imagine why, but he smiled anyway. Let Pete chat him up, making him feel like someone important because that's what he needed today. To be John Fucking Lennon. Someone who shared his name, but wasn't at all the same person.

Soon enough Ivan and Eric joined. Followed by Ringo who didn't mention how John had left him waiting. Seeing already that the boy was unhinged. This was peak 'John' behavior, which meant he'd dial down soon enough. At least, he hoped, because he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. Annoyed enough to take a lap around the school and head into his first class. Waiting for the day to start, and John's drama to end. Still with half a mind to tolerate him, curious as to why these bouts come on. Unable to warn Paul, who after quite a few minutes of searching, reluctantly decided to ask the group if they'd seen George.

"Erm, Pete?" He questioned softly, ignored entirely, as John was in the middle of a disgustingly explicit story about a girl he'd shagged some time last May. He waited a moment or two, but no one paid him any mind.

"Er, John?" He tried, feeling like somewhat of a ghost as no one made any attempt to acknowledge him. Snickering from Pete and Ivan entailing that this was apparently funny to them. Children.

"John." He repeated, hardly intimidated and hardly patient enough to humor him.

"John." Nothing.

"John."

"Jesus! If I throw a stick, will you leave?! I'm in the middle of something, you blind?" Angry eyes meeting Paul's. Watching the sternness in the boy's irises turn to tenderness, melting with hurt and humiliation. This soft hazel burning with frustration, and immediately John wanted to take it back. Expression softening as Paul glared at him. Following him with exasperated eyes as the boy turned on his heels and marched inside.

He didn't bother looking for George after that. He just went straight to class. Arms crossed into his chest as he slouched in his chair. He'd not done anything wrong. At least, not that he knew of. Was there a point to this? He'd barely known Paul a day, and already John had deemed him a target. He couldn't understand why. Hazing he assumed, but George had seemed fairly annoyed. It wasn't that he wasn't used to being bullied, he was, it was just irritating that he also had to be friends with these people somehow. That, or eat lunch alone. But he had promised her he'd try. To be sociable. To make friends, which normally wasn't that hard. John just seemed to have it out for him.