I've Got A Feeling

Twenty Six

(A/N: So this chapter was written completely by my sister, bless her soul. She likes to help me write since she's also been through writers block and things, so if it seems like she is writing a lot of the stuff I post, that's kind of why. She's a better writer in my opinion, but I try really hard to make this story entertaining and interesting. The meme at the top is there cause I thought it would be funny since I ship McLennon waaaaaaayyy to much and sis can attest to that. Anyway, enjoy the last chapter of '59. Some interesting shit is gonna come ;)

-Laf)

December 13th, 1959

Shotton had rung me up that night. I hadn't been able to sleep for weeks considering what John has done to me. However, tonight was a little more bearable and I finally got my eyes to rest for a bit before being hit by a bus. Needless to say, my father was not pleased with me. "James! There's a Pete Shotton for you on the phone!" Yelling my name down the hall, My eyes and body jolted awake to the sound of screaming. Nearly sprinting down the hall, Michael was somehow still sound asleep. Either that or he was only pretending just to listen in. I could hear the sheer jaggedness in his voice as we crossed paths. My father mumbled something under his breath to the affect of "Christ sake. Who calls at this damn hour of the night?" It was in fact two in the morning. "I'm sorry dad.." His voice was gentle. "Don't worry about it son. Just don't let this happen again. It's a school night. When you're done on the phone, get back to bed." Feeling guilty, I got on the other line and spoke into the phone.

"Hello?" Exhaustion was definitely on my side. "Paul? Thank god you picked up. Boy, do I have a story for you.." Him, Stu, and John were at a uni party when Stu had said some things to piss John off. Clearly, they'd both had a few drinks in them. Stu ran off after they got into a tiff causing Lenny to slam his class ring into Sutcliffe's jaw. When Shotton was on the phone to me, he followed him out of the party. John was lying in an alley trying to drink and smoke his problems away. "Please, Macca, I'm worried about him. He won't speak to me about what happened." "Well, that's not my problem Pete. Besides why would I care if he's getting shitfaced in an alleyway all by himself? He's a grown man." I was just about to hang up the phone when he convinced me not to.

"John's not well, Paul. He's never acted like this before with Stu..."

I could feel the tension coming through the phone as Shotton was begging on his knees. It was odd that he called me. He never talks to me or even associates with me. "I'm just scared alright. I don't want John to do something he'll regret later... he's gone quiet on me and I don't like that. Look, the only reason I called is because I know that he'll listen to you. He always has." "But that doesn't mean he'll listen to me now. He hates my guts anyhow so I don't think he'd want to talk to me. It's really late Shotton, and I've got school in six hours. My dad will kill me if I don't go soon so I've got to go. Good luck getting him out of his drunken-" He cut me off. "You're my last chance Paul, please.." I couldn't focus. The exhaustion beating down on my body all while trying to fight the urge to hang up the phone and go back to bed. "Shotton-, I-I can't.." I sighed.

"Where are you?.. I'll meet you there in ten minutes."

~~~~~~~~~

Being as quiet as possible, I grabbed my jacket from the closet and slowly opened the front door. We didn't live that far out from town. By moving transportation it was less than five minutes. But considering it was the dead of winter at half past two, I had to walk. Almost getting frostbite from being out in five degree weather, I finally found them. He was slumped over with his back against the Cavern Club, nursing a beer. I assume that it's not his first one since Pete called my house. "Oh thank god you came!" Shotton hugged me... hugged me. He doesn't do that. "Why don't you see if he'll talk to you." I highly doubt it but okay considering I insulted his bird the other day. He hasn't spoken to me in a week. Slowly making my way over, his eyes wavered over my freezing torso. Clapping his hands together, he squealed.