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John had left almost two years ago–he left. It was his own choice.
Despite the mask of self-assurance he always wore, he seriously regretted leaving every day. He regretted it all; regretted every little thing he had ever done. They weren’t in a good place at the end, and the logical part of his brain that’s still intact screams that it was inevitable. It had to end eventually, right? All things must pass, as George had said.
But he didn’t want it to pass. Back in the Quarrymen days he would’ve never anticipated any of this–the fame and their demise. He wouldn’t have anticipated not speaking to Paul, ‘How Do You Sleep?’, or even Yoko. Fuck. He didn’t want this, deep down, he knew that.
He never wanted anything to end. He couldn’t handle it. At five, he didn’t want his dad to go, and he didn’t want to live with Aunt Mimi. He would’ve done anything to stay sleeping in Julia’s arms forever, and he’d risk everything to stop her from crossing the street. He didn’t want Stuart or Brian gone–he didn’t want anything to be lost in his life. But everything always ended. Maybe it’s better that he’s now across the sea from Julian, because lord knows he couldn’t handle it; not then and not now. What if he did some stupid shit like he did in Scotland again and Julian…
Ugh.
John puts his hands over his face, letting out a deep sigh. He’s still lying in bed, Yoko’s out. There’s nothing going on, yet at the same time, his mind is so very, very busy.
In the old days he’d use this pain as a creative outlet, but this pain couldn’t be put into a song. Nothing worth listening to, anyway.
He wants to blame Paul, but doesn’t have the energy to. Blame him for getting with Linda, blame him for marrying her, for the kids, for Scotland, for everything about his stupid perfect life. He was still fuming over ‘Ram’, but that’s probably what Paul wanted, eh?
He sits up in bed, groaning a bit as his bones crack. He feels old and withered–he’s thirty.
Maybe had Paul not gotten with Linda, he wouldn’t have made things official with Yoko. It’s not like he and Cynthia were gonna work, and it’s not like he hadn’t already slept with Yoko but fuck, Paul was the match and he was a spill of gasoline. Once Paul’s attention started to split and divide, he knew he had to do the same. Paul got married, so he and Yoko decided it was time, and eight days after Paul, they tied the knot. John never really wanted marriage–even as a kid, even with Cynthia. Or maybe even especially, she just got pregnant and that was that.
He loved Yoko. He couldn’t deny that, but the life he had now was a bit suffocating. He had thought that’s what he wanted; someone who would hold on tight and never let go. No one else would do that for John. No one ever had. Paul used to, at least.
He walked into the kitchen, the sight of food making him feel ill. He glanced at the phone on the counter, and, almost absentmindedly, dialed Paul’s number. He hoped Linda wouldn’t answer.
“Hello?”
”Paul.”