I'll Cry Instead

Chapter 10

After Brian had gotten back with the goodies, George had gladly eaten his entire bag of Jelly Babies and Ringo had eaten a few of the crunchy crisps, although his real agenda behind the treat was, of course, to get Paul and John to eat something.

The latter, after a whole lot of heart felt coaxing, had finally succumbed to the drummer's wishes and had eaten a handful of crisps, which, he couldn't deny, were pretty tasty. But, to Ringo's dismay, he couldn't get Paul to eat any. Not even a crumb. Still, he tried to hand the bag to the pasty bassist, in hopes that he too would succumb.

"Come on, Paulie," he sweet-talked, "just one. You need to eat something."

"I'm not hungry, Rings," Paul replied as he gently pushed Ringo's hand back.

"But..." Ringo started, although he had been interrupted by Brian.

"Look, Ringo, maybe it's best if we just let him be for a while. Perhaps he's too tired to eat now, huh, Paul?" the manager said as he looked at the bassist expectantly.

"Yeah, ta, Brian. 'Suppose I'll just head to bed," Paul replied gloomily as he stood up from his spot on the bed, being careful not to hurt his ribs too much, even though the slightest movement caused him pain.

"I left your pajamas on the sink, lad," Brian told him before Paul disappeared behind the bathroom door.

A muffled "ta" could be heard in response.

Seeing that Paul's absence was Ringo's opportunity to ask Brian why the heck he had stopped him from eating, the oldest Beatle seized the moment.

"Eppy, why'd ya do that? I was trying to keep his strength up," he stated as he glanced at the manager with wide, confused eyes.

"Well, I just think he deserves some time to breathe. He's just been released from the hospital," Brian explained calmly.

"You'd think if anyone would know that it would be you, Ritchie," John suddenly spoke up from his spot on the sofa.

"I just don't want him to get worse instead of better," Ringo defended as he eyed John, obviously becoming a bit irritated.

"It doesn't look like it. It looks like you're trying to make him into your little puppet or something," John argued as he took a drag out of his newly-lit cigarette.

George, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, was staring wide-eyed between each band member. He couldn't believe what John was insinuating.

"What the heck, John?" Ringo started, flabbergasted as his usually kind eyes began to shoot flames at his slightly younger band mate. "Why on earth would I do that?"

"I don't know. I don't understand sick and twisted minds," John replied with a satirical shrug of his shoulders.

That was the line and John had crossed it, or at least that was what Brian realized, for he was just about to stop the argument then and there, but, before he could, the sound of a door creaking opened pulled him and the others out of their thoughts.

It was Paul.

"Well, goodnight, lads," he muttered to the group, almost like he didn't really want to, but he knew it was the polite thing to do, as he climbed into one of the twin beds in the room (half of the boys stayed in one room, you see, meaning two beds for each room.).

"Alright, Paul, sleep well," Brian replied sweetly as he gave John and Ringo a quick glance of frustration.

"You too, Eppy," the bassist answered with a yawn as he relaxed beneath the crisp, white sheets of his bed.

"As for the rest of you lads," Brian started, as if he was talking to little children, "you need to get some sleep as well. John and George, go to your room and Ringo get your pajamas on."

"Yes, Mum," John retorted with a sarcastic scoff as he dramatically raised himself up from the sofa, making sure he bumped into Ringo 'accidentally' on his way out. "Night, Macca," he then added after he almost fully exited the room. Paul, though, was already fast asleep.

"Right, well, I'm off too then," George announced as he stood up. "Night, Eppy. Night, Rings. And hey," he said as he looked into Ringo's stressed out eyes, "don't let John get to you. He's worried and tired, which means he lashes out. You know that. Don't take it personally."

"I know," Ringo returned with a forced smile. "Ta, Geo."

"Don't mention it, mate," the lead guitarist said with a quick wink as he walked over to Paul. "Night, Paulie," he told him as he patted his stomach. "Sleep well."

And with that, he was out of the door.

Ten minutes later, every Beatle (and Brian) was in bed, snuggled safely underneath their many, fluffy blankets, their mop tops tousled carelessly across their pillows. In their slumbers, they looked so peaceful and carefree. It's too bad that their minds weren't so carefree, though.

In reality, their minds were in complete turmoil.

John was worried, which, as you've already determined, more than likely, caused him to lash out unnecessarily at the people he cared about.

Ringo was doing his best to help Paul, but feeling as if he was doing a shoddy job of it already. It didn't help that John was starting in on him as well.

Brian was worried about Paul and his ability (or lack thereof) to still perform and be a Beatle. He wondered whether or not Paul would heal properly and, if not, what they'd possibly do about it.

And then there was George. George was the youngest Beatle, naturally, therefore he wasn't concerned about the formalities and concerns that were shrouding their current situation. He just cared about Paul. And that was enough for him.

All of these worries and the five men were only at the beginning of a peregrination that, inevitably, would be a lot harder than any of them ever expected.

Poor lads.