I'll Cry Instead

Chapter 12

"Paul?" Brian said as he cracked open the door to Paul and Ringo's hotel room. As soon as he'd opened the door, the sounds of someone sobbing reached his ears.

"Oh, dear," he muttered to himself as he walked all the way in to find Paul prone on the bed, his face buried in his arms and his back shaking and shuttering from his crying. "Dear, boy," he then said as he sat gingerly on the bed, quite hoping that Paul wouldn't mind.

Paul didn't acknowledge the fact that Brian had even entered. He just continued to cry. Brian then took the opportunity to make some sort of physical contact, praying that that would calm the hysteric lad down. So, he began patting Paul's bony arm, maybe a bit awkwardly, but, still, it was something.

"Paul?" he asked in the most soothing tone Paul had ever heard him use. "What's the matter, lad?"

At that, Paul could ignore him no more, so he lifted his tear-streaked, red face up to his manager, embarrassment burning his cheeks.

"I-I," he wept, wrestling with his emotions, "I'm sick of it, Bri. I'm already sick of being like this! Feeling like a little child and the lot. I'm not in that bad of a shape anyhow, y'know. Still, I just can't seem to shake this melancholy feeling. I, I just..." he trailed off, another round of emotions coming his way. Seconds later, he was crying again.

"Oh, Paul, my dear boy, come here," Brian comforted as he took Paul in his arms, the latter fully allowing himself to be moved as the older saw fit. "I understand. Don't worry."

"I just want to feel like myself again," the bassist sniffled whilst laying his head against Brian's shoulder...something he'd never thought he'd ever do. Honestly, Brian was like The Beatles' stuffy principal, he wasn't like a father!

"I know, Paul, and you will. You will, just give it a little time."

"How much time, though?" Paul asked him, his big, watery eyes basically screaming out for a positive answer.

Brian melted then and there.

"I don't know, lad, but it won't be long," he said, for he didn't truly know the answer. He did feel that he'd know when it was time, though.

"Oh," Paul mumbled as he wiped the cold tears off his face.

"Better now?" Brian inquired as he tried to assume Paul's emotions.

"A bit. Thanks, Eppy," he said as he hugged Brian, which startled the manager even more than it startled himself.

"You're welcome, Paul. It's my pleasure. You're a good lad. You know that, don't you?" Brian smiled, looking just like a proud father.

"Nah. Just charismatic," Paul winked, a glitter of himself peeking through the depths of his miserable state.

"Cheeky," Brian chuckled with a light slap to Paul's mop top.

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Days had gone by and not much had changed for the five men.

Paul was as pale as he had been and he still wasn't eating, which caused him to start dry-heaving mostly at night, much to the other four's dismay...especially Brian, who was hoping that Paul would be getting better, for he knew that the public had to be pleased with new performances eventually.