I'll Cry Instead

Chapter 19

Before the frenetic bassist knew it, he had approached the double doors that led to his nightmare. He could feel the cold wind whipping against his hot cheeks and he could hear the roaring screams of the hundreds of fans.

"J-John!" he managed to croak as the rhythm guitarist continued to pull him along, just inches away from walking all of the way out of the foreboding doors.

"It's okay, Paul! We wouldn't hurry, but we must!" was his rushed reply.

"B-but!" Paul whimpered as he was pulled all the way out, his stomach dropping as he caught sight of everything for the first time in a long time.

There were girls and people everywhere. They were screaming and crying, some of them holding up signs that said a variety of phrases such as, "Hope you're feeling better, Paul!" and "Please let me hold your hand!" There was a barricade of policemen trying their absolute best to keep the mob from reaching the limo before The Beatles did and just the sight of it made Paul nauseous, most likely because he hadn't eaten much in a while, plus he wasn't used to all of the jerky, quick movement.

"I'm gonna be ill..." he thought as he held back a grimace.

"Just a little farther, Macca!" John's voice reached his ringing ears as Paul noticed that the limo was only a few feet away now.

"Please let this end!"

Finally, after what had felt like an utter thirty years to Paul, the five of them reached the limo, but, just as Paul was getting inside, he felt something grab at his coat. Complete horror brimmed in his eyes and he felt his heart speed up and pound in his ears.

"Ahhh!" he screamed as he wrenched around to meet the face of his attacker.

The bassist was very surprised not to find the face of a shrieking, animalistic girl, but the face of a kindly old policeman.

"Sorry, lad!" he called to Paul, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Grabbed your coat rather than this baton 'ere I dropped!" he exclaimed as he held up the stick of enforcement.

Paul nearly saw stars, for he was so relieved. He opened his mouth to reply to the old man, but was stopped when, suddenly, he felt a pair of strong hands pull him into the vehicle, his head smacking the frame of the car as he went.

"Ow!" he objected as his head began to throb. "What the heck was that for!"

"Sorry, Paulie, but Brian's having a heart attack! We've got to go and you were just standing there in a daze!" John exclaimed as the limo took off, Paul scrunched up beside him as he rubbed his head.

"Well ya could've been more careful, aye? Now I've got a headache," Paul whined as he leaned his chubby cheeks against the cool window, which displayed the many snowflakes beginning to fall outside.

"Yeah, sorry about that, mate. I didn't mean to hurt you. But, maybe it's a good thing, y'know? Maybe I finally knocked some sense into that thick skull of yours," Lennon smirked as he gave Paul an affectionate nudge.

"Maybe..." Paul replied with a playful roll of his eyes, which told John that he was indeed amused, thankfully.

The songwriting duo then smiled at each other, their eyes looking into their souls, as they would usually do when they wrote songs. Two best mates, they were, and, in times like these, it so obviously would show.

"Alright, lads," Brian's voice suddenly spoke, interrupting John and Paul's thoughts. "We're almost there. Once we arrive at the back door, we'll run in and then we'll go to the dressing room, where you boys will have about ten minutes to get ready. Sound good?"