I'll Cry Instead

Chapter 33

Around three hours later, Paul began to wake up. The other Beatles and Brian had been watching a bit of Telly and, once they'd noticed their bassist waking up, had leapt beside Paul's bed.

"Ugh," Paul moaned, his eyes cracking opened cautiously as he spoke. "Someone please shoot me now."

"Ha-ha, that's not gonna happen, Macca," John chuckled as he knelt next to Paul. "That is, it might if you run off again like you did."

"No, no, I beg you. Just put me out of my misery," Paul objected whilst he pulled himself into a sitting position with the help of Ringo and Brian.

"That bad, then?" George sighed, looking to Paul with a concerned expression.

"Well, if you count 'bad' as feeling like you've been run over by a lorry, yes," the slightly older Beatle replied weakly, his head now being cradled in his trembling hands.

"The doctor gave you a shot of antibiotics once you fell asleep, Paul. I'm surprised it's not making you feel any better," Brian pointed out as he bent forward to feel Paul's forehead. "You are a little cooler, though, so that's good news."

"Hey, that is good!" Ringo smiled with a pat to Paul's back, to which Paul replied with a wan smile.

"Well, are you hungry at all, lad?" Brian asked his Beatle. "I could order you some soup."

"Yes, that would be nice, ta," Paul answered with a grateful nod, his stomach beginning to growl at the mention of food.

"What?" John interjected comically as he collapsed next to Paul and began to pantomime a doctor in distress. "Paul I'm-Never-Hungry McCartney actually wants something to eat? Lads, I think he may be worse off than we thought!"

They all laughed at John's remark before George commented, "I think you're right, Johnny. Maybe we need to phone the doctor again!"

"Oh, sod off, ya buggers," Paul groaned, his lips curving into a cheeky smile.

"We can't help that you've gone potty, Paulie. It just is what it is," John sighed melodramatically before he waltzed over to the telephone. "Brian," he then started as he waved the telephone in front of his manager, "I think it's time you order Macca his soup, then. He's getting better and he needs his vitamins or whatever to keep doing so."

"I agree," Brian grinned as he dialed the number for room service.

Thirty minutes later, Paul had eaten a bowlful of chicken noodle soup, which was the first thing he'd eaten since the breakfast incident at Jackie's house. The fact that Macca had been able to eat and not throw it up had given everyone a great sense of hope, and it was obvious in the sweet gazes they kept giving Paul that they were happy and thankful that he was already getting better.

Now, the four lads and Brian were watching a bit of Telly once again, and it was then that Paul happened to put his hands in his pockets as an attempt to warm up a bit. It's too bad he did, though, because it caused him to realize something dreadful.

"Where is it?" his mind screamed as he searched his pockets for the precious paper. "It must be in there somewhere!"

"What's wrong, Macca? You look like you've seen a ghost," John asked his friend once he'd noticed his crestfallen face.

Paul, not really wanting to trouble his mates or Brian since he still felt guilty about how he had treated them, simply shrugged and said, "I just got a bit of the chills. That's all."