If You Want Me Too, I Will (Beatle Fan Fiction)

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

I wondered for a while why my bed smelled like cigarettes and Richard, and then I actually opened my eyes and realized why it smelled such a way. It wasn't really what I would want, and I wasn't quite sure if it was the next best thing because I wanted to get the hell out of there. 

As was usual, I was on my stomach, as I like to sleep that way, with my glasses off my face and nowhere to be found from what I could somewhat see. The pillow, the only pillow, was warm and smelled so wonderful, I would have much rather dug my face into the thing and breathe it in as a sweet aroma. 

But I got up quickly, not wanting to spend all my morning here or, any of it in anyway. I got up and looked around as best as I could, and found my glasses on a small table, which I picked up and shoved on my face, looking around at the room I have already seen. I shoved my hands across my jeans, straightening them, and playing with my hair some, hoping I didn't look too terrible. 

Then, I remembered it didn't matter, that it wasn't supposed to matter. 

I ran over to his large dresser, letting it go for just a moment, and opened the top drawer. I went down a couple, looking for what I wanted and found it quickly. I slipped a shirt out of the bottom, it was black, and walked over to my bag, which was leaning against the bed as if it was put there last night, and stuffed it inside. I was going insane, I knew it. 

But I grabbed my purple bag, and walked out of the room. I dragged my hand through my hair, and walked down the stairs, slowly breathing through it and noticing the smell in the house. It wasn't just him, it was eggs. I think it was that. It was that, and I let my bag down at the end of the steps. 

"Good morning," I rubbed my eyes, thinking and replaying the night in my head. It was rather nice and peaceful. He didn't actually try to do anything; he would just smile and repeat what I would say to him, learning it slowly. I kind of liked it, if I liked that many thing, it would be one of those things. Richard turned around, and I noticed the house was still empty, which I wasn't that used to.

"Morning Dewey! I made you breakfast, but I didn't really know what you liked, so I made scrambled eggs," He scratched the side of his head nervously as he does, and looked down at the floor in a fear of me. 

"That's nice, um, how did I get upstairs? I knew I got tired eventually but how did I get up there?" He left the kitchen, with some plates, and placed them at the table, as well as some forks and knifes. He had jeans on, rather tight dark blue jeans, and a white button up shirt. I stared rather strangely, and he looked over, raising a bushy eyebrow and smiling some at me. 

"You, ah, well," He looked at the kitchen, "Excuse me, food," I sat down at the table, playing with my shaking hands in some kind of fear. I wanted to go home, to get away from him, but I never wanted to leave. 

"It smells pretty good," I looked down at the edge of the table, at the wood grain. I felt like it was moving, so I was sure my mind was lost. That's all this is, it's only me going crazy. It made me sigh in almost relief, but I knew in the back of my head that this wasn't true. 

"I sure hope so, I worked kinda hard on this, and I don't know if it's good," He came over and put some eggs on my plate. They didn't look wonderful but I would eat it if it was the last thing I could eat. No guy has ever, and no other ever did. 

He sat next to me, starting to eat his food, as I did. I slowly ate, savoring each bite. It wasn't horrible, though I don't eat eggs a lot, ever really, and I enjoyed this. I looked at Richard, who was smiling at me, with crooked teeth. His hair was a bit messed up and not as normal, and I think I enjoyed it better this way, natural I guess so.