Help! | McLennon

Fake It Till You Make It

A/N: Posting this at 11:32 PM on December the 7th, so it is almost John's 41st death anniversary... Damn, I miss him. Rest in peace Johnny, I love you so much</3

-October 12, 1966-

As Paul opened his eyes it immediately hit him what day it was. It was the day he was leaving rehab.

It had been exactly 90 days since he took the first step into the rehab building. The metaphorical step he took was way more meaningful though. It was his first step towards putting his life back together. He had never expected to be truly grateful for getting clean though. He was convinced that he would only do it for John, to show him how much he cared for him. He thought that it would be extremely hard to actually stay clean too, but now it was becoming easier with every passing day. It was never easy, but at least it was getting better. Now he could honestly admit that he was thankful for choosing rehab. He was thankful because he could feel like himself again.

After his big emotional meltdown, which had almost led him to escaping the center for good, he started to put more effort into improving his state. He became more honest during therapy sessions and he was on the right track again. The therapist had decided to put him on some medication for depression too and it seemed to be working well. At first he had been reluctant to take it, because he felt as if he didn't deserve it. Eventually he managed to start taking his pills regularly. He had put so much hard work into recovering and he was proud of himself because of that. He felt ready to get back to his life, to his band and to his mates. Paul was ready to be with John again, for real this time.

He changed into normal clothes, which was a red, flowery shirt accompanied by a pair of violet pants. Then he proceeded to eat breakfast and finished packing all of his things up, this time hopefully forever. He was so eager that his heart felt like it was on the verge of bursting with excitment.

He waited for the clock to show the hour 10. That was the time when Mal was supposed to pick him up. When the hands of the clock finally positioned themselves in the right way, he sprang out of the room. He would be free at last.

He said goodbye to some people, even to Andrew, who Paul had decided to give a second chance to. After that the lad somehow became easier to tolerate and they actually had some fun together.

Paul signed off some papers, but his head wasn't in it anymore.

"Ello, Mal!" he exclaimed as he rushed in the direction of the car, where the man was standing and waiting for him.

"Good to see you, Paul!" Mal greeted him and laughed as Paul threw himself into his arms for a hug. "How are you feeling?"

"Gear! And how are you? How's everyone?!"

Mal couldn't help, but grin widely as Paul bombarded him with questions. They got into the car and drove off, leaving the rehab behind. Paul watched through the window as the building kept becoming smaller and smaller and finally it disappeared behind the horizon.

For a second he thought back to when he was at his worst. When he was stuck in a hole of his addiction and depression. Death would seem like the only way out. Although he still couldn't fully recall all the things that had happened back then, he could easily recall how bad it felt. Even thinking back at it was giving him shivers, so he decided to stop. He focused on what was in front of him, not what he was leaving behind. He did it, he was free now.

Five minutes into the ride Paul finally broke and asked the question that he had been wanting to ask Mal since the second they started talking.

"How's John doing?"

The fact that he had to even ask that question made him feel slightly uneasy on the stomach. For some reason John had stopped calling him. They had been chatting a little during the first two weeks, but then Paul never seemed to be able to get in touch with him. However, his current positive mindset wasn't allowing him to dwell on the idea that something might be wrong, or at least not to an extent that would seriously interfere with his life. There was no reason why he should worry in advance. John was a busy lad, so there must have been a good reason explaining why they hadn't talked in so long.

"Oh, he's fine," Mal assured shortly. He glanced at Paul for a second, but when the lad tried to meet his gaze the roadie's eyes immediately landed back on the road.

"I'm glad," Paul eventually replied, forcing a smile. 'Fake it till you make it, Paul. Fake it till you make it."

"Is there something wrong, Paul? You've become awfully quiet."

"What?" he mumbled out. He realized that he had zoned off for a moment and he blinked a few times to make his correct vision return fully.

"I was just telling you 'bout George's new mustache," Mal chuckled and Paul laughed a little too.

"Sorry, I must have dozed off for a second there," he sighed, pushing his conserns away. "So you're telling me that George has a mustache now? I didn't think he could ever grow one!"

"Right? It's quite funny, but it suits him just fine."

They chattered a little more, but at the same time Paul was fighting a battle with himself. He was making every effort not to overly analyze Mal's weirdly short answer about John's well-being, but he just couldn't help it. When he started to get a headache he annouced that he would try and take a nap while they were still on the road. Mal said that it was okay, so Paul made himself comfortable and closed his eyes. With John still on the back of his head, he slowly began drifting off to sleep.