Help! | McLennon

Junkie's Back

"Mal, could you... please stop the car?"

"Yeah, Mal. Paul here doesn't look too well. You haven't been roadsick before, have you Paul?" Ringo asked. Paul couldn't bring himself to answer so all he did was shake his head slowly.

"But you're not gonna throw up or anything, are you?"

"Nah, I just need fresh air y'know," he mumbled out.

Paul's tolerance for heroin had been building up suprisingly fast, so he had trouble evaluating how much he needed. He kept either doing too much or too little and he hated the instability. Before hopping into the car and heading off to the interview, he definetely should have done more.

When the car pulled up he pushed himself outside, letting out a pathetic shriek. Shaky breaths were making him dizzy and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't get his palms to stop twitching. In spite of the loud ringing in his ears, he could still hear everyone's worried whispers.

"I'm alright, lads. It's alright," Paul promised. He looked around and noticed that he wasn't even standing. He was crouched in a weird position and he immediately flushed with embarrassment.

"Are you sure, Macca?" John questioned and held out his hand for Paul to grab it. Paul threw him a look full of suspiciousness as he was still weirded out by John's kind behaviour towards him. Getting called 'Macca' again after such a long time triggered some feelings of deep shame in him. He accepted John's help despite it and sent him a small, awkward smile in return.

"Nobody actually said it, but the beard really suits you." Paul nodded, letting out a chuckle at Ringo's compliment. "It's definetely better than George's mustache!"

"Would you shut up about that already?" George snapped, but he was also laughing and showing off his vapire-like teeth. That was when the jokes started and the atmosphere lightened up again. Paul was the only one barely talking, because he kept counting seconds to the time of their arrival. At the venue people had already started gathering around and The Beatles had to experience all the screaming and all the weird touching again. A lot of the yelling was directed at Paul since he hadn't performed publically for a long time.

"Junkie's back!" somebody from the crowd yelled.

"Fuck off, you little piece of shite!" John yelled back and narrowed his eyes, trying to spot Paul. His eyes eventually landed on the lad who was pushing two girls off him. Their eyes met and Paul quickly looked at the pavement, because he didn't have enough strength in him to look John in the eyes. Not after all the harm he had caused him and definetely not without heroin running in his veins.

When they successfully locked themselves in their dressing room, Paul jumped onto the velvet sofa and drew a heavy sigh. He had two bags hidden in his pocket, he just needed to gather enough power to push himself up and head to the bathroom. Without saying anything he proceeded to do that. He lost track of how much he was snorting, because keeping it didn't matter anymore. All he cared about was to snort enough to get rid of the muscle pain, horrible goose bumps and cold flashes, the shakiness and the overwhelming shame.

"Hey, man, you okay? You've been there for half an hour!" All of the sudden one of the lads started knocking on the door. Paul was already out of it enough not to be able to tell who it was. He made sure not to leave any trace of using behind and stumbled back into the room. He had to sit down again, because he wasn't sure if he was still conscious or not. A feeling of heaviness and slight nauseua also crushed into him. Despite all that, he didn't experience the rush of happiness he was looking forward to the most. He felt as miserable as before, just in a different way.

"Paul..." someone spoke again and the person was sitting right next to him, only he hadn't noticed it sooner. "Is everything alright?"

"Mhm, yeah..." Paul muttered and his eyelids fluttered open, but that didn't last for long. He felt extreme confusion and his head seemed totally empty. It was aching horribly though. He brought an arm to his face and covered his eyes with it. He did that half-uncounciously, without trying to hide that everything wasn't fine anymore. Pretending hadn't even crossed his mind.

"Can I talk to him alone?"

This time Paul was sure that it was John asking the question. He didn't want to be alone with John, because the last time when they were alone, things escalated very quickly.

"Paul, are you high?"

Another one of John's questions finally made him reveal his face and his eyes sweeped over the other's beautiful features. He hadn't wondered about it for a while, but he could never forget how beautiful John was. While trying to fixate his gaze on him and stop it from getting blurry, he was gaining fuller consciousness.

"I'm so sorry..." Paul babbled and blinked again in attempt to see better. As soon as he saw the devasted expression plastered on John's face he wished to be able to see nothing at all. "I know you... you hate me, John. It's alright, I deserve it..."

Then he sensed John getting closer and wrapping his arms around him. Paul, who was trembling horribly before, felt way safer and calmer under John's tender touch. He nodded off for a second and ended up with his head placed on his mate's thighs.

"I tried to fight it... I tried so hard, you know? I can't do this anymore..."

John stroked his quivering head, then leaned in to plant a delicate kiss on his forehead. For a second there, Paul felt like he was in heaven. When John kissed him, all the bad feelings vanished. Later the heaviness settled back in his gut and he blacked out for a few seconds one more time. He started feeling better again, but his heart started hammering so hard it began to ache. Then, it slowed down rapidly and caused his breathing to become slower and shallow.

"Johnny..." His voice came out as a barely hearable whisper. He couldn't add anything more, because his mouth had gotten painfully dry.

"Paul? Shit, you're so pale!"

"I'm so... sorry..."

"Paul!"