Paul & John

[Chapter Two - We Live In Controversy]

--- J O H N ---

Sometimes he wish he could leave. The sound of Mimi nagging at how big of a disappointment he was made him burn with hate; flare with murderous thoughts.
He laid in his bed, thinking about places he would go if he packed his things and left Mimi for good. He kept on thinking, thinking about his escape until it drove him into a tired haze.

He sat up and looked at the photograph of he and his mum, how happy she looked with her son adjacent to him. Why hadn't she come back for him? Didn't she love him?
Sometimes John would dream about staying with his mum---wherever she was. He didn't realize it then, but he found himself crying at a painful memory that came into his head while he looked down at his large, pale hands.

It is 1946, he was an eight-year old boy staying indoors. He could be playing outside in the rain with the other lads, but Auntie Mimi scolded him the consequences of playing in the rain.

He had just got done eating lunch, and so he ran towards the front door entrance which led to the bedroom to the left. He stopped and saw a blurry figment knock on the door repeatedly. From what he could see, she had auburn, curly hair that rested on her blurry shoulders. She wore a green coat, and that's all he caught a glimpse of before Mimi pushed him to his room; closing it after he was in.

He picked up his toy train and began to play. His heart skipped a beat once he heard the front door slam.
"Don't ever come back here, you whore!"

He laid in his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he then thought about something else. He thought about that chubby boy he met on the bus, and he also thought about that dark circle resting on his fat wrist. He then grew sad, feeling sorry for the poor boy.

He closed his eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.

...

John awoke to the sound of harsh thunder clapping against his flat. He sat up groggily and checked the time: 6:45AM. He had to get up now, otherwise Mimi would yell at him for being lazy.
He slipped on some jeans and black boots that came from London and were shipped to Liverpool. He didn't bother to put on a shirt, so he had on a white muscle shirt. Carrying his art notebook, he walked outside; placing a cigarette in his mouth as he lit its end with a match.

He then opened the front door and left, getting on the bus as he sat in his usual seat and looked out the window.

--- P A U L ---

He squeezed into his trousers once again. His stomach gave him sharp pains due to last night's blows. He checked himself in the mirror; hating himself even more at the sight of a fat, puppy-faced boy staring back at him.
He then bent down --grunting at the effort of bending-- and grabbed his backpack.

He tiptoed past Mike and his dad, who were both passed out on the sofas. Mike never made an effort to go to school, and Paul didn't really give a shite about his drug-addict, sex-crazed brother.

The bus pulled up and so he got on. He kept his gaze down at his big shoes; his heart beating. He was about to walk to the very back of the bus, when a hand grasped his wrist. Paul turned sharply; clenching his right fist--ready to strike at any moment.
"Whoa, mate, calm down its just me, John!" John let go of his wrist, knowing it hurt the overweight lad. Paul sighed, silently apologizing at his attempt to hit him.

"It's okay, mate. It 'appens." He stared at Paul and saw he looked disheveled. "Are ye okay? You look like you haven't slept."

Paul felt his bruise on his left wrist pulse. He wished he could run away from that house--run away and never come back.

"If I tell ye something you can't tell anybody," Paul said frantically.
John placed his hand over his heart. "I swear I won't say anythin'."

Paul then lowered his voice; his hazel eyes meeting John's brown ones.
"My old man beats me," John leaned back, a bit surprised that someone would hurt him like that.

"D'you know why?" John asked. Paul sighed, then looked down at his tubby stomach.
"It's because I'm fat."

John felt like slapping the boy. It was true that he was tubby, but he knew Paul shouldn't feel that way.
"Fuck what yer dad says, Paul!" John shouted, "You are a handsome young chap, and yer fuckin' father could rot in Hell for everythin' he's doin' to ye."

Paul still had his head down until he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders.

"Come to my house tonight, it will give ye a break from yer old man."
Paul shook his head. "No mate, I don't want to be a burden."

"You won't be a burden, mate. Yer my friend, and I want to give you an escape."
Paul smiled; thanking him.

The bus was pulled to a stop, and that's when John had to leave to QuarryBank.

"John?"
The older lad turned around. "Yeah?"
Paul bit his lip.

"Thank ye for listening."

"Anytime." He waved to his friend. "See ye after school."

With that, John got off the bus. Paul then sat back in his seat, smiling to himself.
He finally had a friend, a true friend; one that accepted him.
He wanted an escape from Hell and he thought dying would be the answer.

But it turns out it was the teddy boy Lennon that gave him an outlet.

A sweet escape.