i'M FiNE | Starrison [✖️]

Chapter One

Just edited a few things for you lovelies! Read on :)

WARNING: Maaaaay be triggering. Just maybe m'kay? Read on your own risk!

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Ringo Starr was hiding away in the small hotel bathroom like the fucking coward he was. At 10 o'clock he was crying. At 11 he was cutting away his dignity. And at 12 o'clock midnight he was curled up into a ball, regretting everything he'd done with that stupid fucking piece of blood-stained blade that was lying across the floor.

He was trying his hardest not to wake the others. After all they all had a long day performing concerts, doing interviews, running away from manic fans here and there without a blink of sleep. To them, sleep was heaven. To Ringo, it was just a dark landscape filled with nightmares and horrors that haunt him even if he woke up. Dark, scary monsters with long claws out to get him. He never saw them clearly, as he was always running away from them then waking up in the middle of the night in a pool of cold sweat.

Ringo let out a small whimper. It wasn't long till he'll black out due to exhaustion. Then the others would be worried, especially George. He knew him like the back of his hand. He could see right through him like he was fucking transparent. Whenever he drabbled on a song the first one he'll go to was George. George was his rock. Sorta. Whenever things got bad he'll go to George. But he'll never tell him about the cutting. Never. George doesn't need to know about it.

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He could hear them. He didn't know who but he could hear them. They were laughing at him because he was so weak and pathetic. His eyes were already empty with tears. Or so he thought because hot liquid ran down his cheeks again.

He glanced at the blade, debating if he should or shouldn't. He wants to but at the same time he doesn't. God knows he doesn't.

"Just a little," Ringo mumbled, reaching the blade. The fresh slashes on his thighs stung as he moved. "Just a little won't hurt."

Of course it'll fucking hurt. It always does, you idiot. No matter what you'll do it always fucking hurts. And it's never "just a little". You're gonna end up dead on the floor, you dumbfuck. It almost happened once and it would happen again.

Ringo folded back his shirt sleeves, his left hand ready with the blade.

"Ringo? Ritch, are you in there?"

Shit. "Gear, you're still awake?"

"I wanna use the loo." George slurred, still sleepy. "I need to pee, Rings."

Ringo wrapped the blade with tissue paper and threw it in the trash. Shit, he forgot the disinfectant. He quickly dabbed alcohol over the fresh wounds and winced as it stung as if he poured acid on it. He bit his lip, trying to hold the pained gasp that threatened to get out. He rolled his pants down and gave a quick glance at the mirror.

He opened the door to a sleepy George who's brown eyes were already drooping. His moptop was messy and some stood up. A bit of drool ended to his chin. It was, in a heterosexual brotherly way, cute.

"You look like shit." George mumbled, rubbing an eye. "Like you went through hell."

Laugh it off. Give a smile. Don't let him know.

"Gee thanks," He joked. "If you don't mind, I'll climb in bed." He nervously tugged his own sleeves.

"Ritch..." Shit. He was sober. "Ritch, what's wrong?" He didn't have time to grab a hold of Ringo's hand before he jerked it away.

Shit. Shit. Motherfucking shit he'll know. He'll fucking know and it'll be the end of me.

"I'm fine," He managed a small, trembling smile. "I'm fine, really! Now go use the loo before you leak."

He ushered George into the bathroom like a mother. He took a deep breathe, half-relief and half-scared-to-death. If he fucked up just a little George'll know. Then John then Paul then it's going to be a fucking catastrophe.

He buried himself under the covers. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to see what's waiting for him in the dark.

"I-I'm fine..." He mumbled to the pillow. "I-I'm f-fine..."

He fell asleep. Maybe to sheer exhaustion. He grabbed the extra pillow and curled up around it. He fell into a dark, dreamless sleep, thank god.

A flush, then a click. George got out of the bathroom and dove straight for bed, eager to get sleep. He inched closer to the other and snuggled against him for warmth. He frozed, feeling the rough lines on Ringo's arms. Was he hurt? Was he jumped on by a crazy fan again? No, they were too long. And security was always with them. A fan wouldn't be able get to them without dealing with a large blockade of guards. The lines were long and mostly on the wrists.

George sat up and turned on the lamp on. The scars were long. They were jagged and some looked fresh. It was horrifying. The lines covered his wrists all around. But the scars were only horizontal. And that could mean only one thing. George ran his hand through his hair in disbelief. His sleepiness was gone with the wind and replaced by a sinking feeling as he finally found it out.

"Holy shit,"

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So yeah I just changed things a bit. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and the next one would be alot more different. You'd know once you scroll down or turn the page :3

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Lots of love,
~Grace ✌🏻️💙