i'M FiNE | Starrison [✖️]

Chapter Three

Yay Chappie Three! Just added a few things here and there to make the chapter a 1000 words at least. Cause I'm OCD like that :P

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Ringo woke up to bright light pouring into the room. He was a bit sweaty. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He hugged his knees, drawing in calming breathes.

The dream... The dream... What the fuck did I dream?

The space were George would be sleeping was empty. His heart squeazed a little. He frowned. He would be the one to wake up earlier than George. Then he would wake up then mumble a 'good morning' to him. Then George would still cuddle because he's still sleepy. He shrugged it off and went downstairs.

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"Morning,"

John grunted, still a bit grumpy (Paul must've woke him up, figures) with a cup of coffee in his hand. Paul was reading the newspaper and made a quick "G'mornin'" as he flipped the page. George, however, didn't meet his eyes and just stared at his cereal, looking like he didn't have the appetite. Which weirded him out. George always had the appetite. Ringo shrugged it off and opened the fridge.

He frowned at the fact the fridge was empty except for a bit of vegetables there and there. "I'm headin' off to the grocery."

George glanced at him. "I'll come with you."

"But your food---"

George waved it off. "It ain't that important." Ringo cocked his head, a but confused. Paul picked it up too.

"But you always finish your food." Paul said. "What's up with you Gear?"

"It doesn't taste good. Like it's spoiled or something." George said as he took his coat. Ringo did the same. He gave the smaller a quick glance that made his blood run cold.

We'll talk later.

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As soon as they got to the supermarket, George pulled him to the back of the alleyway.

"Mind explaining your arms, Ritchie?"

"Hmm?" Ringo faked confusion. "What's with my arms?"

George frowned and grabbed one of his wrists.

"Wait--- Ow!"

"Look," Ringo watched with horror as George revealed his scars. His long, ugly fucking scars.

He bit his lip and looked down on his shoes. "It's nothing, Gear."

George gritted his teeth. "Oh really? When the fuck did cutting yourself become nothing?"

Ringo faltered under his glare. He sighed shakily.

"I'm fine, Gear." He said, voice barely audible. George didn't believe him, his grip still tight on Ringo's wrist. He repeated it again, louder than before. "I'm fine!"

Your lying... That's how fucking pathetic you are. Your lying to the only one who fucking cares about you!

George's face suddenly softened. He brushed a finger to his cheek and that's when he realized he was crying. George grabbed him into a hug. Ringo gripped his coat as if he'll die without it.

"Fuck... I-I... P-Please don't tell a-anyone." He whimpered. "Fucking promise me that..."

You're so fucking pathetic. Of course George'll tell. He thinks your insane, mental, fucked-up. He'll tell all the others about it. He might even lock you up in a fucking asylum---

"I won't. I won't, I promise." George said, his breath tickling his neck. "But this is serious, Ritch. Like real fucking serious. I can't... I can't let you do that to yourself... It's---"

"Fucked-up, I know." Ringo finished. He wiped his tears with the back of his hand like a child.

George looked like a lost puppy. "Why do you do it? I-I don't understand..."

It's because you really won't understand it. "It helps... Somehow..." Ringo gave out a sigh. "I-I don't know..."

People walking around must've thought that they were queers from the way they were close. They had shades on so they wouldn't be recognized. Ringo let out a shaky breath. He felt so guilty and he could feel George's eyes burn into him.

"I never wanted you to know..." He mumbled, eyes casting down to the floor again. Jesus, if this goes on Ringo would have the itch again. Not the insect-bite itch but the I-need-to-cut itch. It was eating him up inside. Ringo's fingernails bore into his skin. If he didn't have a blade this'll do.

"Don't---" George swatted his hands away. "---do that."

So fucking weak. Can't you stand just one day without a blade? That's sad, but you know that already, don't you? Pitiful.

Ringo bit on his lip so hard the skin cracked. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Just... Just don't do it again, okay?" George kissed the top of his head. In a brotherly manner of course. Ringo closed his eyes, praying that his cheeks won't turn red. It's a brotherly manner, Ringo repeated in his head, completely heterosexual and platonic.

"O-Okay..." Liar. "I won't do it again." You're going to eat those words later, Starr. You'll pick another blade from the box and cut yourself again. You always do.

Ringo sighed. Maybe he would eat up those words.

"Fuck, how long were you doing this, Rings?"

He leaned against the brick wall. His hands fumbled with the ends of his coat.

"Dunno. Been goin' for quiet a while now that I think of it." He replied, eyes concentrating on anything but George's face. Thick eyebrows furrowed, his lips curled down. His arms were still around him.

"I should've noticed. It's my fault." Ringo looked up with wide eyes. He expected George to yell at him not take the whole fucking blame. "I-I should've noticed that you weren't eating right... I should've noticed, oh god. It was right there and I didn't..."

Ringo was torn. He could hardly believe the words coming out of the guitarist's mouth. "George... George it's my fault, okay? It's mine and fuck no if it's yours. I-I..." I just got better at hiding it. "It was my choice, not yours."

George shook his head. "At least I should've noticed the fucking sleeves. Anyone normal doesn't wear sleeves at a hot day, Rings."

He was right. Ringo just nodded. George's fingers trailed the scars on his wrist. They brushed it carefully, as if he'll hurt him just by touching it.

"There's more, aren't there? More scars, I mean."

"No." Liar. "I only... you know, cut there."

The lines on his wrists were many, yes. But there were much, much more on his thighs. Longer and deeper cuts covered his thighs. But he won't show that to George.