i'M FiNE | Starrison [✖️]

Chapter four

Edited and fixed some bits for you guys :)

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In the end, they did buy groceries. In the end, Ringo couldn't stop thinking about the little kiss George gave him. George's little gesture made the itch go away, it replaced the hollow feeling in him with warmth. It was like he was powered up instantly. He felt fuzzy and warm and---- He shook his head to get rid of the thoughts.

He's a man. You're a man. He's straight and has a lovely girlfriend. As for you, you have a fiancee named Maureen Cox waiting at home. George has Pattie whom he loves very much.

Mo was lovely, beautiful, sweet. Ringo loved her of course, but George... George was different. George is different. He's your brother, your mate, your friend... And the list went on. He's your taken, completely heterosexual best mate who's helping you right now with your suicidal feelings. Don't. Fuck. It. Up.

Whatever Ringo felt a while ago was gone. He felt cold again, and distant. George was straight and he was a
fucked-up suicidal fag. He felt disgusting. He felt dark for even thinking about that. Ringo felt itchy again.

"You okay Rings?" His voice snapped him back to reality. "You seemed pretty deep in thought back there?"

"Ah, just thinking about..." Ringo thought of an excuse. "... stuff..."

George raised an eyebrow. "Stuff? What stuff, exactly? Don't tell me your planning to do it again."

Maybe I was... He thought. George widened his eyes. "Shit. George, I-I..."

He tugged his hand so hard he almost lost balance. He almost dropped the bags. He was frowning, scowling, again. George's lips were set in a thin line and his jaw was tense. Fuck.

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It was Ringo who broke the silence. They had arrived at the hotel and George slammed the door so loudly Paul jumped out of the couch in surprise. The drummer gave a quick glance to the bassist.

Help me.

Paul took a few seconds until it began to sink in. "I... Err... George---"

George barked at him like an angry dog.

"I-I'm sorry..." It came out as a whisper. Ringo hated himself for sounding so pathetic. "I'm sorry, George I didn't---"

George was looking at him that way and it scared him. He was passive-aggressive and it terrified him.

"Where is it?"

Ringo was tugging on his sleeves again. "Where is what?"

"The box you keep hiding that's full of fucking razorblades. Blades those sizes always come in boxes."

He went pale. George was half-right. It wasn't full of razorblades but he was hiding a box filled with razorblades.

After a while of digging in Ringo's suitcase, he fished out his drumstick case.

"Are you shitting me?"

Ringo felt his face grow red with embarrasment. George pulled out the stick and tossed them on the bed together with the supposedly bed of the sticks. Underneath it was a small box filled with razorblades. George took the box and tossed it , almost angrily, out the window. Ringo bolted up and looked helplessly out of the window. His hands gripped the windowsill.

"George..." Ringo whimpered. He looked at him with glassy eyes. "George you shouldn't have... Oh god," He looked at the microscopic little box that held both his death and pleasure. Cutting did hurt of course but it also felt good in a fucked-up way. It helped him with the air that's choking him all around. It help cope with the emotional pain inside. Distract yourself from pain with another kind of pain.

"You were going to do it again! One way or another!"

"You shouldn't be so affected then!" Ringo yelled back. "I'm the one going to die not you!"

"Because if you did die, a part of me dies as well! And that's a big fucking part. John wouldn't talk anymore and Paul wouldn't move and he'll blame himself for mocking you and I wouldn't..." George shook his head and went down on his knees and grabbed Ringo by the shoulders. "I care about you, okay? I care too much about you to let you die by slitting your fucking wrists in a bathroom!" He shook him a bit for emphasis.

Ringo managed to look at him straight in the eye. He was telling the truth oh god.

"Oh shit! Ow Paul, goddamit!"

"Shut the fuck up John!"

"I'll shut up when you do!"

Ringo paled. George walked to the door and swung it open, making the Lennon-Mccartney duo fall flat on their faces.

John gave him a sheepish grin. "Uhm... Hi?"

Paul got up and went to Ringo. "Is everything all right, Rings?"

Ringo gave him the don't-worry-about-it smile. The smile he perfected in making in. It made his lips numb. "I'm fine, Paulie."

"What's with the 'I'm the one who's going to die not you' talk?" Paul said, an eyebrow raised up. Ringo waved it away but not too much to reveal the scars on his wrist.

"We were just talking about... Song lyrics! Yes, song lyrics!" George butted in.

"That's going to be a really deep song," John said. "judging from what you guys were yelling at each other." The tone of John's voice made Ringo freeze. Shit. He wasn't buying it.

"Come on, Paul. Let's go work on that song I wrote. Some chords are still missing."

And that's when Ringo panicked. If John knew something was fishy he'll tell Paul and he won't hear the end of it.

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Uh oh Johnny knows!

So yeah another dream sequence maybe on the next chapter :)

So why don't ye,

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Love you guys,

~Grace 🤓