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April 6, 1956 // 3:15 pm
{ Soundtrack; Against All Odds - Phil Collins }
I sat precisely on the rouge cobblestone ledge and gazed freely off into the distance. The boys in their institute were let out. I sat back with an exasperated huff. James would be sauntering out of there any second with his calloused hands grazing that blonde bimbo's porcelain cheek.
But I sat there and thought concisely about our short-lived adventure a few months back. And in all my years of my existence, how could the most powerful impact in my life be something so gentle as his presence? I shot my eyes up to the rusty pillars as I watched the boys run out of there like there's no tomorrow.
Don't look up - you might catch a glimpse of the boy.
Don't you dare.
But I did. He strolled down the steps, watching as his shoes skipped against the marble flooring. He seemed very interested in the clapping sound it made. He averted his eyes away from the rather interesting floor and glanced around. Oh how innocent he was, strutting along the marble road with a deflated smirk. Our eyes inevitably connected and I looked away, suddenly conscious of my myriad of insufficiencies.
His ridiculously fat chipmunked cheeks occupied my mind as I tried to act busy reading my book, Bonjour Tristesse.
This book was incredible, eloquent and melancholy: 17 year old Cécile spends her summer in a villa on the French Riviera with her father and his mistress. Her father, Raymond, is a seductive, worldly, amoral man who has had many affairs... But when Anne comes in and threatens Raymond and his new-found relationship with Elsa, things go bad. That's where I've stopped, hopping desperately that Elsa would end up with Raymond despite the hardships they had to go through.
I felt someone's presence hovering over me as I tried to recollect the synopsis of the novel. Finally, I decided that the proper strategy was to look up and act as if I was okay with seeing his face again.
"Fancy meeting you here," he purred. There was quite a long period of silence as I watched a smile spread all the way across James' face - not the little cheeky smile of the boy trying to woo me, but his real smile, too big for his face quite frankly.
"Likewise," I said, my voice smaller than I expected it to be. He nodded. The conversation seemed to be over.
"I'm sure we're on the same page, so wanna get some food?" He teased with a light, but broken chuckle. I shook my head.
"No," I rebuffed sharply. He can't just snog another girl and come running back to me. His teeth gritted, without a doubt.
At that very moment, one of the school officials came out with a waspish bite to the cheek. James and I both looked simultaneously at each other, understanding and remembering that the fact that we're even talking to each other is so expressly forbidden. I closed my book, flung my backpack around my back, and walked down the cobblestone pathway.
"Wait!" He ran up to me unexpectedly and grabbed my unsuspecting hand, squeezing it and making sure I couldn't slip out or let go. I shot him some furrowed eyebrows as he glanced hesitantly over at the angry school official. "Let's go on an adventure."
"No! James! Let go of me hand!" I yelled at him. His mouth tightened - I could see the pain. He ran out to the pier, unfortunately dragging me along. I looked at our hands interlocked because I was too afraid to look at his face. His cheeks were red, not sure if it was because of me, or he had been pinching them all day.
"Please, call me Paul," he smirked slyly.
This moment was oddly beautiful, because him coming back to me was against all odds. I wished though that a few weeks back I could've just made him turn around, turn around and see me cry. Maybe then he would've realised that I was hurting and I still was.
He made me feel something - a strange sort of lustful deviation from the typical definition of love. But love is not a reaction or an action; it is not a destiny or a choice. Love is a feeling, a real, raw, and unscripted emotion so sensationally pure, unable to dull even under the strain of a world against it.
As I watched him squeeze my hand - in the most tender sense of phrase - we ran through out the pier, with my pretentious school-girl blouse flailing in the wind.
This was it. This was love. I just knew it.
"Wait," I finally said and he came to an abrupt stop, bringing his wandering attention onto me. Oh how I wanted to say that I missed him in that very moment. How I wish I could've erased every second I watched him snog that other girl. How I wish he could've loved me and we could've lived a life on that - how I wish he would just say it. It's the word, love. "I want to be as bright as the sun is today in a rainy city like Liverpool." Was all that came out of my reluctant mouth.
"You're not the sun," he argued. "You're my stars."
"Why?" I pout, half laughing. "What if I want to be the sun?" He smiles, that slow glowing half smile I loved, and takes my hand.
"The sun... It's too inconsistent in this monotonous city. Sure some days are beautiful, but most are cloudy, tired, dull. But the stars- they're always there. They're always bright, glowing peaceful... Constant, even behind the clouds."
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AHHHH SO I SAW THE FAB FOUR IN CONCERT AND AFTER THE SHOW i gOT a pICTURE WITH THem and I had a conversation with GAVin (GEORGE) ABOUT HOW MUCH WE LOVE LIVERPOOL!!
IM sorry I had to get that out... Anyway thanks for reading (:
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Hey You ⌲ Paul McCartney
Fanfiction❝I can't love you,❞ he spoke lightly. How I had yearned for him - how I had begged and pleaded for him, how my strength had fallen at the foot of my door when he walked away, how at the last I could only whimper, ❝I knew it.❞ - in which one fateful...
