Beatles Imagines

15. Paul (2)

I dragged to the incessant ringing of my apartment's doorbell, wishing that I didn't have to answer. After the two shifts I worked, I was beyond tired and was not in the mood to socialize with anyone, especially if it was Daniel. I was done with his antics and his constant flirting. Not only did it make me feel incredibly uncomfortable to be around him, but it made me annoyed at his constant appearance at my door late at night. If it were him, I prepared myself to shut the door before he could get a bloody word out of his thin lips.

Sighing, I opened the door without another thought, and much to my horror, it wasn't Daniel. No, it was indeed worse than that grotesque man. It was a man, a coward, a heartbreaker. Someone who had fucked my entire life over more times than I could count. Someone who's name I hadn't even uttered in years in fear of reopening the wounds he left me to tend with.

It was Paul.

There he was in his utter glory, his boyish and charming (deceiving) looks still all singing the same tune they always had. The song was no longer endearing nor luring, it was deafening. His doe eyes were wide and filled with fear, as I was sure mine were. The lips I used to kiss were parted in shock.

I took no time and slammed the door on his presence, the vibration ricocheting through my body which already started to tremble in fear and angst.

"Go to your room, Bonnie." I told my daughter who was staring up at me in surprise, her hands still attached to the trains she was playing with.

She nodded slowly, her eyebrows furrowed in what I could assume was fear.

"Don't worry, you're not in trouble darling. Everything is fine." I assured her, giving her the best attempt of a smile that I could conjure in the time given.

Truth was, everything was certainly not fine. Not when he was at the door, emerging out of the darkness that he'd stayed in for 4 years. I suddenly wished I was as small and naïve as Bonnie to believe that everything would be okay.

"Open the door, please. I really need to talk to you, I'm so sorry." Knocks and his voice sounded from the door.

I closed my eyes in nostalgia, remembering his voice which used to sing to me, compliment me, and tell me that he loved me.

Why did he have to be here?
Why did he have to appear as soon as I got over him?
Why?

"Get away from those door or I'll call the cops, I swear to god. Stay away. Go home." I responded with a shout, the only thing keeping me from completely breaking down at the moment was my daughter who I was sure was eavesdropping in to our entire conversation.

She took that trait after her unfortunate father.

"I'm so sorry." He apologized, his voice cracking in the middle of his sentence.

I heard sniffling from behind the door and I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy hit my chest. It still hurt just as bad as it used to when I saw him cry, hell it hurt just as much as when I watched him completely unravel after his mother's death.

"Sorry isn't going to cut it, Paul. How dare you waltz to my home after four years? Four years. I had called you and written you almost every day for two years, and what did I get back?" I paused, wiping a single tear that had ran astray from my eye with a shaky hand. "Absolutely nothing."