Girl (completed)

25

"John?" I called, walking through the seemingly vacant loft.
"In here!" He called, and I followed his voice, walking to the back. I stumbled into the room that was formally his music room.
"What is going on?" I asked as I rounded the corner, and my mouth dropped when I saw the boys standing in a nursery.
"Surprise!" They all shouted, and I smiled widely until I saw that there were only three.
"George," I said, not necessarily a question, not necessarily not one either. John smile faded, and he walked forward and held me in his arms.
"I'm sorry," he said, and I wiped away the tears brimming my eyes.
"I'm okay. This is amazing," I said, and pulled away to see the room. Two wooden cribs sat against the wall, and the room was painted light blue.
"Why are you crying? I mean, I know it's not that much, but it'll be more when we find out the genders and things. I thought maybe you could paint something on the walls?" John said, and I didn't even notice that the tears were rolling down my face.
   "No, it's amazing," I said, struggling to find more to say. The boys all smiled, and I walked over and hugged Paul. At first, he was a little shocked, but quickly embraced me.
  "Thank you," I said, wishing that I could put my appreciation into words.
   I did the same with Ringo, and then I sat in a little rocking chair by the corner. I rocked in it, and closed my eyes, a wide smile covering my face. I imagined me, sitting here and just looking at my beautiful babies as they slept soundly.
   "He doesn't love you," the voice mocked, and a chill ran through my spine. I opened my eyes, and I was in the same gray, decaying garden. It was cold, so cold that I could see every breath I took in front of me, leaving puffs of smoke before me with every exhale. I was sitting in the same chair, but now I felt uneasy. I felt a presence, but one that wasn't tangible. One that surrounded me, but was nowhere in sight.
   "John?" I thought, unsure of who the voice was talking about. I breathed again, and tried to move, but I couldn't. I was paralyzed.
   "No, George," the voice said, and I moved my eyes, the only thing I could control, to the source of the voice filling my ears. Nothing.
  "Lies," I thought, still unable to talk, and the voice came closer.
  "Speak up, doll,"
  "You're lying," I said, sound finally escaping my mouth and traveling through the vacant garden, the echo of my own frail voice mocking me.
  "Am I?" The voice hissed, and I thought about this, uncertainty creeping into the back of my mind.
  "Yes," I said, my voice hushed and lacking of life.
  "Then why is he not talking to you?" Taunted the hissing voice, and I stood up, spinning around. Nothing. Nothing but crippled, gray flowers. Something that was so full of life once, now ruined.
  "Leave me alone!" I screamed, and hands tightened around my neck. I fought against them, but their grip tightened, and I couldn't breathe. Drowning. I was drowning.
  "Blaire!" John's booming voice cut through the thoughts, and the garden around me vanished, me eyes opening to see the boys surrounding me.
  My chest heaved, and breath filled my lungs.
  "Are you okay?" Paul asked, and I stood, quickly sitting back down when I felt faint.
  "Can you give us a moment, guys?" John asked, and both boys nodded and headed for the door before giving me one last concerned look and exiting, leaving me and John alone.
  I suddenly began crying, and John held me, calming me down.
  "What happened?" He asked, his voice sounding strained and exhausted.
  "They aren't supposed to be here anymore!" I shouted, and his eyes went wide as he scanned me, unsure of how to respond exactly.
  "Who?"
  "The dreams. They're horrible! I used to be able to just wake up, but now they haunt me in the daytime too," I said, he chilling voice haunting me and sending me into another fit of cries.
   "Shhh, you're okay. It's okay," he said, holding me.
   "It's not okay. I have to kill him," I said, suddenly determined on ending these vivid dreams.
  "Calm down. Kill who?" He asked, and I pulled away from him.
  "I don't exactly know. The snakes. They- they have to leave me alone!" I yelled, my thoughts tormented and determined.
  "Shhh," he said again, not wanting to upset me with argument, but not wanting to condone my behavior either.
  "Does George hate me?" I asked, and John but his cheek.
  "No. He doesn't hate you, doll. He's just...unsure. He'll come around," he said finally, and I rolled my eyes.
  "It's hopeless."
  "There's always hope, love."
  

   "The course of love never did run smooth - William Shakespeare"