Paul & John

[Chapter Eighteen - Pixie Dust Is For Fairies]

-- P A U L --

       Jim pushed his son on the bed, breathing heavily as he's just gotten done giving his son a major beating. Paul had his face planted on the mattress; his nose and bottom lip had accumulated blood and was now dry. He looked at his father in the eye, his defeated stare had become lifeless.

"So, Paul," Jim sneered, hovering over the chubby lad. "you like boys, yeah?" Paul flinched as Jim swung his hand on the younger lad's temple. "ANSWER ME!"

   Paul scanned at the drunken man before him and bit his swollen, cut lip. He didn't know he liked boys, per say, but when it came to John Lennon, he couldn't help but feel as if he were a flame flickering. And when he was around John, he never wanted to burn out.

"Do you like boys?" the man  with the hardened heart questioned once again.

Paul felt his lips quiver in fear before he answered. He couldn't fight the feeling anymore. He adored John, he was fascinated by John's good looks and talent. He couldn't fight it any longer. He had to tell his old man the truth.

"Y-yes," Paul replied in a squeak. "I l-like John."

Before the chubby, young fifteen-year old could rise to a sitting position, Jim took his jaggered fist and swung it towards his son.

"Liking a boy means you're a fairy." He punched him once more. "And no son of mine is going to be a fuckin' fairy!"

And then suddenly Paul's world became black. . .

* * *

-- J O H N --

                   The night rested against a guilty conscience as John laid in bed; taking a few measly drags from the cigarette he'd taken out the minute he got home. He knew he shouldn't have left, but he respected Paul enough to obey his requests. Something kept fighting John at the chest. Was it fear? Was it anger? Was it infatuation? Did John really feel something for the tubby lad? Whatever it was, John couldn't suppress the feeling. And because he couldn't suppress it, he took a few more anxious drags.

  Finally, he stopped taking quick cigarette runs and rose up from his bed. Something was wrong with Paul, and John was determined to find out everything. Why he was feeling a certain way, why he felt like he was responsible for Paul's life, why he liked the younger lad. He was determined to figure it out, no matter what it took.

Slipping on his leather jacket, John quietly walked out the door and left the premises of his home.

* * *

            The gravel crunched underneath his feet. John stared at Paul's window, hoping and praying that his friend Paul was okay. Continuing to walk, John felt his breath hitch to the back of his throat. He was one second away from knocking on the window. God only knows what lied behind the glass barrier that separated the teddy boy from the chubby lad. . .

   When the teddy boy brought his fist to the glass surface, he knocked. John waited for a few minutes before knocking again. Finally, when there wasn't an answer, John took out the switchblade knife he kept in his pocket and slid the blade underneath the window latch. He lifted it up with his index and middle finger along with the blade on the other hand, and in a few seconds the window was open.

  Slithering his way into the room of Paul McCartney, John found his friend on the floor, with dry blood hanging beneath his nostrils and lower lip.

And suddenly, the rebel's heart became shattered at the sight of the damage. He bent down and shook the younger lad lightly.

"Paul?" He muttered. "Paul, wake u--"

Just then the door barged open. When John's head rose, he saw Jim holding an ice pack in hand. The older man stared at the bent teddy boy and stiffened his jaw. He was the reason why his son was queer.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Jim snarled, squeezing the ice pack. John rose to his feet, squaring his shoulders; giving the alcoholic man a confident stance.

"Why the fuck do ye think I'm 'ere?" John replied. "I came to see if my friend was okay. What, did he come to cover up the evidence?" He shook his head in disbelief. "You disgust me."

Jim took a hold of John's shirt and pinned him to the wall. "You disgust me." John could smell the alcohol lingering on the man's breath. "You're the reason why my son is queer." He tightened his grip on the shirt, "Stay away from Paul, you filthy bastard."

John clenched his jaw, his breaths becoming shaken due to his angered state.

"I don't think I can do tha'." John replied. He didn't want to let go of Paul if it meant the younger lad was going to get punished for every little thing.

Jim retracted his grip on John's shirt and instead placed his hand on his neck. He tightened his grip on John's skin; choking the teddy boy. However, John did not move. He remained still, his glance at Paul's father was cold as a Liverpudlian night.

"If you don't stay away from my son," Jim snarled. "I'm going to make sure your life is a living Hell."

John began to wheeze, and as he was wheezing, he somehow gained the strength to push Jim's large hand from his throat.

He squared his shoulders once more, glaring at Jim. "I'm not staying away from Paul," he replied. "so you can go ahead and make me life Hell --- I'm already in it because you're in front of me. So why don't ye just fuck off and get on with yer drink, yeah?"

Jim spat in John's face, then turned on his heel to leave. John didn't care, though. The minute Jim left, the rebellious teddy boy crouched down to Paul's level and placed his hand on top of his companion's as it rested on his stomach.

"Don't worry, Paulie," John mumbled, tears brimming his eyes. "I'm not going to let yer dad hurt you, anymore. I fuckin' promise ye, that." he then placed a tender kiss on the back of Paul's hand; holding it as he moved it on his beating heart.

John knew he liked Paul. However, he never knew he could feel like this. So protective, so passionate, so. . . alive.

He liked Paul. There was no other piece to the puzzle. He liked him, and he was determined to keep the doe-eyed lad under his wing.