Risky Woohoo

1 - Changes

1956, December
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I can't remember how long I sulked when I learned that my new step-father had a son. A bloody son. And I thought it was bad living with a biological one.

Hell. Hell it was when he visitied. He was on my heels the entire time. He did not hesitate to involve himself in my every movement of both feet and lips. He would interrupt my every sentence and walk wherever I went.

And then suddenly he was here permanently. He lived here. And since my brother was older, he remained alone in his room, which meant Paul and I shared a room.

Great. Gear, wasn't it? An irritable boy I barely knew was co-occupying my room.

I still didn't really know what to expect. I'd heard rumours about him: Paul McCartney, the charming teddyboy who gets all the birds. It was making me think he would show up with a girl one night and start snogging her in front of me. It terrified me.

He and his father'd only been here half a day. It began with Paul dragging up an acoustic guitar and tossing it onto the other bed that we previously had carried inside. I was still in bed and screamed when I heard the strings accidentally strum loudly against his fingers as he let go of it. He only laughed and went outside before he could notice my barely clothed body.

As last time, he would not leave me alone. And my mother kept nagging about that I should let him, get to know him and such. It was all a load of bollocks, I said. He was only trying to annoy the hell out of me. I knew it.

"Ann?" My ears suddenly opened. "Favourite colour?" He said from across the room. I was laying on the sofa, exhausted from trying to get him off of me. It sounded more of a demand than a question. He shifted slightly in his seat in the big, lumpy chair. I could feel his stare burning a black hole into my temple.

"Red, I suppose." I sighed. I folded my arms over my chest and crossed my legs. My auburn hair hung over the armrest as I lay there, trying to focus all my might on that one spot of dust up there. Paul nodded slowly, as if taking a mental note of my answer.

"Drink?" He wondered. I furrowed my eyebrows. "Bourbon." I sarcastically spat at him. "Oh, really?" He chuckled. "No. Milk."

It was beginning to feel like an interview. Or more of a therapy session rather.

"What music you like?" He asked, burning his stare through my whole head. God, this boy. Well, I was getting to know him, wasn't I?

"I don't know." I bluntly said. Yes, I was getting to know him, perhaps, but truthfully, I had no idea.

"Just say someone." He demanded. Damn.

"Elvis." I sighed the name I had heard the most. I sat up, ready to escape his torturous hostage.

I gripped the edge of the sofa with my hands and leaned forward, letting out a deep groan. Paul sat on the edge of his seat too, leaning his elbows on his knees.

I looked over at him. "You're really making an effort, aren't you?" He 'hmf'd and looked back. "Yeah." I stood up and began stretching my arms and ruffling my hair. "Does Jim make you?" He seemed to be copying my motions, standing up himself and stepping closer. He shook his head. I gave him a sarcastically impressed nod.

"Well, that's oddly kind of you." I remarked as I turned to leave. I had only gone a few steps until I felt a hand gripping my arm. I turned around to face Paul staring intensily at me again. I was quite surprised at his odd appearance.

"What'u want for crimble?" His voice sounded shockingly serious. I tried to laugh it off, but. He. Kept. Staring.

"I-I don't know, sorry." I told him in a near whisper. His face slowly began to soften. "Right, then." He sighed and let my arm go. He sat back down and gripped the nearest book. I could only gaze at him in wonder.

Did he read?
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Time went by, and Paul seemed to be leaving me alone for the rest of the day, much to my relief, but also left me a little perplexed.

I began to realise what an effort he was really putting in to get to know me. He was around me much more than he cared to be my brother. It was flattering, but he had to, didn't he?

As we sat and ate dinner together for the second time, the first time being when they visited, he kept glancing over to me.

He was sat opposite me. My mother was beside me, and Mr. McCartney opposite her again. Then William sat beside me as the king on the end of the table.

I was focused on my meal, or my eating rather, as I always was. Paul kept looking at me in an odd way. And it was never properly at me. He still had his head bent down and kept his gaze through his thick, long eyelashes.

It was as if he didn't want anyone but me to meet his eyes. And I did. I thought it was to annoy me. Like a child that won't stop staring at you, and it bothers the hell out of you. But it didn't bother me. I looked back. Several times.
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"Goodnight, you two." My mum shut the door, leaving us alone in our shared bedroom.

The night had come at last. We were both in bed, tucked tightly into the sheets. I hummed slightly as laid on my side, facing the wall, appreciating the comfort of my bed. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind.

But such could not last long. I suddenly heard a melody erupt from Paul's guitar, which made my eyes open. I lifted myself up and sat against the wall.

I wanted to protest, but I couldn't bring myself to it. I watched him place his fingers over the neck and hum in harmony. He sat there   in his new bed, quietly playing the guitar in his lap.

He knew it would wake me. But I couldn't understand if it was to irritate me or just for his own practise.

I could tell he needed it though, that he hadn't been doing this for long. But good for a fourteen year old I could say.

"Will you playing lullabies every night, or-?" He abruptly stopped playing and raised his head to look at me. He wore a slight smirk on his face, his cheeks flushed. I smiled back at him.

"Do you want me to?" I thought about it for a moment. I proceeded to nod slowly and crawl under the covers again. I propped myself up on my elbow to watch as he turned his focus to the guitar again.

"But-" I said with a yawn. "Will you let me sleep?" He chuckled as he stretched his body over the bed to place the instrument by the foot of it. I grinned in satisfaction, drifting asleep as it faded.

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Hmmmmmm... well. He was supposed to be much more aggravating than this.