Sweetest Little Show - Paul McCartney Fanfiction

Chapter 24 - Old Ways

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3 weeks later

The only sound I quick hear was the clock ticking, and the TV which was turned down to a low volume. I hated nights like these. Nights when Paul would be out, and wouldn't come home for ages. They just stressed me out, and made me feel anxious. It brought back that attitude I used to have when it came to trust.

I wondered how he could even spend so much time partying without even realising that it was already early in the morning. Some people wake up at the times he comes home. Once he didn't come home until 5, and that one really worried me. It turns out he had been wondering the streets, drunkly singing until that time. If I didn't take the initiative to go out and find him, maybe he wouldn't have ever come home.

It all sounds like I'm being dramatic, I know, but how can you blame me? Trusting someone has always been the hardest thing for me, and yes, I do wanna trust Paul on nights like these, so badly. I trust him with everything else, but when he's been out this long, I can't help but wonder what he might be doing. He could even come back completely sober, and I'd still be worried.

We were getting closer and closer to 5, the latest he's been out. It just frightens me sometimes, and it makes me feel like he won't even come back one day. I don't know why I had to be so scared, we say we love each other, and that means we should trust each other too, but how am I supposed to feel when he's not home?

It was already 4:06, and though I could feel my eyelids getting heavy, I was staying up until he came home. This was just an unreasonable time. I don't even know if anything was open at this time. It must be, though, otherwise he'd be home already. At least that's what I'm hoping for.

As I was deep in thought, I suddenly saw movement in my peripheral vision. I looked up, and saw Paul looking through the fridge, and drunkly rocking back and forth on his toes. Quickly, I stood up, and tapped him on the shoulders, my arms crossed in frustration with him. I really loved him, I loved him so damn much, but him pulling shit like this made me wanna smack him across that pretty little face of his.

"Do you know what time it is?" I asked, my frustration and worry clearly coming through in my voice. Paul just looked back at me with an amused smile, and shrugged, before rummaging through the fridge again. Honestly, I was ready to have him sleep on the couch. "Paul, god dammit, listen to me!" I said, raising my voice as I grabbed his shoulder, turning him around.

Before he could ignore me again, I shut the fridge, leaning on the door so he wouldn't open it. He just had an eyebrow raised at me, acting like nothing bad was happening. Jesus, drunk Paul was hard to try cooperate with sometimes.

"Tell me," I started, my voice calming down, "what the hell have you been doing all night? Tell me everything, please. And dammit, have you seen other women?"

His face went red, and I already had my answer. I could read him by now, and I knew when he lied, and I knew when he was telling the truth. Even when he was drunk, and acting odd and different to his usual self, I could easily read him. And it hurts sometimes, it shatters my heart.

It makes me wish I did better, because it's clear that I haven't done enough. His actions made it clear to me that I'd done something wrong, and that I wasn't good enough for him. If I really was good enough, he'd be faithful. And if he really did love me, it'd be only me.

He can try convince me otherwise, but I've already seen stuff, my own eyes witnessed it. And yet, I can't leave him. I don't know why, but I just can't leave him. I've tried to, believe me, but when I grabbed that suitcase, I broke down.