The Answer (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fanfiction)

in the middle

"It wasn't enough to be kidnapped, I had to be insulted too"~Charlaine Harris

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Somewhere in America, 11 March 1964

Joan's nail scratched the wooden floor. Her arms and legs were bruised and bound together. The damage had been done. All she was doing was dying. Every single day. Not an ounce of strength left in her. Regret filled her brain.

Her mother had told her when she was a teenager. "Men are all the same. Don't bother meddling with them."

'Then how did you make me?', Joan would ask. Then her mother would look at her with a look that said 'That's it'. Joan took the advice lightly. She'd learn, however, that her mother had indeed been through hell.

She wished she listened to her.

She smiled at the memory of her mother. Then she remembered being a mother herself. Then she remembered about Paul.

In the months that Glenn had taken her to America, Joan had changed. She no longer felt hungry thanks to all the days and nights she spent starved. He'd starve her to the point where eating felt like a pain.

Just to have a laugh, he'd force-feed her by pointing his gun at her. Her stomach wasn't used to the food, so she would clutch her stomach in pain and throw it all up. He would laugh around like a maniac.

Sometimes she felt like she should have fought back, just so that he would have shot her. She would have escaped this hell.

But where would she go after?

There was no answer to that question.

She looked down her arms. They were cut, bleeding, bruised...probably infected. But she didn't feel anything anymore. She was just a limp body. With no meat on those bones. She wished she could just get up at go outside. Outside in the wind, where she could be swept away. How could she not?

She looked at the tattered mess that was her clothes. Clothes meaning the same hospital gown in which she'd been separated from her dear daughter.

Her head swum. She no longer felt pain whenever she walked...or as far as she could walk. With the amount of pain, assault and starvation she went through, it was a miracle she could get up let alone walk. She was beyond underweight.

Getting up was so underrated.

Life was so overrated.

At times like these, when Glenn was passed out on the couch, Joan would often think of escaping. 'this close...this close to getting up', she would think to herself. But her weak body would not allow her to do so. With the luck she'd received, Glenn would usually find her, rape her, and drug her.

There was no escape.

If this had been a few months earlier, she'd have the gut and energy to fight Glenn. But she no longer possessed the will to live or fight for herself. She felt like shit.

Shit probably was better than what she was going through.

Her kidnapping had changed her mind as well. She would get frightened at the knocking of the door when the post came. She would have nightmares of Glenn slitting her throat with his knife. She'd dream of Eleanor.