If I Needed Someone

Chapter Two

  George slept well that evening. He hadn’t messed up a single guitar solo during their performance, and he had felt pretty confident as soon as he stepped offstage. But it wasn’t his positive playing that made him sleep so comfortably. He was happy, whether he realized it or not. Even though he was beyond tired when he eventually made his way back to his room and crashed into his bed, there was some happy feeling warm inside him that allowed him to sleep as peacefully as he did.

  George didn’t feel out of the ordinary, as he had just lied down against his mattress, wrapping himself up in the cheap cotton sheets provided and snuggling close to his pillow. Everything seemed pretty normal to him. Little did George know, deep inside his mind, thoughts were racing and fighting each other as he dreamt of happier things.

  Ringo, on the other hand, hadn’t been able to sleep at all. When George had gotten too tired and gone back to his room, Ringo had hit his head against his palm in frustration. What could I possibly have done wrong? Was the only thought that seemed to enter his mind. Obviously something; he couldn’t have run out of here any sooner.

  Of course, this was quite the opposite. George really was tired, whether Ringo believed it or not. He had played his first show in Hamburg that evening, sweating his ass off and perfecting each and every solo he played, giving it his signature Harrison-charm. No wonder he was so tired. Ringo didn’t know George all that well, so he simply believed George was rejecting him.

  When Ringo finally made his way back to his bed, he was the first one from the Hurricanes to do so. The others taunted him for leaving so early, but Ringo didn’t care. He needed to be somewhere where he could think without anyone else bothering him. And so that’s what he did. He sat on the edge of his bed for a good hour, his head in his hands as he stared at the floor, lost in thought.

  Sighing heavily to himself every few minutes or so, Ringo couldn’t stop thinking about the mysterious young lad he had watched preform that evening. George was too perfect, and it almost seemed unreal how much Ringo wanted him. Of course, Ringo knew deep in his heart that George didn’t want him. Why would a perfectly normal human being want someone like Ringo?

  Every time he looked in the mirror, all Ringo saw were flaws. Endless imperfections streamed into his mind, the worst parts of him displayed in front of him for him to see. He always hated mirrors, but now he had a better reason to. His nose was too big, his eyebrows too small; his eyes too blue, his lips too pink. Everything wasn’t good enough for himself, let alone George. There was no way someone like George would even consider someone like Ringo.

  Ringo had pretended to fall asleep as soon as he heard familiar the footsteps of several of his band mates walking down the hallway to their shared room. He had actually fallen asleep a few hours later, not being able to take his mind off of the events that had happened that evening. Everything kept playing back through his mind, every mistake he had made becoming even more highlighted in his unhappy thoughts. He didn’t know how he could live with himself, fucking up so bad that George had lied and said he was going to bed just to escape talking to him. And as their previous conversations were repeated on and endless cycle through Ringo’s mind as he desperately tried to fall asleep, he hated himself for being so stupid. He hated himself for like someone he could never have. Someone that would never want him.

—-

  “Good morning!” John cried, jumping up and down on top of George’s bed.

  George groaned and rolled over, rubbing at his eyes as sunlight streamed through the windows. “What time is it?” he grumbled, his mouth dry and eyes sore. He had been in such a peaceful sleep, and now it was ruined all because John was being immature, as usual.