Hello!

I had this really depressing two-shot brewing up in my mind. I didn't want to forget it, so here I am, writing a depressing fanfiction. Just remember, it's all fiction, it didn't actually happen, and please don't hate on me. I DIDN'T want this to happen in real life I just thought of it.

Enjoy…I guess…or cry…either one.

March 9 1964

George POV

I walked down the quiet Liverpool Street, cigarette dangling out of my mouth and hands shoved deep into my trouser pockets. The air was cold and I was not dressed very warmly. I had a thin white dress shirt on and black trousers. I shivered and walked quickly to the studio. I approached the ugly tall black building and breathed a sigh of relief.

I practically ran into the building and shut the door tightly behind me. I embraced the warmth from the inside of the lobby for a moment. I snapped out of my trance and hung my coat on a cheap plastic hanger in the closet outside the studio door. I heard shouting from inside the chamber and raised my eyebrow. I placed my ear to the door.

"I'll do the fucking song how ever I want, Paul! Shut the fuck up and don't tell me what to do!"

I sighed. John would just randomly blow up sometimes on something stupid. Like me suggesting a guitar chord or Paul fixing a lyric. I cautiously knocked on the door. I heard a grumble and the stomping of feet. The door swung open and there stood John, eyes fiery and face red. I took a step back.

"What the fuck do you want?" he spat in my face. My eyes widened. I always got a bit scared when John was pissed off. He got really aggressive and stuff. He looked at me expectantly.

I looked at my guitar case strapped on my shoulder and back to him. "Umm…well…practise," I said quietly and hesitantly. His face transformed into a snarl.

"Practise? You want to have fucking practise with me? Who wants to play guitar with you? You can't even play! You don't belong in The Beatles! No one fucking likes you!" He shouted in my face.

I'm looking through you, where did you go…

Paul, who was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, stood up and walked up behind John.

"C'mon John, you don't mean tha-" Paul started, but was immediately cut off by John.

"No, shut your fucking mouth Paul. George needs to know these things. He doesn't belong in the band. He can't play guitar and sing for his life, and have you seen yourself? You should buy a mirror George."

I thought I knew you, what did I know…

"Shut up John," Paul said angrily. "George is an amazing guitarist, and without him, The Beatles would be shit! So think about what you're saying!" Paul shouted.

John scowled and turned to me again. I now noticed the stench of alcohol lingering in him. Oh great, he was drunk.

His eyes turned dark, and honestly, I was scared shitless.

"You know what Geo? Just get out of here. Go kill yourself, like I would care. Just get away from us." He snarled. He snatched the guitar off of my shoulder and threw it across the room. I heard a crash and winced. My favourite guitar.

You don't look different, but you have changed…

He slammed the door in my face. I just stood there in shock. What the fuck just happened?

I started to think about what he told me. My heart shattered. Honestly, John was one of my role models. I looked up to him. Maybe those things he said about me were true…

I shakily walked to the public bathroom and walked into a stall. I locked it and slid down the door to the floor. A salty tear cascaded down my cheek. I'm worthless. I kept repeating that in my head, and more tears slid down my face. Soon, I was sobbing. I glanced at the toilet. I took a shaky breath. It's got to be done, I said to myself. I crawled to the toilet, and placed my stomach on the rim. I pushed forcefully.

That was the first day I made myself throw up.

I'm looking through you, your not the same…

May 2 1964

Normal POV

George made himself empty his stomach for almost two months. He felt horrible, but at the same time, proud of himself. He didn't eat, which is quite strange for George if you weren't aware of his dirty secret. He only ate if it was completely necessary like if he felt like he was going to pass out, which happened a few times, or if the other Beatles make him.

Ringo had a feeling something was wrong. George not eating? Food was his life. Geo would escape to the bathroom after every meal, and every day, he seemed weaker and weaker. He called in sick quite a few times, and the three musicians were starting to get worried. Ringo finally had enough and he called George into a random room in the studio. George followed, taking a seat in a comfortable blue chair. He had bags under his eyes, and his face was pale. He gave Ringo a smile, but it was visibly forced and hard to do.

"Geo," Ringo started, " If I ask you a question, will you tell me the absolute truth?" he asked.

"Sure, Ringsy. What is it?" George asked. George started to feel panic. What if he found out? He was surely screwed.

"Why are you so unlively and weak lately? Why are you not eating, and escaping to the bathroom after you eat anything? C'mon Geo, you gotta tell me!" Ringo said desperately. "I won't tell any of the lads," He concluded.

George took a deep breath. He knew one of them would find out eventually. He really didn't want to talk, so he pulled up his shirt a little bit. A long purple and blue bruise stretched across his stomach from pushing onto the rim of the toilet.

"Ringo…I don't really know how to tell you. Well, I guess the point is…I've been starving myself for two months." He let the fabric drop and he hung his head in shame.

"Geo…why?" Ringo whispered. George shook his head.

"John said some stuff abo-" George said but suddenly stopped. His eyes became distant and glossy and his face turned another shade paler. Ringo stared at him. George's breath hitched in his throat and his arms hung limp. His body suddenly collapsed and he fell on the cold tile floor. Ringo's eyes went wide.

"George!" he shouted, tears streaming down his face. Ringo knelt down on the floor and put his ear to George's chest.

…

…

…

No sound was heard.

George Harold Harrison had died.

And it was all John's fault.