Terrified, Ringo lept onto George, shaking him madly.
"George?! George wake up!" He cried, "Please! Come on!" He thrashed George around the bed.
"Ringo what's going on?" Brian asked, hearing the commotion. He walked in to see Ringo atop George's bed, shaking the unconcious George, terrified. Tears were forming in his eyes as the worst ran through his mind. How could he have been so stupid?! George was drunk! He could have taken the whole bottle!
He did take the whole bottle, Ringo suddenelly remembered and he began to slap George's face, trying to get a response!
"Ringo!" Brian cried.
"He's dead!" Ringo shrieked, "George wake up!"
"What are you doing?" Paul cried as he and John entered the bedroom, seeing the show before them.
"Ringo what do you-"
"DAMMIT RINGO STOP!" George suddenelly roared, throwing the tiny guitarist to the ground before rolling onto his side, rubbing his cheek as he shook the sleep from his head, blinking slowly.
Paul helped Ringo up, Ringo watching George blink and sit up. He looked over to the four staring at him, eyes wide. Ringo, was wiping the tears from his eyes.
"What?" He asked snappishly.
"We... we thought..." Ringo started but Paul stepped in.
"We thought you killed yourself." He said somberly.
George stared at them like they were crazy, but he didn't say anything as he stood up and walked towards the bathroom.
"Where you?" John couldn't help but ask. George paused, shot them all a dirt look, and locked himself in the bathroom.
The reaction to the incident that morning was treated like a taboo, no one talked about it, but everyone was thinking about it. Paul had helped George pack, but George began to wonder if Paul was also searching his things for more pill bottles, which there was one but that one went missing as well as he later discovered. Brian began giving him baggies containing two pills every morning, asking for the same bag back because "he couldn't find another one". And George could feel John and Ringo watching him...
It was like being in prison, George decided. What little privacy he had was suddenenlly gone. Now he was watched closely even in the suite, where the press couldn't get to him but his band could.
So when Ringo sat down next to him on the couch a few days later he couldn't help but growl. He'd built a small fort out of the couch pillows around him to create some sort of illusion of privacy and Ringo was threatening to ruin that.
"Having fun in there?" He asked lightheartedly. George thought about replying with a cutting remark... but this was Ringo after all. George couldn't bring himself to do it.
George just nodded silently, looking down at the notebook in his lap. It was supposed to contain his own attempts at songwriting but George had lost interest in that. He'd lost all interest in the whole note book but it was something to do, so he'd begrudgingly plucked it from his luggage and tracked down a pen.
"Are you just sitting there or are you doing something?"
"Nothin'..." George said.
"Oh, that's nice I guess." Ringo said, laying back against one side of George's pillow fort, "Comfy place you got there."
"Yeah..." George nodded, looking back down at the drawings he'd been making. Simple doodles of the others, all doing something stupid, nothing special.
"George... do you want to go out with the rest of us tonight?" Ringo asked.
"To where?"
Ringo looked up at him, "Don't you remember John talking about going to a pub later tonight?"
"No?"
"You were sitting right next to him."
"Guess the pub wasn't that interesting to me then."
"Well do you want to go?"
"Not really."
"Then I'll stay here with you then."
"Why?"
"Because..." Ringo shrugged, closing his eyes, "I'm tired."
"No your not."
"You don't know that."
"I know everythin' Ringo."
"I thought Paul knew everythin'."
"What about me?" Paul asked, walking from his and George's bedroom.
Ringo and George snickered and Paul rolled his eyes before saying, "You've certaintly been busy George."
"It's better than having nothing to do..." George said, returning to his drawings.
"Well if you want something to do, go get dressed and we can leave."
"George and I aren't going." Ringo said. Paul nodded, saying he'd tell John before walking towards Brian, Neil, and Mal's suite where John probably was.
"Ringo... you should go." George said edgily.
"Why?"
"Because," George said, finally looking at his best friend, "You should go. Don't coop yourself up because of me."
"But George, I want to hang out with you."
"Well I don't. Okay?" George's tone began to color with frustration, "Just go okay?"
"No." Ringo said firmly, "Why don't you want anyone around you?"
"Maybe I want a little bit of alone time eh? Something I haven't had for a long time and now Richard Starkey is taking away what little time happened to fall into my lap! Go away Ringo!" George snapped, glaring at him.
The sting of his words stopped Ringo's breathing for a moment, he just stared heartbrokenly at his friend, rage and anguish fighting for control of his emotions.
"Well," He said cooly after a moment, "I'm sorry for being such a bother." Then without another word he stood up and walked towards the adjoining suite, leaving George truly alone for the first time in a long time.
Ringo and George didn't say another word to eachother as Ringo, Paul, and John left for the pub. Brian and Mal where right behind them and Neil left only after George kicked him out and locked the door.
"Please George?" He pleaded as George watched him from the otherside of the open doorway.
"No Neil." George said before locking the door tight.
George felt like a monster. How could he treat Ringo like that? He was only looking out for him. George felt he should have been comforted by Ringo's willingness to give up his night, but then again it just annoyed him. He felt alone on the inside, why couldn't he be alone on the outside? Why was that so hard? No one else seemed to be able to understand that yet he had hoped his best friend would.
"Dammit Ringo..." He hissed to himself as he sat down on his bed.
It didn't seem anyone would understand that. Ever. He was doomed to living as a show piece forever!
"Ah cheer up Rings," John said, clapping Ringo on the back, "He'll be there when we get back. I promise."
But the attempts of trying to cheer up the drummer seemed to fall on deaf ears. In truth the words were rather hollow themselves, as everyone couldn't help but worry about the guitarist they'd left behind. The sleeping pills incident had certaintly scared them enough into thinking about it everyonce in awhile. But surely he couldn't bring himself to it? Right?
Right?
Paul chugged pint after pint trying to convince himself of that, the usually gentelmanly bassist drank like a fish trying not to think of the kid from Liverpool he'd dragged around as a teenager, dolling out second helpings of food for him in the cafteria line, chatting him up in Smokers Corner, having him appear to John and the others in an attempt to get him into the greatest band in all of Liverpool.
"Someone watch Paul allright?" Brian instructed John before leaving behind a thick muscled man he'd been talking so animatedly too minutes ago. John glanced at Paul as he downed shots and mugs, not speaking to anyone just drank and John shook his head. When the ladies drank like sailors...
Mal elbowed Ringo in the side, "Look at it this way Rings, maybe George'll be in a better mood when we get back."
'Or he'll be dead.' Ringo thought worriedly as he stood up, "I'm gonna go, my hearts not in it."
"Ringo if you go..." Paul slurred from his seat, waving a mug at the drummer, "I'll be fooorced to take draaastic action!"
"Besides Rings, all you'll do is upset him. The kid is right, he needs room to breathe. Hell, we all need room to breathe." John said, "We wont stay much longer, just sit down. I'm gonna need your help in getting this one up to the hotel anyway."
"I'm not a one John... I'm a Beatle!" Paul cried, laughing.
"Yeah... the drunkest of 'em all!"
Paul merely giggled as he dove back to his drink. Pesky memories...
He did it out of spite...
That's right spite. Merely to get back at them. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing else...
George held Ringo's bottle of sleeping pills in his hand, the weight of the bottle seeming to grow heavier as he sat on the couch staring at them.
'It would be so easy...' Something dark and not so nice whispered in his mind, 'All that privacy you missed... all the annoyances would be gone... Just a few and it's all yours.' It scared George to hear that voice, a voice he thought sounded like his, just maybe with a little more malice to it and a few ragged edges around it... it scared him that it was in his brain... talking to him, 'It wouldn't even hurt... like falling asleep'
George set the bottle on the coffee table, arms shaking and his stomach twisting. He couldn't move... couldn't breathe. He was terrified and he wanted to just crawl under something and hide from that stupid bottle... truly terrified he retreated to the corner of the couch, drawing his knees up and hugging them to his chest.
'Just a few pills... Just snap the bottle open and it's over. You don't have to put up with this anymore...' The voice whispered.
"Go away..." George whimpered, the fear building, "Please go away..."
'It's right there: your way out of all of this.'
"Leave me alone." George whispered, seeming to collapse on himself.
'Take the bottle!'
George looked at the small white bottle, sitting there so innocently it was hard to believe it was causing him so much trouble. Maybe if he just... held onto it... he'd be fine? He could just hide it in his luggage. He didn't neccassarily have to use it, and no one really needed to know he had it... it was just a precaution. A small solance... his "emergency exit" if you will. It wasn't like he was going to use it right? Taking the bottle didn't mean he had to use it.
With shaking, pale fingers George felt his grasp close around the bottle.
It was like an out of body experience, but he saw the whole thing through his eyes. He felt detatched from the rest of his body as he watched himself pick the bottle up, weigh it in his hands, then stand and walk towards his room. He watched, not really feeling anything, as he knelt before his suitcase and wrapped the small bottle in a pair of his socks. The bundle was then carefully, almost reverently, wormed into the bottom of his suitcase where no one could find it.
Only he could... if he really wanted to.
If he really had to...
That mere thought terrifying him, George crawled into bed, folding into a small ball as he laid down, hands wrapping into his hair as he tried to think about anything other than that stupid bottle.
"79 bottles of beer on the waaaall! 75 bottles of beer!" Paul belted as John and Ringo dragged him through the door hours later.
"Wow..." John said dryly, "Hey Paul? Shutup!"
"You can't stop the music in me Johnny!" Paul shouted.
"He's gonna wake George up." Ringo said.
"Oh I see what you did! Drunk me up so I can't see Jojie-wojie pie!" Paul slurred, flailing to get out of Ringo's grip.
"No! Paul-"
Without another word John came up from behind and dragged Paul to John and Ringo's room.
"I think we should switch for the night." John said over Paul's shouts. Ringo nodded and locked the hotel door before walking to George and Paul's room.
It was dark when Ringo opened the door, the streetlights outside bleeding light through the drapes.
George was asleep, but that didn't stop Ringo from walking over to his bed to find him curled into a ball on his side, arms over his head like he was seeking some sort of protection. Tear tracks were tattooed along his face and he just looked unhappy as he slept.
Ringo bit his lip, then closed the door to the bedroom and changed into his own nightwear.
George was still in the same position when he looked over at him. Still looking like he was seeking some sort of protection, still looking unhappy.
Without thinking about what he was doing, Ringo simply bypassed the empty bed and sat down on the side of George's, the weight dragging the mattress down and sending George rolling into Ringo's side. Ringo didn't mind, in fact he gently pulled George's arms down before lifting the sleeping George and shifting him so Ringo could climb into bed next to him. He then pulled George into a sitting position, resting the sleeping guitarist's head on his shoulder and holding him close. The action seemed to ease the panic that had been building in his chest all night, eased the fearful thoughts of finding him on the floor somewhere with a bottle rolling out of his fingers or a knife tumbling out of his hand.
"R...Ritchie?" George whispered sleepily, eyes opening just a crack. He looked up, letting his head remain on Ringo's shoulder.
"Hey," Ringo whispered back, "I know you wanted space but..."
"I's allright..." George mumbled, curling up next to Ringo, "I's allright."
"You okay?" Ringo asked. George nodded sluggishly.
"Now..." He whispered as his eyes started to close again.
"Whatchu thinkin' about?" Ringo asked absently.
"How warm you are..."
"That's nice."
"Ritchie?"
"Yeah?"
"You're my best friend." George sighed, seeming to fall back asleep.
"You're my best friend Jojie."