This Boy

17. What are you doing here?

  "Wh-?" I cleared my sore throat. "What are you doing here?" it came out like a whisper.

  "Mimi called up and asked me," his voice dropped. "If I could take care of you while she's away to her uncle's place for the week..."

  "And you accepted?!" I suddenly raised my voice, startling Paul it seemed.

  He just nodded.

  "Why?!" I sat up on my knees, the duvet fell from my bare chest to my bent knees. I grabbed Paul's hands, with fury but not with any intentions of hurting his soft skin. "Why, Paul?! So you can hurt me again?! Is that why?! Why are you playing with me feelings? I'm not a doll! You can't hold me in strings! Stop turning me into somethin' I'm not! Stop trying to make me-"

  "John-"

  "You're killin' me you know that?! And I don't want you to kill me cos I've done nothin' good in life! I'll go nowhere but HELL!  Fuck, Paul! I even turned all queer for you! You are gonna get me to Hell! Why do you want-"

  "John-"

  "You're cruel, you know that?! I'm goin' mad!"

  "JOHN!"

  I stopped. My whole body was shaking. As Paul pressed his hands firmly against my shoulder, I felt my feverish, burning skin flame up between his fingers' skin and mine. He squeezed my shoulders. I felt weak under his firm hold. My head swung down and I helplessly leaned my left cheek on his chest. My weary arms wrapped around his body by themselves. He stroked my shoulders, arms then slid his gentle palms on my back, stroking the burning skin. His chin rested on my head and he kissed the hair repeatedly. Lovingly. 

  "John," Paul whispered softly with his warm lips against my ear. "I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to kill you. I don't want to make you sad. I promise. I really do."

  "How-" I, unbelievably, broke down in front of Paul. I felt so, so, so ashamed, little, powerless and weak.  This was NOT John Lennon. "How c-can I trust you, wh-wh-when you broke my heart badly once be-before? How!? Tell me, Paulie! I though-thought you LOVED me!"

  "I DO love you, John!" he cupped my face in his hands and kissed my lips, licking my careless mouth. Licking and kissing lips that didn't respond. 

  "Paul, tell me..." I stroked his back. "Tell me, why?" I pulled him on my lap. "Why did you do that to George? He's so young..." I honestly felt sorry for George. "Tell me, Paulie. Please? I love you so much. Tell me..."

  I unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off and he helped me do so without hesitation. I kissed his neck. His legs were parted on either sides of my body, his arms over my shoulders, hands playing with the back of my hair, chest rubbing against mine. I could feel his heart beating aloud, hammering against his ribs. His round, soft cheeks reddened. I wrapped my arms across his ribs and under his arms, hands resting on his waist. I could see tears appearing in his eyes and his lower lip quivering.

  "What, Paul?" I kissed his chin. "What is it?"

  "John?" Paul's voice was now dreadfully shaky.

  "Hm? What is it?"

  "You still think I had sex with... With George?"

  My eyes widened. What did that mean? What was Paul trying to say? That he didn't? But he said that he did! Why was he questioning all that now? Was this a JOKE?! 

   "Paulie?" I gulped. "Are you tryng to say that... that... You didn't do it?"

  "How small do you think of me?"

  "Well, you are two years younger than me..."

  "John, seriously!"

  "But you said..."

  "I know..." he leaned in and kissed me. 

  I kissed back. Rather, urgently, like I really needed it. Desperate for the feel of his lips and the taste of the heaven inside his mouth. 

  He pulled away, making me DIE in the sudden loss of touch, "I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything. I promise, John, it'll all me sense. I'll explain to you everything. I love you a lot, believe me! Please."

  "You better do..." I pulled him closer on my lap, when I felt something hard between his legs. I grinned as I heard Paul gasp and tug at my hair slightly. "Now, gimme some of your goodness!" and kissed him deeply.