❥ RINGO’S POV
I sat on the porch, my gaze lifted towards the horizon. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I stared. The sun was so beautiful that night. I felt content looking at that big star in the sky. But my stare was cut off by yawning, my big, fat nose getting in the way of my sight as my lips parted.
Honestly, I hadn’t slept at all last night, nor had I even taken a nap that day. I was so tired out from listening to my mates blabber and rehearse the other night. I needed a break, and I just wanted to be alone for a little while. I ran a hand through my dark hair, whimpering as I accidentally touched a bruise, which hurt like hell.
I and the lads were playing baseball the other day, and John hit the ball, and it ended up hitting me in the head. I hadn’t seen the bruise yet, but I assumed it was pretty bad, considering how much pain I felt by just touching it with my fingertips. It seemed rather swollen to be honest.
John always did that. He always hurt everybody on purpose. After he hit me with that ball, you knew he purposely did it just by looking at him. He always had that evil look on his face after hurting someone - mentally or physically, it didn’t matter.
John was about twenty-three years old. He was clean-shaven, short dark hair, pure and clean skin – you get the picture. He was a real dick, and liked hurting others. He went after women and men. He didn’t care about your sex, he’d fuck you anyway. He was a guitarist for our band, which was The Beatles. It was a shitty name I’d say, but we were unoriginal twats that couldn’t come up with a better name so we just went with it. Either way, we were still shit. Back to John, his best friend was Paul. I could tell something was going on between them because of how often they went out together and came home smelling like cigarettes and lavender but I decided to pay no mind to it considering how fucked up society is.
Paul wasn’t any different from John. Paul was an asshole too. It didn’t matter how adorable or feminine or innocent he looked; he was a devil in disguise. He always had this smug look on his face, his lips curled up all the time. His eyelids drooping…yeah, that was Paul. A lad of twenty-one, he was shorter than John and George, taller than me, of course since I was the shortest of the four of us. Paul liked hurting people; it was like his life’s job. He didn’t hurt anyone physically, but he tend to fuck up people’s mentality. If someone was fat, he’d comment on it and tell them to stop stuffing their fat face. If they were too skinny, he’d tell them to eat more and stop being a bitch about their weight. The hypocritical fact about the last statement is that he too complained about his weight to John, commenting about how he believed he was skinny and ugly. Aw ya daft cunt, cry me a river why don’t you.
Now George, only twenty, was better than the both of those two dicks put together. He was pretty shy and quiet when you first met him, but after a while he was pretty happy and expressive, but the quiet factor was still there however. He didn’t talk a lot, but nobody really cared about that. George was so nice, it made me feel content feeling his presence about. It felt comforting knowing he was there. He seemed to be the smartest out of us.
Then, there was me. The eldest and shortest out of the four of us. I don’t really know how I’d describe myself, and I hadn’t a clue how others would describe me at all. I was just me, somebody trying to live their life with their friends. I was a living, breathing person. I ate, drank, slept, walked, and talked – everything a person could do.
I was the drummer boy, and I loved what I did. I always loved hearing the voices of the others, singing away. They all sounded so good, unlike me. I just sounded stuffy all the time and I’d get nervous sometimes whenever I sang. Perhaps that’s the reason why the girls didn’t like me that much, they always went for the other guys, and nobody wanted me.
The sun looked better than I did, and it was just a star. No one ever called me handsome or pretty. I was just ignored and left alone.
As I stared at the sun, I didn’t even notice one of the guys came outside. I jumped as a hand was placed on my shoulder. “Whoa Richie, calm down. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”
“M-Macca? Sorry, I didn’t know you came out here.” I moved away a little to give him room to sit on the step next to me, which he did. He sighed, crossing his legs and putting his head on my shoulder, which I thought was really weird.
“Ya staring at the sunset too?”
“U-Uh…yea, I guess I am. Why are you out here?”
“Am I not allowed to be outside?”
“N-No, I’m jus’ curious is all.”
“Hmm…I wanta watch the ‘set too, Rich.” He put his head up, and I swore I saw a smirk on his pretty face as he brushed his lips over my ear. My cheeks went beet red, and my body temperature rose fast. I looked at him, and I gulped as he rested a hand on the side of my head, slowly pulling my lips closer to his. What the fuck was going on here?
All of a sudden, John came outside, and I felt an extremely painful kick to my back, and I fell right down the porch steps, landing on my stomach with a loud thud. My back was in pain, and it was hard for me to get up. “Oh, John!” I heard Paul gasp from above.
“Don’t worry, Paulie.” He came down the steps; putting his foot on my back and pushing me right back down onto the concrete. “What the fuck do you think you were doin’, Rich?” He growled.
“W-What? W-What did I do?!” I cried, biting my lip hard.
“Yer out ‘ere tryna kiss my best mate? Do ye know how queer that is, Starr?!”
“I-I…he tried to kiss me! I didn’t wanta kiss ‘im!” I responded, trying my best to defend myself, “He was tryna pull me in fo’ a kiss!”
“Ah, really now?” When I looked at him, he was looking over at Paul, who just sat there with his arms crossed, shaking his head as if he was silently defending himself.
“So, you were kissin’ him! Ya dirty lil’ queer.” He kicked me in the side, and I cried out in pain as I tried to get away from him. He just laughed at me before walking off, Paul following him. “See ya inside, Richie…” I then heard the door open and close.
I was left there, on the concrete. I was trying to catch my breath as my hearing was deafened by my heart beating faster than normal. It took me a while to gather enough strength to finally get up. It hurt to do anything. I didn’t do anything wrong, Paul started it. It hurt me so bad, I could not believe it. John kicked, but he had never kicked me that hard before.
I wasn’t queer. I had never had feelings for another man. I was being accused of something I never did, and something I am not. I hated feeling so wrong inside, but that was life I guess. I just hoped John wouldn’t say anything about this to fans. It would surely ruin my reputation.
Maybe they were just playing around with me. They probably were, because friends would never hurt each other on purpose. What would the point of friends be if they were just going to constantly hurt each other? That’s not what a real friend would do. I loved my friends; they were the only family I had. Those three were like my little brothers.
I soon managed to get up, my legs shaking as I slowly made my way up the porch steps. I nearly collapsed on the way up, but I somehow got through the torturous walk. I shakily opened the door, nearly stumbling through. I shut the door, putting my head against it.
“Ringo?” I looked over when I heard George’s voice. “Ya okay, Rich?”
All I could do was nod at him, not wanting to speak a word. He gave me a strange face before walking over to me. “You sure? You seem pretty shaken up and stuff. You’re bent over against the door.”
“’m fine, George.”
“George, ‘m fine, for Christ’s sake, don’ worry ‘bout it.”
He scratched his chin, nodding silently as he turned around and walked off, telling me to feel better on his way out. I grabbed onto my blue sweater, limping away and making sure I didn’t fall on the way to my bedroom.
I fell onto my bed, whimpering softly as I curled up into the fetal position. That shit was painful as all hell. I felt like crying because of it, but I held back my sadness and just lie there. I didn’t know what else to do other than sleep or cry, maybe both.
Well, there really wasn’t much I could do. John was pretty tough, and Paul was just…Paul. They were like the dynamic duo you didn’t want to run into on the streets. They’d have you on the ground in a second, even if Paul was weak.
I could hear footsteps coming down the hallway, and my eyes shut. But then I heard George’s voice, and that’s when my eyes opened again. I didn’t move, only looked forward into my legs.
“Ringo.” George spoke up.
“G-George…what is it?”
“Smell the air, why don’t ya?”
I did as he said, and I could smell chicken soup. I slowly sat up, biting my lip to stop any noises coming out as I felt my back burn. After finally sitting up, I looked at him. There he was with a fluffy white pillow and a bowl of I assumed to be soup after taking in the smell. He walked over to me, putting the bowl down and grabbing the pillow out from behind me, replacing it with the newer one. I lie my back against it. “W-Whatcha doin’, George?” I asked him, feeling curious.
“Just wanta make ya feel betta, Richie.”
“I feel fine, George. ‘m bein’ honest, ey.”
“I know, I know, but I wanta make ya feel betta than that.”
He gave me the bowl, and I just stared down at the content inside. I sighed as I picked up the spoon, beginning to eat. That was how I spent the rest of my night, eating soup and talking to George about various things, and it was like the pain was starting to die off the more I spoke to him.
Maybe I would talk to John and Paul tomorrow about the event that occurred. They were just playing with me after all.