Post by lookingthroughyou on Mar 17, 2005 19:50:44 GMT -5
From Pattie Boyd, model, actress, and wife of Beatle George came a scream: “I am so sick of you right now!” He stared at her with angry eyes.
“Well you know what?” He hissed, clenching his fists. “I hate you too, Pattie. You know, I could have hundreds of girls, and I choose to stay with you. Boy, am I crazy, or what?” He gave a sarcastic chuckle.
“So why don’t you leave then?” She yelled, and turned her back on him and stomped off, throwing herself through the huge doors of their mansion. George stared after her as his eye twitched. He listened to her feet stamp up the stairs. He heard the door of their lavish bathroom slam, and let out a huge sigh.
The two of them had been fighting, on and off, for a year or so. It was 1968, two years after their marriage, and they were fighting over everything, from drugs to music to what to eat for dinner. Pattie felt a little lost without children, and lost from her husband delving himself into eastern ways. George felt equally as lost, his bandmates and he fighting as badly as he and Pattie, and not feeling the true connection they felt before, drugs and anger breaking them up, not to mention Brian Epstein’s death in 1967.
George plunked down in a chair and put his head in his hands, thoroughly depressed. Without thinking, he grabbed a cigarette and fumbled with his lighter. He breathed in cigarette smoke deeply and and coughed several times. “God damnit.” He mumbled, angry with himself. He grabbed his guitar from behind him and began picking out notes from one of the songs that John and Paul refused to put on their albums. They refused to even hear anything these days; they were obsessed with themselves and getting their songs onto albums, making them popular. But even George could see the Beatles were going downhill. They started going downhill since Brian’s death. He dumped the guitar clumsily on the ground and rubbed his face, pissed off with himself, and Pattie.
He wandered upstairs, to see what Pattie was doing. Their fights never lasted long, and usually ended with making up. He found her sobbing in the bathroom. He pushed the door open, wondering why she was still crying. The fight had been twenty minutes ago, usually she was over it by then, smoking up or something of that effect.
She gasped when she heard the door creak open, and shudderingly breathed in when she realized it was just George. “What’s wrong? Still cryin’ ‘bout that fight?” Pattie pushed him away, sobbing louder.
“How can you just…just shrug it off like that?!” She cried. He frowned. This was new. He angrily pushed her back. “What the hell’s your problem?” He shouted at her. “It’s all your fuckin’ fault. Don’t talk to me about anything!” Pattie stared at him, tears welling up in her eyes.
“You are such…a pompous asshole. Ju-just leave me alone, I never want to see your face again.” She slammed the bathroom door in his face, leaving a shocked George.
“Fine! I will!” He screamed to the door after a pause. He raced down the stairs, jumped into his car, and screamed away, leaving huge black marks on the pavement.
Pattie watched out the window, tears dripping down her face.
--
I hope...anyone who's reading it likes it.
and there'll be more soon, I hope.
“Well you know what?” He hissed, clenching his fists. “I hate you too, Pattie. You know, I could have hundreds of girls, and I choose to stay with you. Boy, am I crazy, or what?” He gave a sarcastic chuckle.
“So why don’t you leave then?” She yelled, and turned her back on him and stomped off, throwing herself through the huge doors of their mansion. George stared after her as his eye twitched. He listened to her feet stamp up the stairs. He heard the door of their lavish bathroom slam, and let out a huge sigh.
The two of them had been fighting, on and off, for a year or so. It was 1968, two years after their marriage, and they were fighting over everything, from drugs to music to what to eat for dinner. Pattie felt a little lost without children, and lost from her husband delving himself into eastern ways. George felt equally as lost, his bandmates and he fighting as badly as he and Pattie, and not feeling the true connection they felt before, drugs and anger breaking them up, not to mention Brian Epstein’s death in 1967.
George plunked down in a chair and put his head in his hands, thoroughly depressed. Without thinking, he grabbed a cigarette and fumbled with his lighter. He breathed in cigarette smoke deeply and and coughed several times. “God damnit.” He mumbled, angry with himself. He grabbed his guitar from behind him and began picking out notes from one of the songs that John and Paul refused to put on their albums. They refused to even hear anything these days; they were obsessed with themselves and getting their songs onto albums, making them popular. But even George could see the Beatles were going downhill. They started going downhill since Brian’s death. He dumped the guitar clumsily on the ground and rubbed his face, pissed off with himself, and Pattie.
He wandered upstairs, to see what Pattie was doing. Their fights never lasted long, and usually ended with making up. He found her sobbing in the bathroom. He pushed the door open, wondering why she was still crying. The fight had been twenty minutes ago, usually she was over it by then, smoking up or something of that effect.
She gasped when she heard the door creak open, and shudderingly breathed in when she realized it was just George. “What’s wrong? Still cryin’ ‘bout that fight?” Pattie pushed him away, sobbing louder.
“How can you just…just shrug it off like that?!” She cried. He frowned. This was new. He angrily pushed her back. “What the hell’s your problem?” He shouted at her. “It’s all your fuckin’ fault. Don’t talk to me about anything!” Pattie stared at him, tears welling up in her eyes.
“You are such…a pompous asshole. Ju-just leave me alone, I never want to see your face again.” She slammed the bathroom door in his face, leaving a shocked George.
“Fine! I will!” He screamed to the door after a pause. He raced down the stairs, jumped into his car, and screamed away, leaving huge black marks on the pavement.
Pattie watched out the window, tears dripping down her face.
--
I hope...anyone who's reading it likes it.
and there'll be more soon, I hope.
