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You've Got To Hide Your Love Away


"How can I even try?"
You never could win, could you, John?

Honestly, what kind of person can you be to where you can't love your son the way you want to, or even look at your wife with real affection? I'm disgusted with myself. Look at the state I'm in, I don't even deserve real sympathy.

I trapped myself in the studio, trying to bide my time until it was time to put on that smiling face and pretend everything was fine. Who am I kidding? I was a complete daft to believe that I was truly in love then. How can I really punish myself effectively for something you have to hide, despite everyone knowing what’s really going on in your life even if they're fabricated lies.

I held my head in my hands, facing the wall and away from the studio door. For now Abbey Road was silent, at least with the room and state I'm in. I tried fighting off the tears, but who am I kidding? These were the moments when I really needed Stu. He would know what to say when I was like this. I seem to repel affection though. I did it with Stu, Mimi, Cyn, Julian, even Paul. I'm damn broken, and no matter what there is no one I can really depend on but myself these days. I've thrown my love out there only to have it crumbled and spit back to my face.

The door opened behind me, and voices followed, playing joyful tunes with a mandolin. I inwardly groaned. I wasn't noticed yet in the rugged corner, sobbing silently. As the disembodied voices crescendoed toward me, one was thrown to my direction.

"John, get up, mate."
I didn't respond.

"John, you've got to get up, we've got a song to finish."
Paul's hand reached out for me, and I flinched at the warm contact, closing tighter into my ball. I felt ridiculous, like a child. But when was I ever not behaving like one?

"No, not now." I answered, muffled by my arms.

"Don't be like this, John. Come on and have some tea and we'll finish this song."

"I don't want to write a bloody song, Paul."

"John, you're acting like a child." There you go, a child. “You wouldn’t have to do much.”

I exploded, tearing away from my world of pity.
"I don't want to write a bloody song, Paul! I'm tired of your bloody, godforsaken songs. The world isn't all sunshine and fuckin rainbows, Paulie. Grow the fuck up."

The room went silent at my outburst. All eyes were on me now, astonished that I'd lashed out at my other creative half. Tears swelled with anger in my eyes as they reflected in Paul's. Fists clenched and unclenched. I stared everyone down in that room daring them to push me any further. Paul slowly backed off with his bass in hand turning slowly to the piano in the far corner of the sound stage.

I now felt incredibly guilty, as I always had after an outburst. I did it to Mimi.
I did it to Freddie.
I did it to Stu.
I did it to Cyn.
And now I've taken it out on Paul.

He looked at me now as if I'd grown fangs and a tail, ready to tear him to shreds. George only held some form of contempt for my action. Setting his teacup down, he was the only one to advance, taking my arm and dragging me upstairs into the rehearsal space, blank of windows or wall decor.

He shut the door and locked it, barring my path and any chance of escape. "Tell me, John. This has been having at you since Alaska." he said quietly, trying not to provoke me again. I sighed, brushing my finger through my hair and biting my lip.

"Do I deserve love, George?"

He looked at me with disbelief. I was as honest as I could be for all intents and purposes. If George couldn't take me seriously, I wouldn't know what to do with myself.

"I-what...h-how could you say that about yerself, John?" He started toward me, putting a hand to my shoulder gingerly. "Of course you do. Y-you just don't know what to make of it."

"No, I don't. I can't see it even when it's put in front of me face. I can't even give it back." I mumbled. I was ashamed at how he could open me up so easily.

"John, please listen to me, because I know for a fact that Hell will freeze over before you take advice from Paul or Ringo." He swallowed before making eye contact that couldn't be broken.

"I'm not forcing you to do anything. Take a good hard look at where your life is right now. You were young when you and Cyn had Julian, naïve as a bloody nit, but don't think for one second that you do not deserve their love."

"But I don't believe when she says love will find a way, George! How am I supposed to love her when I can't believe a word she says about it? How can I love her when I can't even return that love in the first place?!" I was shouting exasperatedly now, my voice straining against the confines of my throat. The tears began to resurface, hot and unwanted.

George gripped my shoulder to shake me back to reality. I stared at him now, at his deep brown eyes that held all of the wisdom I'll never have. "Hey...John, hey." he cooed softly. "Let me tell you this. In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. You can't have it if you don't give it in return. Find that other half and you'll understand what I'm saying."

What he said hit home. Really. That was probably the wisest thing anyone has ever said to me. I'll keep it in mind. The more I thought about it, the more the tears began to dry up. He ended on a lighter note though, giving me a slight tap to my left cheek before heading out the door. "And, John, stop hiding your love away, mate. It's giving you wrinkles."