The years have passed so quickly
One thing I've understood
I am only learning
To tell the trees from the wood 

I know what's coming down
And I know where it's coming from
And I know and I'm sorry (yes I am)
But I never could speak my mind 

And I know just how you feel
And I know now what I have done
And I know and I'm guilty (yes I am)
But I never could read your mind 

She leaned on the wall like he had many times before, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed. It was a little past eleven, and she had his crumbled up, scribbled on paper which a frantic, and then, sadly, upset, girl had given her. She  had time for him too, and patience, and yet he was no where to be seen.

It seemed fitting, just right for him to toy with her emotions just enough to lure her out. It was mind games he played. She once had read somewhere that it was Paul who played those, his dashing good looks and charming personality able to work wonders on women everywhere, but it was John they should've warned about.

He had the best personality. He could make anyone laugh, even when they were beyond pissed at him. All he had to have was a bit of bait and his quick wit would kick in, and you'd be laughing so hard your cheeks burned, and your stomach felt toned. Even if he'd avoid the word I love you, and get short with you quickly, it didn't matter. His kisses made up for that lack of vocalization; they were enthralling, and she felt the love. She felt it swipe against her bottom lip, and she felt it in the cold digit that had touched her warm skin. She felt it every time she kissed him and she felt the ghost of it ever since.

John was a captivating human, but he was a toxic one too. He was dangerous, and though she liked to think her pain trumped all, that her heartbreak was the mightiest, she knew it wasn't so. He had to have broken millions of hearts. No he did, she was positive.

"Thinkin' of me?" He popped up behind her, his toothy grin visible even in the dim light they stood under.

She held her heart, swallowing. "Fucking asshole!"

"Not a fuckin' one, jus' an asshole."

He was being cheeky, but she didn't let it charm her; her mind was still on his tardiness, and even more importantly, his ability to pick up and leave at a moment's notice. Her mind was always on that, even if she didn't like to admit it.

"No, I was right the first time." She turned to face him. A hand ran through her locks and her heart began to race. They were close. Stepping backwards to distance herself from him, she sighed. "Late and then an asshole? You've really done some changing haven't you?"

"Don' be like that. It doesn't suit you."

"I don't think you've the right to tell me what does and doesn't suit me. I was a fling, a mistake. You made it clear. You don't know me."

He frowned. "You've got to do this every time don't you? When will you stop carrying that fucking cross, huh?" Annoyance creep into his tone before he could stub it. "We're not all perfect, are we? Not even you. That's why we're here, innit?"

She crossed her arm and perked a brow. "I don't know why we're here exactly," she shifted on the wall, uncrossing her legs and laying her back on the brick. She looked ahead at the night sky. "If it's to discuss my wrong doings." She turned to him again, clicking her tongue, "I'd suggest you find a new topic. I have no time to let you make me feel bad anymore, Johnny."

She knew she had to be pressing his nerves, putting him down this way, but she wanted him gone. To see him again was misery, a bitter reminder of all she'd given and all she'd lost. His face was representative of a time she desired to erase, and a part of her that she didn't want to admit existed. It caused her to feel ill, and she didn't know how to make it any clearer that she didn't want him around than doing it this way.

He was insistent though. His fingers dug into his pockets and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, offering her one. Charlie shook her head, and he shrugged his shoulders, pulling one out for himself. She watched from the side of her eye as he lit the stick and inhaled the smoke.

"Those are bad for you, you know?" She proclaimed. "Haven't you heard?"

"I've heard," he nodded, exhaling. "We'll all die someday, won't we? So what if this is the killer?"

"That's the problem with you, John." He rose his own eyebrow, on the edge of saying something, of questioning, but she cut him off. "You live so fucking carelessly and selfishly. You're such an asshole, such a fucking dick. You think, you really think, that just 'cause you're somethin' special talent wise, people will be alright with you acting that way. It's not alright, you bastard. It never has been, and I'll gladly be the one to tell you that." She paused, shaking her head, but not giving him long enough to defend himself. "Break? Fucking get over yourself John, and call it marriage troubles; call it an affair you're having. Grow up."

Usually, with his short temper and his incapability to handle confrontation without fighting back, he would've been quick to respond. His mouth would've shot out something his mind hadn't yet wrapped around, and he'd regret it later when she gone and refused to see him anymore. But for some reason, one he couldn't help but be thankful for, he didn't smart off. Simply, he leaned his head against the wall. "Wasn't aware of those side effects, Miss," before he threw his cig down and put it out with the heel of his boot. He was no longer in the mood for it.

In a huff still, she ignored him. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and cursed herself. You're so emotional, too emotional, she scolded, trying not to cry. He'd given her no reason to cry but just his presence - it evoked feelings she had tried to make disappear, come back again. "You're the worst, John."

He nodded, agreeing. John's almond orbs narrowed, focusing in on her, the way her features contorted, and how she pushed him away emotionally and physically. He felt stuck, so stuck, unable to move forward and unwilling to move back to his cruel tone with her. It felt like a lose-lose situation, but he refused to give in.

"Charlie." He nudged her and she looked at him. Her blue orbs sparkled under the light, and her lips fell asunder, but nothing escaped but air. Her cheeks where tinted from anger and her brown wavy locks fell in front of her eyes, but she had no mind to move them. John bravely tested the waters, and allowed his calloused, cigarette stained digits to move the locks behind her ear. She bit her lip, and he stared at her.

The world went silent around them. The crickets stopped, the wind didn't whistle, and the usual sound of feet on pavement ceased to exist. It was just her and him, looking at one another. His warm light chocolate orbs apologized and her ocean blue ones accepted it, unwilling, because they couldn't deny him.  She couldn't deny him; she'd never been able to.

It had been so long since they were whatever they once had been. He'd aged and changed; his bushy brows were lesser now, the bags under his eyes had become more prominent, and wrinkles had begin to appear. He wasn't 1966 John. He didn't wear those cool sun-glasses, he didn't sport the same, neatly trimmed Beatle cut, and even his Liverpool accent had begun to fade. This was not the John who had broken her heart, only a fragment of him, and although she despised him still for having done so, she knew it was only right to let the grudge go. "It was so long ago," she whispered quietly. Though she didn't say it, it was there. The subtext read 'I'm forgiving you.' She pushed his hand away, and he let it hang at his side like a loose limb.

Then, he leaned forward and kissed her. He couldn't muster up a reason why. It certainly hadn't been the reason he'd come here. Sure, the idea of running around with her one more good time had been appealing at first, but then he'd found out things--about the child--and it went from fun to serious. He had come here to be responsible, to get answers without having someone fetch them for him. He refused to let anyone do anything like that anymore. He'd let Brian and Mimi and anyone else who would, fight his battles for too long, and this weekend, this break, had made him realize that. It wasn't bittersweet, it was just brutally bitter, and he needed it.

But this was childish, and careless. It was completely John, reminisce of the man he had been as a teenager and even in 1966. He pressed her against the wall, and kissed her passionately. His experienced digits gripped her hips like they weren't, like they'd just started over and his mind had just got its first real feel of a woman. He even shook a bit, nerves getting to him.

It ended shortly, though. She pushed him away abruptly and her lip trembled and all in one instant, she began to cry and he said, "I'm sorry Char," in a rushed, sincere matter.

Charlie wanted to hit him, but she couldn't. She was paralyzed and angry because of it. She wanted to shout and accuse of just coming here to hurt her again, but all she could do was cry and she didn't understand what was happening. It had been like someone had pushed her off the edge, as if that kiss was the one a fatal shove, and she couldn't stop falling. She heaved, and John pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her. She breathed in his scent of cigarettes and John; it was a scent that she had never been able to pinpoint.

He held her tightly, the way she wished he had back then. If he had held her this way, then they wouldn't be in his situation. Perhaps that's why she was crying - she was beginning to remember everything. She remembered them. She remembered the baby.  How small it was, how much it looked like him, even then. It had his auburn locks, it did.

She wrapped her arms around him, struggling for breath as she cried. He stroked her back, whispered something she couldn't hear over her own sobbing, and attempted to comfort her. But he was only really there. She closed her eyes, recalling that night. Recalling the fear of knowing what was about to happen to her. She recalled the night it had happened, too. She remembered how quick. He was in a purple and red pinstripe suit. His hair had been pressed down in the front because of the sweat, and he tasted of Coca-Cola. She remembered the peak, she recalled the screams of the fans, and how his hands had been impatient all throughout that evening. He called it a knee trembler like never before - one for the books, and she'd thrown her head back, laughing. It held mirth, her laugh, and his eyes sparkled in it is as well. That baby had been a product of mirth, of pure joy. Had she keep it she would've named it Sunny.

"Luv, Charlie," she finally heard, her sobs quieting. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his heart beat. Bam, bam, bam. It was consistent and calming. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Shut up John," she asked of him, so silently it was almost inaudible. It was weak too, but he listened. "I didn't want to cry over you again, never." She breathed heavily, wiping away the tears. She'd stained the shirt he was wearing with her mascara, but she didn't care. He was rich, he'd buy a new one.

"I know," he replied simply, staring out into the dark. Her sobs had shook him, and he felt her pain in the most literal sense, but he didn't need to feel it to know how it hurt. Many times he felt the way she had, many times he'd sobbed the way she did. Slowly, in order to pick up something he'd broke yet again, he pulled away from her. His voice was quiet, as if it was against the rules to speak any higher.

Looking straight into her tear filled orbs, he told her, in the gentlest voice she had ever heard a man use, "I'm sorry."

She believed him too, she believed him more than she ever thought herself able to anymore. She believed and she stopped crying.

The night was young, and she wasn't sure we're they were going to go from this. Home, she hoped, but didn't expect it, truly. All she hoped was that this would be it. She hoped, after many years of trying to forget, of trying to erase, that he'd given her a new memory. If she couldn't forget, she wanted to remember better. Please, she begged inwardly, please John. 

  Oh ho no more crying. 

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It has been sixty years since I updated this, and I'm so sorry for that. It's been awhile since I've had inspiration to write in this though, and I've just started to get some ideas for it again. I think I finally, truly know where I'm headed with this thing.