intothelens.
@mcskiffle | continued from [x]
Paul is right. Violet had been with them longer than she would like to admit. She remembers them just as they make it big, her trip to Liverpool becoming something that would change her life forever. They have become her best friends and business partners, and she could never ask for anything more. He is also right with the change that surrounds them. Ever since Brian died, things have been different. Fights about songs, compositions, who is in control and who isn’t. They had been growing from young boys to mature men, as was she. John is almost thirty, she has to remind herself time and time again.
“The only thing you can do is let time take its course,” she attempts to soothe him, her hand resting atop of his. “Trying to force things to stay together is only going to make them worse. You’re all growing and changing and have different views on things, but at the end of the day, you’re still all going to be best friends. Whether you’re making music together or by yourselves. If it’s time, it’s time. There’s nothing anyone can do about it. I just don’t want all of you growing bitter towards each other if the fighting keeps going on.” She doesn’t believe that she is good with words, rarely being able to form a sentence around new people, but Violet will do anything she can to help the people she loves and cares about.
“I love you boys and I don’t want you all to be unhappy, especially with each other. You just have to let things happen and if it’s time to end it, then it’s time to end it.”
“ NO – DON’T SAY THAT, like, it’s not comin’ down t ’ that. ‘S just John bein’ John, y’know. ” Is he in denial? Does he really wish to silence the inevitable truth they both know for the sake of sealing the gap that threatens to not only dissolve the group ( if only any of them could predict it might be that easy ) but suck him out into some sort of empty, lonely abyss along with it? It doesn’t exactly take a psychic to tell ( via eyes, downcast & heavy, lost in thought, & a voice laden with a mourning of something not yet technically lost, though only by such a technicality has the pronouncement of DEATH been delayed ) even he doesn’t believe himself at this point.
He finds her palm atop his own hand, a gesture of SOLACE, support, of friendship the like he’s not yet been able to find in the company of a woman before LINDA. ( And the two, they share a history, but it’s the like that only strengthens their platonic bond with the knowledge of a past that edged that boundary from time to time. ) Fingers wrap around hers after a beat, squeezing her digits within his grasp for a moment, though his troubles come rushing back. “ I don’t know, Vi, I just – ” he retrieves his hand, runs it through shaggy, greasy locks, his eyes fixed on an ordinary spot made into something extremely interesting & out of the ordinary, out of focus as his mind dwells on past his ability to see. “ I don’t fuckin’ know, y ’ know? They might as well be votin’ me out th ’ bloody band at this point, like – nothin’ I write seems t ’ be worthy of ‘a spit, & all th’recordin’ & re-recordin’s drivin’ ‘em t ’ SPITE me, y ’ know, I’m not fuckin’ BLIND to it. I mean, obviously that’s not what I wanted, at all, y ’ know I just – ’m not gonna let 'em do it t ’ me, ’m just not. “ A heavy breath in which some of the frustration harbored in his tone of burden fades once more into sadness, a lamentation for something not yet lost. “ I guess I’m … scared. Scared 'a th ’ future? I donno. I’m outta me own head at this point, honestly. ”