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John knew Paul had to leave early.
Things were a mess back in London. Paul was the one who was supposed to go and Jane was to go with him. It didn’t stop John’s heartbreak.
Things changed after they tripped together. Paul had opened up to him, “I know. I know. I know.” And even though he escaped to the garden and went to sleep early, in the morning he pulled John into his arms. They stood hugging in the kitchen for 13 minutes, until Paul couldn’t put off leaving anymore.
I know, I know, I know.
They were in Paul’s room in India. John told him, “I love you. I want you. I want us.”
Paul told him nothing. He tipped John’s chin up. They were eyeball to eyeball, just like when they were kids, and their lips met. Not for the first time, but the first time like this. Things moved quickly after that. Their kiss turned heated. Paul wrapped his arms around John’s neck. John pulled Paul into his lap. Clothes were gone.
“I want to touch you everywhere,” Paul said into John’s neck.
“Touch me everywhere.”
John told Paul he loved him, and Paul told him nothing. John woke up alone. Paul sat next to Jane at breakfast.
John knew Paul had to leave early. His eyes were rimmed red when Paul said goodbye, but he never really met his gaze. They weren’t going to talk about it, John knew it. It was over. They were over. He was over.
On the plane, it was all Paul could think about.
I know, I know, I know.
His stomach was empty but still churning. An hour into the flight he was heaving bile into the cramped airplane toilet.
He told Mal, “We have to turn around.”
“What? Whatever you forgot, we can send for it.”
Paul couldn’t stop the humorless laugh from leaving his mouth. They couldn’t send for John, not like that.
“I have to go back, Mal.” Paul wouldn’t explain, Mal knew that. "Back to India."
Jane didn’t ask questions. It was something Paul loved about her. It was too bad he didn’t love her enough, and it was too bad he’d only realized that once the landing gears lifted, once the plane was in the air.
They still flew to Heathrow as some, including Paul’s (soon-to-be-ex) girlfriend, needed to return. Then, with a fresh pilot, they fueled up the jet and took off again. Back to India.
The trek up to the retreat was a lifetime. It took all of Paul’s willpower to keep himself from vomiting again. The nerves were extreme.
What have I done? He had ruined it all.
John was hallucinating, he was absolutely sure of it. He hadn’t slept since he woke up alone, playing it all over and over again. All of the things he said and all of the things Paul didn’t. And there Paul was, walking up the path. The mirage didn’t see John, didn’t feel John. He was surely going mad.
John was holding himself in a way Paul hadn’t seen since Julia died. He rushed over to him, placing his hands on John’s biceps.
“I know you’re not real,” John said.
“Um,” Paul was taken aback. “What?”
“I’m just seeing you because I want you here.”
Paul dragged his delusional friend back into his room, that room, and faced him squarely.
“I’m here.”
Finally John accepted that reality. Anxiety jolted him to attention and he moved to defense.
“You come back to smash more of me into bits? There’s not much left.”
Paul ignored John’s anger, it was only a front. He said the only thing he could say, what John had said.
“I love you. I want you. I want us.”
John’s eyes widened, but before he could respond, Paul pulled him into that same hug, that 13-minute hug.
I know, I know, I know.