Chapter Text
[November 9th, 1966]
3rd POV:
It was around 3 o’clock in the morning, and while the rest of London had fallen quiet, the Beatles were still wide awake inside their studio. The room was filled with instruments and recording equipment scattered around them as they continued practicing for the song they would soon need to record. Despite the boys being exhausted, they were determined to get the arrangement right before moving on.
John sat with his guitar, carefully looking over the notes while occasionally playing through them. Paul focused on his bass, repeating the same section to make sure every note was just right. George quietly practiced his guitar beside Paul, listening closely to the others as he worked through the melody, while Ringo remained behind the drum kit, tapping out rhythms.
Paul’s POV:
I listened as John and George played through the notes and immediately noticed that they were getting the rhythms wrong. After hours of practicing, hearing the mistakes was starting to annoy me. I stopped playing my bass and looked over at them.
“John, George, you’re both doing it wrong. The notes are supposed to be played higher, not lower.”
George glanced down at his guitar and stayed quiet, while John immediately looked over at me.
“What do you mean we’re doing it wrong?” John asked, sounding irritated.
“I mean exactly what I said. We’ve been playing this section for hours, and you’re messing it up.”
“Well maybe you should stop trying to control everyone’s part, Paul.”
I frowned. “I’m only trying to get the song right John.”
John shook his head. “You always think your way is the right way.”
I took a breath and tried to keep myself from getting even more frustrated.
“Look John, I’m not trying to boss everyone around. I just want us to get this section right so we can finally record it.”
John leaned back in his chair, still looking annoyed, while George continued to sit quietly with his guitar in his lap. Ringo watched the two of us from behind the drums, occasionally glancing between us as if he wasn’t sure whether to say anything.
John eventually looked back at me again. “Fine. Let’s play it your way then.” His tone made it obvious that he wasn’t particularly happy about it.
I ignored the sarcasm and turned back toward my bass, ready to start the section again. I counted us in and we began playing once more, each of us concentrating on getting through the passage without another mistake.
3rd POV:
More hours passed as the Beatles continued practicing, going over the same sections repeatedly in hopes of finally getting everything right. As the night dragged on, the exhaustion began to show clearly on their faces. Around 4:30 in the morning, they returned to the troublesome passage once again, yet John made another mistake with the notes. Paul immediately noticed and felt his frustration returning. He couldn’t help but wonder if John was doing it deliberately just to get on his nerves. Paul tried to correct him once more, but his patience was wearing off.
Rather than start another argument, Paul finally decided he had enough. He set his bass aside, collected his things, and walked out of the studio without saying much. John watched him leave, while George and Ringo remained behind, unsure of what to make of the sudden departure.
Outside, the early morning air was cold and quiet as Paul made his way toward his car. He unlocked the door, climbed inside, and sat behind the wheel, deciding that it was better to leave for a while than continue arguing with John. Paul drove away from the studio, still frustrated by everything that happened. The roads were nearly empty, with only the occasional streetlamp illuminating the quiet streets as Paul made his way home. His thoughts remained on the argument with John, replaying the conversation in his head as he drove.
Because Paul was so exhausted and distracted by the events of the night, he failed to realize his car was drifting out of control. Before he could react, the vehicle crashed, bringing his drive to an abrupt and terrifying end. Paul remained inside the car, shaken and struggling to process what just happened. A sharp pain ran through his left arm, making it difficult for him to move it comfortably. Paul eventually managed to pull himself out of the car, despite the pain in his left arm. He steadied himself against the side of the vehicle, catching his breath as he looked around the quiet street. Paul soon struggled to figure out what to do next.
A woman walking nearby noticed Paul and immediately hurried over to check on him. Seeing Paul clearly hurt, she offered to call an ambulance so he could receive medical attention. Paul nodded, grateful that someone noticed him and was willing to help, while he waited for emergency assistance to arrive.
[10 minutes later]
Paul’s POV:
About 10 minutes later, I heard the distant sound of sirens approaching. An ambulance soon arrived at the scene, and the paramedics quickly came over to check on me. I was still in considerable pain, especially in my left arm, but I felt relieved help had finally arrived. They carefully helped me into the ambulance and prepared to take me to the hospital. I glanced back at my damaged car, still struggling to process how quickly everything had happened. At that moment, all I wanted was to get to the hospital, receive the treatment I needed, and begin recovering.
By the time we arrived at the hospital, the paramedics quickly brought me inside and rushed me into a hospital room. I was settled onto a bed when a nurse soon entered the room and approached me.
“Don’t worry, we’re gonna get you the help you need. Can you tell me what hurts?” she asked, holding a pen and paper as she seemingly prepared to take notes. I carefully kept my injured arm still before answering, “My left arm is hurting quite badly.”
“We’ll have a doctor take a look at it as soon as possible,” the nurse reassured me. I nodded and glanced down at my arm.
“Thank you,” I said quietly as she left the room, likely to find the doctor.
Moments later, the doctor entered the room and approached the bed. “Hello There Paul. I’m Dr. Williams. I’m going to take a look at you and make sure you’re alright. First, can you tell me what happened?” he asked.
I was slightly surprised that he already knew my name, though I suppose I shouldn’t have been. Being part of the biggest band in England meant that I was hardly an unfamiliar face anymore.
“Well Doc, I was driving home when I lost control of my car,” I explained. “I crashed, and my left arm has been hurting ever since.” The doctor nodded and began examining my arm carefully, asking me a few more questions as he checked for any signs of injury.
“Does it hurt when I move it like this?” he asked. I nodded slightly, wincing at the discomfort. “Yeah, quite a bit.” The doctor nodded and made a few notes before looking back at me. “Alright. We’ll need to take some X-rays to see exactly what’s going on.”
I glanced back down at my arm, feeling a little more worried than before. “Do you think it’s serious?” I asked. The doctor gave me a reassuring look. “We’ll know more once we have the results. For now, try to keep your arm still and we’ll get you taken care of.” I nodded, lying back against the bed as the doctor prepared the X-ray machine.
He carefully adjusted my arm and made sure everything was in place before stepping back to operate the machine. I did my best to keep still as the X-ray was taken, my mind wandering as I waited for the results. It didn't take long before the doctor finished and began examining the images. After studying the results for a few moments, he confirmed that my arm wasn't broken. Instead, I had only managed to sprain it. The doctor explained that I would need to give my left arm plenty of rest for about a week to allow it to recover properly. I felt a wave of relief wash over me, knowing that it wasn't anything more serious and with enough rest, my arm should be back to normal soon.