If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 42 - 7.Feb.1964

Chapter 42 

February 7, 1964

"Number one, huh?" I said, trying to distract myself. I tipped my head up so John would have a better chance of hearing me, though I wasn't sure it was even possible with all of the screaming surrounding us. It was what I imagined standing in the middle of a bloody tornado would sound like. Deafening. Dizzying. Just fuckin' loud.

We walked just a few paces behind the others as we made our way to a private room. I held onto my purse, and John carried both of the smaller bags we hadn't checked with the larger luggage.

"Who woulda thought?" I asked, stepping closer to him, feeling his warmth.

John's hand stayed securely on the small of my back, his eyes focused forward. "You doubtin' me again, Livvy?"

I smirked up at him. "Would never."

Only six days before, I Want to Hold Your Hand hit Number 1 in the United States...and now we were headed there. New York. Washington. Miami. Well, at least we were meant to be heading there, if only we could escape this madness.

London Airport was utter mayhem. What had to be thousands of fans had come to see the Beatles off, like a massive going away party. It was such chaos that many regular passengers traveling that day had to give up...it wasn't worth trying to get through all of the screaming, sobbing teenagers. The teens held up banners as countless police officers linked arms, attempting to hold them back.

A few officers ushered us through the masses, through the screaming. I kept my head down as I walked beside John. And finally, we were pushed into a small, almost empty room. It was like a holding room for criminals...a couple of chairs, a table, and bare walls.

The boys collapsed onto the chairs and immediately reached into their pockets for their cigarettes. Paul bummed one from George with an outstretched hand and a pout on his lips. George looked awfully put out with having to share.

There was a nervous energy in the room as George lit Richy's cig, Paul downed a glass of water, and John adjusted the dark leather cap on top of his head. His hair had gotten a bit longer, his eyebrows now practically hidden by his mop of hair. The boys were almost identically dressed in white or patterned button-down shirts, thin black ties, dark pants, black boots, and black overcoats.

I sat down beside John, my legs bouncing up and down, my fingers gripping my purse, as I thought about where I'd be in a few short minutes...stuck in an airplane cruising way too high above the ocean. 

"Lookin' a bit off-colour, Liv," George said in between drags of his cigarette. "You all right?"

"Well, I vommed this mornin'," I said as I raised my hand to my temple, something I tried not to do in front of John anymore, but I was too nervous to care. "Had an awful dream about flyin'. Woke up and ran straight to the loo."

"Was a lovely sight to wake up to." John draped his arm behind me, peeking at me through the corner of his eye.

A shiver shot down my spine as I recalled the horrid nightmare. Shortly after taking off, all of the engines stopped working, and we were falling to our inevitable deaths...but the plummeting was never-ending in my dream, leaving only endless screaming and torture. And I couldn't get the damned dream out of my head.

"Jeezus, Liv. Don't tell me the dream or I won't be able to get on the plane," George said, suddenly looking a bit uneasy himself.

"Gotta settle down, Liv." John grabbed his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, handing it to me. "Or you're gonna be sick again, all over me. Not a good look for the press, y'know?"