If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 50 - 2.July.1964

Chapter 50

July 2, 1964

I pounded my fist against the door, my pulse racing, not bloody caring who the hell I was waking up. Because we weren't safe yet. What if he'd followed us...what if he wanted more?

I stared at the shut door and swayed on my feet as I tightened my grip on Catherine, who was practically passed out in my arms, but at least she'd momentarily stopped vomming. My head was in a daze as I wondered how I'd even gotten to the flat. I couldn't remember.

"Bloody hell, it's the middle of the night," came George's voice from the other side of the door. He sounded downright cross, and I realized he must've thought I was some crazed fan trying to get inside. "Leave us alone."

"It's me, George," I shouted as I continued beating the door with my fist, the one I hadn't punched that man with. My body was numb from head to toe...nothing felt real, and the spots in my vision were back. "It's me. Lemme in."

"Are you joking me, Liv?" George said through a groan. The door swung open, and George stood on the other side in his pajamas, a scowl on his face and his hair pushed to the side. "Don't you have yer damned—" He abruptly stopped talking when he saw us. "Holy hell."

George stood frozen for an instant, his eyes wide as he stared at us. I could only imagine what we looked like and what he was thinking. But seeing him flooded me with relief, knowing that we'd somehow made it safely to the flat. His eyes blinked several times, as if trying to make his brain wake up, before he reached for us.

"Liv, what the—"

"Help me with her, would you?" I mumbled, handing Catherine's dead weight off to George as I reached out and steadied myself against the doorframe. My entire body trembled as I stood, willing my legs to support me.

Ringo appeared, looking just as knackered as George, his hair flat against his forehead. "The hell's goin' on?"

"I don't bloody know," George said, his eyes stuck on me. "Can you take her, Rings?" George glanced at Catherine, and Ringo crouched down to pick her up, Catherine too dead to the world to support her own weight anymore.

"Jeezus, who is this? Is she all right?" Ringo asked as he heaved a bit under the weight of Catherine.

"What?" I asked as I tried to clear the thickening fog from my head. It was impossible to think, as if I was somewhere between asleep and awake.

"Asked who she was, Liv...aye, you all right?" Ringo's blue eyes fell on me, a crinkle in his brow, as Catherine's head rolled back.

I was finally able to process his words. "Mate from home. She's fine, I think."

"Get her on the couch, will you?" George said to Richy, but he kept his eyes on me. George had seen me like this once before, and I could tell his mind was going to dark places.

"The loo might be better," I said, my hand still on the doorframe. The world tilted beneath my feet, and all I wanted was to be alone so I could totally and utterly lose it, because I'd kept it together long enough. Now the adrenaline was fading, and the pain started to creep into my head, my eye, my chest, my knuckles...but the fog in my brain kept the pain from becoming unbearable.

"The loo?" Richy asked, his blue eyes narrow as he looked at me, concern etched in his every feature.

"She's been vomming," I muttered as I pressed my free hand against my head. "Too many bevvies."

Ringo disappeared into the flat with Catherine, and I was left with George. His eyebrows drew together as he looked at me. He pushed one hand into his hair as he blew out a breath. He stepped toward me and wrapped his arm around my waist, but I shook him off, not wanting to be more of a damned bother than I already was. It was daft, really, to refuse his help because I wasn't sure how much longer I could stand on my own.