Debbie Doll | Ringo Starr ✅

14

For a moment, I thought that I was back at home and in bed with Ritchie.

But then I heard somebody grumble from behind me, and their bottom half stirred.

John had his arms around me, and he was half erect... and his semi-erection was pushing into my backside.

I held my breath. I didn't want to wake him up, but I felt incredibly guilty about spending the night with John, even if nothing had happened between us. I wanted to get back home to my Ritchie.

Slowly, I lifted John's arm and slithered out of the bed. I put last night's clothes back on as quickly as possible and then left the room, quietly closing the door behind me.

"Morning." I jumped, just about managing to hold my squeak of surprise as I turned slowly and saw that Micky was standing there munching on a slice of toast.

"Um, hey, Micky... I'm gonna go now... could you maybe just pretend you didn't see me?"

Micky chuckled, "yeah sure, no problem." He held the toast out to me, "brekkie?"

I shook my head and then stepped around him, going to put my coat and shoes on and then leaving the flat.

When I got home, I had no choice but to knock on the door since daddy and Elsie still hadn't given me a key to the front door. I knocked, and Elsie opened it. She looked grey, and she was frowning at me. I knew that I was in trouble.

I swallowed audibly as she sighed and led me into the front room, where daddy was sitting in the armchair, his arms resting on either side and a disapproving, disappointed look on his face.

I swallowed again.

"H-hi daddy -"

"Where have you been all night?" Daddy boomed, causing Elsie to squeak and leave the room very quickly. "Where did you sleep?!"

"At a friend's -"

"A friend's?" Daddy echoed. I nodded, humming in reply but not daring to meet his eyes. Daddy had changed since living with Elsie, practically overnight, and I didn't like him like this... but he was happy with Elsie, and I would never try and break them up for the sake of having my old daddy back. "Was this friend a boy?"

My silence gave daddy the answer that he needed and probably feared.

He began to shout at me, ranting and raving and standing up, pacing back and forth across the room as he lectured me.

I was quivering.

I was crying.

I was begging for the ground to open and swallow me up.

"What the bloody Hell is -" Ritchie was standing in the doorway in just his underwear, rubbing his eyes... but when he saw daddy towering over me, his face a deep crimson and steam practically hissing out of his ears, he hurried over and put himself between me and daddy, pushing me further behind him.

"Get out the fucking way, Richard."

"You can't talk to her like that!" Ritchie yelled, "you're scaring her -"

"She's my daughter -"

"And my sister!" Ritchie snapped, standing up straighter as he squared up to daddy. I wanted to run to Elsie and beg her to stop them, but she was a weak woman and did whatever daddy told her to.

"And my fucking daughter!" Daddy pushed Ritchie. He stumbled backwards and into me. I caught him and Ritchie regained his full height, clenching his fists.

"How dare you touch me!" Ritchie took a step closer to my dad, "you're nothing but a fucking bully! You push around and abuse your own daughter, and for what? You're not a big fucking lad or anything, you're a -"

"Ritchie!" I screamed in horror as daddy punched Ritchie's face and he fell, the side of his body hitting the wooden coffee table in the middle of the room and making a horrible sound that made my skin crawl.

I fell to my knees beside him. He was bleeding already despite the fact that the cut wasn't too deep.

I looked up at daddy with tears in my eyes. "I fucking hate you." I spat as I helped Ritchie to his feet and wrapped my arm around his waist to support his weight. I took him into the hallway and handed him a coat and shoes.

"I'm in my underwear..." he groaned, clutching at the scratch on his side.

"We're not staying here another minute!"

"Get a shirt, at least -"

I opened the front door and helped him out. Ritchie was in too much pain to argue as I said, "John'll lend you something." I knew of nowhere else we could go. Paul or George's, maybe, but their parents would have asked questions. No, John's was the best option for us. "Come on, Ritch," I said, trying to hurry him along the pavement lest daddy came out and screamed at us again, "we need to get you cleaned up."