If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 52 - 10.July.1964

Chapter 52

July 10, 1964 

"Did me father have somethin' to do with Mum dying? Was he there...or, Christ John, I know it doesn't make any sense, but did he kill her?" I asked when he didn't respond right away. "I kept imagining the worst-case scenario every time I came close to reading the rest of his letter, and then I couldn't bring myself to do it. I tried, I swear I tried."

The idea had been haunting me ever since January of '63, when I found the letter. It was always there, sitting in the back of my mind...taunting me, making it impossible to finish reading the damned thing. I never really admitted it, not out loud anyway, but I'd suspected all along that my father had somehow been involved in my mother's death. And if that was his confession, I knew it would ruin me like I was sure his confession had ruined John.

"No, Liv, he didn't kill her." And then John was next to me, close to me, his hand on top of my trembling fists. "But he did hurt her...and he was the reason she was walkin' alone that night."

"What the hell do you mean? What does that mean, he hurt her?" I sprang up, suddenly unable to sit still and unable to think with him so bloody close to me. "Hurt her how?"

His eyes peeked through his growing mop of hair. "You need to finish the letter."

"You took the damned letter, John." I paced, my heart thrashing in my chest. "I don't fuckin' have it anymore."

John's gaze fell to the floor for an instant. "It's not with me. It's in London."

I stopped, turned, and faced him with my hands on my hips. "What did he do to her?"

"Liv, come sit."

"No," I said, my wide and wild eyes on him. "Just tell me."

"You mean like you told me?" he snapped, his hands suddenly balled into tight fists.

I pinched my eyes closed and tried like hell not to cry. He was right, he was so bloody right. It was beyond hypocritical of me to demand to know what was in the rest of the letter when I hadn't had the decency to tell him it even existed.

"Bloody bastard hit her," John continued in a more controlled tone. His low voice cut through the darkness created by my shut eyes. "That day, the day she was killed."

"He what?" I pried my eyes open as I teetered on my feet, suddenly unable to support my weight. Maybe it was the scotch, or maybe it was the gravity of what John had just told me, but I suddenly needed to sit.

On the second anniversary of Mum's death, the idea crossed my mind that my father had hurt my mother, but John didn't think it was possible. Over time I convinced myself that I agreed, that I would've known if he was hitting her. I'd found comfort in the fact that my mother never went through what I went through with my father. And now, it was clear that I was so very wrong. He'd raised his hand to her, too...but for how long?

Had Julia known about what my father was doing to my mother? And was that why she asked John to take care of me after Mum's funeral? My heart seized in my chest as I collapsed next to John. I needed to be near him, it seemed, even though I knew it was an awful idea to have him so close.

"They got into a row that day, and he hit her. She went to work hurt and angry with him."

"Was that day the first time he'd hit her?" I asked, my voice trembling. I shook as I waited for the answer, too bloody afraid of what John was about to tell me...about how it could change everything.