⇾ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈

𝚇𝚇𝙸𝙸𝙸

Sorry about the late update, I was marching a parade😍🥲

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 → 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚑

⊹ 𝟻-𝟷𝟽-𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟾 ⊹

The vomiting came in full force. It was a bloody wonder no one had caught me yet. Flying home from New York yesterday had been a nightmare. I barely said a bloody word because I feared that I'd spew my guts up the second my lips parted.

On another note, John and I were officially back together...officially to Paul, at least. I wasn't sure when I was going to get around to telling my parents. Me being bloody up the duff would certainly complicate that conversation more than I needed, but it'd have to be done at some point. I also feared that whenever Paul found out, he'd be pissed to find out that I'd been hiding my relationship with John.

I'd called a doctor as soon as we had gotten home last night, so I was hoping that I'd know my fate by this evening. As for now, I was talking to a bloody porcelain toilet bowl in one of Kenwood's bathrooms.

I balanced my elbows against the toilet seat, cradling my head in my trembling hands as I impatiently waited for the rest of my breakfast to make its rather unattractive appearance.

There was a tentative knock on the door, and I nearly groaned in annoyance when I heard John's voice. "Everything alright in there?" he asked. "Still no period?"

"Don't know why you're still expecting it to happen," I muttered, and the talking made more vomit rise up in my throat. The feeling made me gag, and the expulsion of my bloody stomach contents followed shortly after. "It's clearly not coming," I continued when my stomach wasn't rejecting its contents anymore. "I'm most certainly knocked up, John, and it's all your fucking fault. Dammit, I don't even want to look at you because your face just pisses me off right now."

"Oi, thought we already had this damned discussion, Alissa. This is just as much your fault as it is mine."

"And, I already told you that I know," I replied. "I just need someone to bloody blame. Just shut up and take the blame for once. Don't care if it's ruddy justified or not. I'm still pissed at you."

"Christ, you're always so damn harsh. Cut me some ruddy slack, won't you?" The door cracked open slowly and I turned my head to the side to look at him, looking awfully pitiful.

"No, I won't," I said. "Because you couldn't keep that ruddy knob of yers in your trousers. Might bloody chop it off, John."

"If you threaten to chop off my damned prick one more time, Alissa, I might just chop off your...er... yer tits."

"Sure ye will, John. That way, you'll have to actually look at my goddamn eyes. What a godawful tragedy that would bloody be."

"Well, how are you going to get any bloody satisfaction without me knob?"