ℙ𝔸𝕀ℕ ⇒ 𝕁𝕆ℍℕ 𝕃𝔼ℕℕ𝕆ℕ

⋄ ⅩⅩⅤⅠ ⋄

❝𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖒𝖆𝖞 𝖇𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖆 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖗 𝖉𝖆𝖞, 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖆𝖑𝖜𝖆𝖞𝖘 𝖑𝖚𝖗𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖇𝖊𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖏𝖔𝖞 𝖔𝖗 𝖚𝖓𝖗𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖈𝖊,❞

...

| March 4th, 1964 |

George's POV

Brian left the scene to drive Pattie to the hospital while John, George, and sleeping Charlotte remained.

"What do we do now?" George snuck a glance at Charlotte.

John repositioned her body from in front of him to hold her on his back, his arms holding her legs by his waist and her limbs draped over his shoulders.

"Why did she have to do that to her?" The guitarist spoke aloud to himself.

"Well, let's put it an easier light, yeah? It's like some bloke flirting with Charlotte, yer Charlotte. What would ya do then?" John explained.

"I would beat the shit out of him— oh," George realized that he would have done the same thing.

"See? Sometimes ya need to rough someone up a bit for them to listen to ya," John nodded.

"I'm gonna go drop her in one of the booths," John exited the car and traveled to one of the private booths with the sliding doors.

"Here ya go, Lotti," He carefully laid her down and bent on his knees to stare into her face.

John held his eyes on her lips for a split second before coming back out of his trance and leaving the room swiftly.

"Done," The man brushed off his hands and saw George cleaning up Pattie's blood that accidentally stained the carpet a merlot shade of red, having been dried up already.

"Where'd ya put her?" George looked up to see John leaning against the wall, not doing anything productive to help sanitize the area.

"Oh, I put her in one of them private booths,"

The man nodded in response and continued attempting to scrub the red liquid from the flooring.

"Could ya help me here?" George requested, slightly irritated.

"Not my bird," John smirked, arms crossed over his chest, and walked away, leaving George even more bothered.

"Fuckin' hell," He rolled his eyes.

...

Pattie's POV

Pattie's bright big eyes fluttered open, and she looked around curiously. She examined the state of her body, seeing her leg lifted and covered in a thick cast.

Luckily, the doctor had just entered the room and saw her eyes open.

"Great! You're awake," He clapped enthusiastically.

"W—What happened?" Pattie stuttered, her vocal cords still scratchy.

"Oh! You came in here with," The man checked his clipboard and read off her list of injuries. "Dislocated shoulder, comminuted open fracture in your femur, a broken jaw, and a single broken rib,"

"What's a communicated open fracture?" Pattie questioned.

"A comminuted open fracture is when your thigh breaks into multiple pieces, piercing through your skin," The doctor happened to have a poster on the wall explaining different types of fractures that he pointed to.