⇾ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈

𝚇𝚇𝚇𝙸

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢-𝙾𝚗𝚎 → 𝚃𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔

⊹ 𝟿-𝟸𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟾 ⊹

John had taken Julian to school and let me sleep in, much to my excitement. I didn't even wake up until ten-thirty, and I felt refreshed. I sat out on the back deck as I was working on my drawing from last night, and I was very nearly finished with it now. 

I was still in my pajamas, and there was a fleece blanket around my shoulders to keep away the autumn temperatures. Mimi the cat was laying on the deck at my feet, stretching out to make herself comfortable. 

The wind blew and my stomach growled, reminding me of the hunger that had been getting progressively worse over the past hour. I put my pencil down and flexed my cramping fingers before pushing myself to my feet. My back had begun to ache, most likely because I had been slouching over my drawing. I put a hand to my ever-growing belly when the baby moved and went into the house in search of some food. 

Mimi followed me into the house, and Lady joined us as we went through the sunroom, both of them mewing in a request for food. 

"You two have food," I said to them, putting my hands on my hips as I made it to the kitchen. The two cats sat down directly beside each other and stared at me like I was crazy for not feeding them. I turned and pushed their food bowl towards them with my foot. "Eat that, ye bloody felines," I said before going over to the fridge to get my favorite snack, saltine crackers with butter to lather them in. Unfortunately, it appeared that I was out of bloody butter. 

My hands dropped to my sides and my shoulder hunched forward in disappointment. Hell, I'd been looking forward to those. I tried to decide what I was going to munch on now that my first choice was gone, but all I could think of was the bowl of individually-wrapped dark chocolate bars sitting in the fridge right next to where my butter would usually be. I grabbed the entire damn container and carried it into the living room, where I plopped down onto the couch and reached for the phone. I dialed the number to the studio and twirled the phone cord around as I waited for it to ring. 

Finally, there was crackling on the other end, and then a voice began to speak. "Hello?" a voice asked, and I recognized it as the receptionist at the front desk, Tris—a receptionist that was much kinder than the receptionist where the Rolling Stones recorded. 

"Hey, Tris, this is Alissa Lennon," I said. "Are the boys still there or have they already left?"

"No, they're still here. Anything I can do for you?"

"Get me John, will you? Gotta talk to him before this baby of his kicks me again and I've got to go to the loo." I giggled as I felt the baby shift again. Hell, this was one active baby.