If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 79 - 23. April.1967 - 29.April.1967

Chapter 79

April 23, 1967 

It wasn't until the bed moved that I opened my eyes. The sun was rising, the early rays of brightness peeping through the shades. John pressed his head against his pillow and pulled his glasses off his face before placing two small pills in my hand for my hangover. Despite everything, he knew exactly how I'd be feeling after our night out, and he knew how much I needed something for my head. There were bags under his eyes, and his skin was pasty...he looked like he'd barely slept.

I stared at the pills and almost shoved them back into his hand, too proud to take something from him after the night we'd had. But instead, I placed the pills in my mouth and swallowed. I needed them too damned much to turn them down.

I'd survived the night without any dreams—at least none that I could remember—probably because I'd been too bevied up to sleep well. Sleeping after a night of excessive drinking never felt like real sleep, and I woke up somehow feeling less rested. What a bloody fuckin' grand idea it had been to drown myself in scotch.

I moaned as I turned away from John, curling into a ball. My head ached, and I was disoriented from the massive hangover that was hitting me all at once. John and I lay in silence for some time, even though we were both awake.

And eventually, after what seemed like hours of tension and mounting prickling pain in my head, John sucked in a breath.

"I slept at George's, it would seem." He sounded a bit like how I felt—like he'd rammed himself against a wall countless times and was only feeling the effects of it hours later.

I kept my back to him and nodded. "Was it wakin' up there that tipped you off?"

He hesitated and then squeezed my shoulder, but pulled back right away as if thinking better of touching me.

"Liv," he said.

"What?"

He hesitated another moment. "George said it wasn't a good night."

"It wasn't," I whispered before heaving out a sigh. "And that's maybe a bit of an understatement if you were wonderin'."

"Barely remember any of it."

"Love that bloody excuse of yers. One of me favorites." I curled into a tighter ball. "It still happened, didn't it? Whether or not you remember doesn't matter."

"I know." He pushed out an audible breath. "But Liv, please...don't be like this."

I scoffed and shook my head. "Well, maybe don't be an absolute knobhead, then."

There was another silent pause, and I wrapped my arms around my torso.

"Paul got you home?" he asked eventually, his voice low, almost timid. It was so unlike John.

"He did, but I coulda handled it."

"Don't say that. I don't want you walkin' home alone at night, not after what happened to you that night with yer arse over tit mate."

"Think I can handle gettin' in a taxi without an escort." I forced myself to turn over, and I glared at him. "And I don't plan to ever walk home alone again. I remember that night in the alley just fine without you havin' to remind me...was there, wasn't I?"

He paused, his brow pinching as he looked into my eyes. "You all right, Liv?"

"I'm fine." I sucked in a breath and shook my head in an attempt to settle my mounting emotions—my head hurt too much to bloody cry. "I mean, Christ. No, not really. Are you?"