If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 92 - 25.Aug.1967

Chapter 92

August 25, 1967 

We were bloody late, but what else did we expect? Because for the first time since I could remember, the boys were traveling all together but without Brian, Neil, or Mal. And that meant that everything was a bit of a mess. John thought that traveling without them was a bit like walking around without his trousers on, but I reminded him that a long time ago he used to be able to take care of himself and that I was more than sure he could handle it.

When Anthony pulled up outside the railway station, everyone jumped out of the car, and John left his bloody bags behind. But I called out to him and heaved his bags against his chest, and then flicked his arm and gave him a knowing smirk. He was so used to people helping him when he traveled that the thought of carrying his own luggage hadn't even crossed his thick mind.

The train was meant to leave in less than five minutes, and I tried like hell to keep up with John, George, Ringo, and Pattie as they hurried through the crowd, all of them dressed in their finest psychedelic gear, their eyes locked on the destination. When I lost hold of John's hand, his multicolored jacket became my guide, and I kept my eyes on it, barely blinking.

But it was hard to keep up as I knocked into nearly every person I passed. The sea of fans, police, passengers, photographers, and journalists was practically dizzying. Someone had caught wind that the Beatles had taken an interest in Maharishi and were headed to Bangor, Wales, for a ten-day conference on Transcendental Meditation, and now it seemed the entire world was at the station. And John was drifting farther and farther away from me as I tried to move through the mob of people.

My stomach churned as I ran smack into the broad chest of an enormous police officer. We'd rushed out of the house in such a whirlwind that I hadn't had a chance to eat. My stomach was nearly empty, and for the first time in fourteen weeks, I worried I might actually vom as my stomach protested my decision to not feed it.

It didn't help that there was an unpleasant, stagnant smell at Euston Station in London...the revolting smell made it almost impossible to keep everything in my stomach where it belonged. And despite all the times during my last pregnancy that I'd shouted at John for telling me to just hold it in, my mind kept repeating the mantra: just bloody hold it in. I hadn't once vommed with this pregnancy yet, and now wasn't the goddamn time to start retching...not in public, not surrounded by the press, not when the train was moments from leaving without me on it.

I breathed deeply as I stepped away from the bulky police officer, prepared to pardon myself, but before I was able to say anything, my stomach lurched. I turned on my heels and searched for a rubbish bin. The mantra wasn't working, and I wasn't going to be able to hold anything down...not that there was much in my stomach to rid itself of.

My eyes locked on a rubbish bin that was practically filled to the brim, but I didn't care. At least if I made it there, I wouldn't vom all over the ground. The bin sat not far from the train, and I ran to it, gagging, but barely anything came up. The awful taste of stomach acid filled my mouth, and when the rancid smelling rubbish invaded my senses, it made me gag twice more.

A flashbulb popped, and then another. A few journalists who recognized me stepped closer to the rubbish bin as I pressed my eyes closed and tried like hell to control my stomach. Hot tears filled my eyes, mostly because I was so irritated with my body, but I refused to let them fall, not with so many people around. And when my stomach settled enough to move, I lifted my head and stepped toward the train. The police officer I'd crashed into before was near me again as last-minute travelers sprinted past and hopped on the train. I was so damned close, but the officer's body was now in my way.