âmes pétillantes ~ classic rock imagines

• John Lennon •

Maybe I'm Amazed at the fact that I haven't written anything for a Beatle yet! I did start writing a little Christmas story with Paul which hasn't seen the light of day yet - but, who knows, you might see it sometime in the future. Strap yourselves in for this one, I hope you enjoy! 😊

--☆--

You were married when you first met John Lennon. Before you'd met the soon-to-be rockstar, you would even have said happily. Your husband was kind, loyal, romantic, mature, empathetic, and geared up for a spectacularly successful future. But there was something missing. Something you couldn't quite put a name to. And it was horrible to say that, only when you fell into bed with someone else, did it finally click.

"You'll have to apologise to Kayla for me, you know how much I want to be there, but.." You were slipping on your new shoes, a pair of heeled boots that you had found on the high street, with the phone balanced precariously in the crook of your neck. On the other side of the line, all the way in New York City, was David, your husband of almost a year.

As he tried to apologise for the umpteenth time because he was stranded halfway across the world and couldn't make it to your friend's party, you let out a fond sigh. "Davey, don't worry. Your boss screwed up; Kayla will understand. Did you call her?"

You could hear the heavy static travelling all the way from his modest hotel in the Big Apple to the pokey little flat you shared in the middle of Liverpool.

It was a constant amazement to you how technology continued to evolve. Held safely in a bejewelled box beneath your bed were the love letters David had been writing you since your relationship had begun at the tender age of 15. Now, although David continued to write down his heartfelt words of praise and love, he didn't do so half as often as he used to. You were only a phone call away for him to tell you himself. At least, that was his reasoning. But he never spoke to you the way he wrote to you.

"Yes, I told her everything. You know how understanding Kayla is, but I still feel as though I'm letting her down."

You opened your mouth out of impulse to comfort him, but he heard your sharp intake of breath and continued quickly.

"I know it's not my fault, darling, but it feels like it. Anyway, there's nothing I can do about it now, and you're going to be late for the party if we carry on."

Hearing the wistfulness in his voice made you smile sadly. Kayla was your best friend, and her and David had intermingled like long lost siblings ever since they were first introduced. You knew celebrating her on her birthday meant almost as much to him as it did to you, but circumstances couldn't be helped.

David was an accountant for a marketing agency that had decided England just wasn't big enough for them. Having been with them since he left school at 16 with 5 GCEs and 3 A Levels, David was top of the list to accompany the management and help evaluate what was and wasn't working in other places of the world. Naturally, with their sights set so high, their first stop was New York City.

He had been there almost 6 months, more than enough time for you to both miss him and become comfortable in his convoluted absence. He was supposed to be home in time for Kayla's birthday party. However, his manager, a 65-year-old drunkard who only managed to keep a grip on his job due to his loaded wallet, had booked them the wrong flight tickets. David's plane wasn't taking off until the week after the party.

"I know," you answered forlornly. "I wish you were coming with me, Davey."

Before you could finish that sentence, there was an intruding honk outside your door.

"Shit, the taxi's here. Listen, I love you, darling, I'll call you tomorrow morning, okay?"

"You too, enjoy the party for me!"