Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1969
Sunlight first thing in the morning was always harsh, and the morning sickness that Alexandria had begun experiencing last week made waking up even worse than before. Now, she rarely got to wallow in her warm blankets for an extra hour. Instead, she was forced up by nausea and had to spend the first half-hour of her morning on the bathroom floor, hugging her knees to her chest miserably.
George had rolled around when she untangled herself from his arms, but hadn't woken up from the sudden movement. By the time she trudged back out of the bathroom, her stomach still churning, George was awake, but hadn't left the bed yet. She trailed to the kitchen and took some nausea medicine before returning to the bedroom. When she nudged the door open with her arm and stepped into the room, George looked up and smiled.
"I've been waitin'," he said, extending his arms expectantly.
Despite how awful she felt, she couldn't resist the smile that spread upon her face as she went over to crawl back in bed with her husband, knowing precisely why he had his arms open so wide. She crawled underneath the covers, her body shivering with chills, curled against his side, and closed her eyes. When she was settled, she said, "You could have come and found me."
George shrugged. "Wasn't sure if you'd want me all up in your hair. Feel any better?"
Alexandria sighed and shook her head. "This morning sickness is chronic, George," she said miserably. "Most of the time, I can't throw up no matter how nauseous I am. And believe me when I say that I try, but the only time I do throw up is when I feel completely fine and my body just decides it needs to ruin my entire existence in the span of five seconds."
"So...you didn't throw up?" George asked. Alexandria scowled up at him, and he shrugged. "Just making sure I'm following," he clarified.
Then, it was silent for a while as Alexandria just breathed. Even better, she breathed George. George had been a bit of a recluse ever since the Beatles split up. Alexandria guessed that he hadn't expected to be as heartbroken as he was whenever the band broke up. For months, he'd complained about the Beatles, he'd complained about John, he'd complained about Paul, he'd complained about Ringo, he'd complained about recording sessions, and unfairness, and he'd complained about Beatles this, and Beatles that. All this time, it seemed that he had been trying to convince himself that he was done with the group, that he was ready for it to just be over, but clearly a part of him thought (and probably hoped) that it never really would end.
When the breakup of his band hit him harder than expected, he'd withdrawn from society, from his friends...and he'd withdrawn from Alexandria in the process.
The first few days of his depression were bliss. Alexandria accepted that her husband needed a bit of space to think things over, so she retreated to her office, writing day in and day out, but after a couple of days, this routine grew old. Alexandria's writing abruptly collided with a brick wall, and she began to feel lonely without her husband. She didn't have the courage to approach him, though. Even when they met up for meals throughout the day, George barely spoke to Alexandria. She'd ask him questions about his writing and whatnot, but he always seemed a touch irritated when he responded.
