In My Life

Chapter 58

It had taken some force, but I'd managed to drag John back to Mendips with a heavy heart once the ambulance had cleared from the sight. Tucking him safely up in bed, I gave him a anguished kiss on the forehead before he begged I stayed with him the night, already shuffling over to spare me some room to climb in beside him. I didn't want to object, as I wasn't really up for sleeping alone either.

"What do you think she was doing out so late?" He said hollowly after we'd settled, his head to my chest as I stroked his hair.

I bit my lip with a pang of guilt, concerned that the whole affair was partially of my own fault.

"She came over to see you John." I winced, feeling the tears in my eyes making a reappearance.

"How do you know that?" He asked me, sounding as lost and vulnerable as a small child.

"Because I asked her to." I choked, lowering my face to kiss the side of his head where my mouth then lingered.

John fell silent momentarily, ruminating as his twirled his finger in circles around my thigh.

"John, I'm sorry, I didn't me-"

"It's not your fault." He whispered bluntly, snaking his arms around my waist, where he pulled himself into my chest for a hug. "Don't feel guilty."

"But it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't-" I began, only to feel his grip tighten in pain as he clenched my sides reliantly, digging his fingers into my hips. I winced, but didn't dare confront him about it. I couldn't blame him for feeling fragile; I felt pretty delicate myself.

I just couldn't believe I'd seen her earlier that day. And now she was gone.

I glanced up at the clock in curiosity.

There hadn't even been 5 hours between the times I'd seen her alive and dead.

Dead.

The term would not settle in my mind.

Julia Lennon was dead.

"She isn't coming back Sam." John whimpered as he tightened his grip.

I opened my mouth to respond, but had nothing worthy of which would comfort him, and so closed it again in grief. Instead, the arms I had around his shoulders I hugged tighter, nestling my face into his hair in consolation.
Eventually, I felt him ease into me, and he soon fell asleep as I ran my fingers through his hair. I hated to think he'd wake in the morning under the illusion it had all been a dream. To face the reality his mother was gone. Again.

I peered over to admire his face. His eyes were still red and sore, and his cheeks still damp; an expression of melancholy even in his sleep. At discomfort and in trauma of his losses, there wasn't really much more I could do for him than to be there for him.