Mysterious Taylor! (A John Deacon fic)

Taylor Taylor

 A band was playing loud in a small bar of Soho. The music was banging against the walls, making them tremble. Many young men and women were sitting at the bar, drinking their beer or whiskey, whilst others gathered before the stage, paying attention to the music and sometimes, dancing. One of the long-haired men sitting at the bar was absent-mindedly staring at the bottom of his glass, listening to the music with only one ear. His name was John Deacon. He was bored and could not wait to go back home. But for that, he had to wait for one of his friends, Roger, who was chatting up a lovely girl in a corner. Unfortunately, he needed Roger to go back home, as he lost his driving license. He ordered a glass of vodka and waited for it, turning his head to watch the band play.

Meanwhile, in the same bar, a young woman was standing in the middle of the small crowd before the stage, trying not to spill her beer. The music was good in her opinion, and her friend seemed to like it too. Yet, feeling a bit emprisoned in the crowd, she walked out of it after she told her friend she was going to the bar. Focused on her glass, she passed by a group of drunk boys. Their eyes stuck on her body, they started to whistle at her, calling her pet names. Anger grew in her chest, but wanting to avoid troubles, she pretended she did not hear them. The boys, frustrated, swore and pushed her. Tripping over someone's foot, she quickly caught hold of the counter. Unfortunately, her glass of beer spurted on a young man sitting there. She flapped her glass on the counter and violently spun round, facing the drunk boys who were sneering.

“Oil tankers! Go bonk yourselves!”

“What did she say? Guys, we're not going to let ourselves get insulted, are we?”

The other boys nodded and they angrily walked up to her. Unfortunately for them, the girl was very quick and violently punched them right in their faces, pinning two on the floor. Four boys from the group stepped back and ran away, the others moaning on the floor, holding their stomach or rubbing their broken noses. She spat on them and spun round, running back to the guy on which she spilled her beer.

“I'm sorry, mate, are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I guess so. I'm sorry for what just happened to you, those guys were sick.”

The young man, who was nobody else but John, looked up at her and was completely stunned. She had long chesnut brown hair falling elegantly on her chest, shining blue/green eyes, a thin face and beautiful lips. His heart leapt in his chest, as the girl was helping him to wipe the beer out of his jeans and shirt. He stopped her by placing his hands on top of hers.

“Don't worry about that, I'll wash them tonight” he said with a warm smile she gave him back.

“Sorry I spilled me beer all o'er ya. But those arseholes were too stupid!”

“It's okay, it's okay. It's about you that we should worry. You really... kicked their asses.”

“Of course I did!” she chuckled. “Ooh, I feel a bit sick. Can you please help me getting out o'here?”

“Sure, sure!”

Having a headache that was getting worse and making her feel terrible, she almost passed out. John firmly held her by the waist and got her out of the bar. Once they were out, they headed for a bench, not so far, in one of the narrow streets. Usually, she would have freaked out, being in this kind of street with a stranger, but she felt too sick for that. She sat on the wooden bench and John knelt down before her, searching for a clean handkerchief in his pocket. Once he found one, he gently wiped her sweaty forehead, as she struggled not to throw up on him. Beer was enough, wasn't it? He grabbed her hand and gently squeezed it.

“Are you okay? You're all sweaty, and you seem like you're going to puke!”

“I am about to... Please talk about something, make me forget the state I'm in...”