Growing Up Beside You [John Lennon/Beatles Fanfiction]

21. That sweet little boy (2)

(Cont'd)

"Jesus, y-yer bleedin'!"

Celia gingerly touched her cheek. She whimpered, pressing down on the wound the cat had ruthlessly gifted her. Celia's hands shook slightly as she stared down at her crimson fingertips, her eyes looking as if she were about to burst into tears.

"Er...Prim?" John took a hesitant step towards her. "Are you-"

"I just wanted to hu-hug it," she choked. Oh god, she is, isn't she? She's about to turn on the waterworks. Celia sniffed, and her lower lip started to tremble.

"No, no, no, yer not about to fucking cry again." John didn't know how much blubbering he could take in one night. He swiftly walked up to Celia and took ahold of her wrist.

"Ow! You're hurting me," Celia cried as he pulled her towards the morning room. She tried to wriggle herself out of his firm hold. "John!"

"Button yer lip or you'll wake the whole ruddy house up," scowled John, kicking the door shut. With his hands on her back, he pushed Celia towards the table.

"Stop pushing me! What are you doing?"

"Sit," John commanded, nodding down at the chair pulled from underneath the table. Celia obeyed and plonked herself down. She stared up at him, puzzled.

"Keep that hand to yerself," he ordered. "Me aunt will twist me neck if there's blood on her tablecloth and enough with the tears; ya could fill the Amazon River with the amount you've been cryin' t'night."

"I can't help it," Celia growled as John walked through to the kitchen. "It hurts."

"I'll give you hurt in a minute, ya crybaby," John muttered, pulling out a clean, folded rag from the kitchen drawer. He wet it underneath the tap, trying to ignore the delicious drizzle cake on the counter.

"What are you doing in there?" Celia dubiously called.

Fetching the poisoned apple, that's what.

John emerged from the kitchen holding a small ceramic bowl.

"What are you doing with that?" she asked.

"Cleaning you up, 'cause yer incapable of doing it yerself."

John placed the bowl beside them on the table and scrapped a chair around to face Celia. The girl resembled a barbarian. With blood smeared down her cheek, across her chin and around the corners of her mouth, she looked as if she'd been chomping on a freshly slaughtered beast.

"How in the bloody hell have ya managed to-" No, actually, he didn't want to know. It'd be better if she kept that annoying, pretty mouth of hers shut. Instead, he heaved a sigh and sat down opposite her.

Celia frowned at John in silence while watching him wring the rag over the water bowl. Why was she the one frowning? He was the one who had his work cut out for him, not her. The bloody cheek of it, he thought.

"I feel woozy," Celia groaned, slapping her palm against her forehead.

John tutted and raised the rag to her cheek. "Give over, it's just a little cut, and you've managed to make a right flippin' mess out it."

"Wait!" Celia pushed his hand away from her face. "Is that thing sterilised?"

John looked down at the rag as if it would give him the answer. He looked up at Celia and then back at the white cloth in his hands. "Err..am I- is it supposed to be, like?"

He scratched his head. Wasn't steriliser meant for gaping wounds and infection?  Has that little fucker's claw infected her? What was he supposed to sterilise it with, anyway? Salt? Vodka? Garlic? He hadn't done this sort of shit before. When his cousin, David, fell from a tree into a thistle bush, he simply dragged him over to his mother and let her deal with the wails and sores. John rarely got nursed himself. If he were hurt, he'd usually wipe away whatever muck he had and get on with it.