⇾ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈

Chapter Six: You Poor Soul

August 2, 1961

I let out the breath I was holding when the door was silently closed behind me and I began my short walk to John's. I found John and Paul slouched in the doorway, sharing a cigarette.

"Took ye long enough," said Paul, taking a drag from the horrible-smelling device, handing it to John.

"Does your aunt know about that?" I asked, my eyebrows raised sassily, my hands on my hips.

John went into the yard and put it out, sticking it in his pocket. "Neh, she doesn't like this sorta thing, y'know. She's...well, strict."

"Figures. The dirty ones always have the strict parents. It's almost poetic, isn't it, John?"

Paul let out a low whistle and John smiled and shook his head, looking at his feet. "What would you be doing right now if I hadn't called you over here?"

"I'd be reading the book I've been trying to start for the past two days."

"Aren't you glad you're over here instead?"

"I mean, I'd love to finally get to read it."

He rolled his eyes. "Thank God I got you over here, you poor soul."

"Why did you call me over here, anyways?"

"We were bored. We thought talking to you would help."

"You thought it'd help," Paul corrected him and if it weren't dark I'd have caught the blush I knew John now displayed.

"Well, I'm here now. What could you ever want to talk about?"

"Well, first of all, it's be rude to not ask you to come in, so...did you want to come in?"

It was late and even though it was deep in the summer, it was starting to feel chilly outside.

"I'd love to." I said, almost reluctantly.

He nodded and bounced up off the doorway, pushing the door open slowly.

Paul walked in first, followed by me, and concluded by John. I trusted Paul to lead the way to wherever they were taking me. He did lead me to where we should have ended up, which was John's room. Paul planted himself on John's bed, laying down with his hands behind his head and looking at the ceiling. John threw himself in his desk chair, it leaning back, almost too far, and spinning slightly.

"You can sit," he said.

I awkwardly sat down on the floor.

"How ye likin' Liverpool, Donna?" John asked.

"Fine," I replied, looking around at his room. The walls were tan and it was scarcely furnished, only boasting his bed and desk, accompanied by a few guitars balanced precariously in the corner opposite the bed. The desk was perched right next to the window he had been talking to me out of. There were a few small posters of musicians and models tacked to the walls.

"You two's awkwardness disgusts me," I heard Paul say, moving his head only slightly to raise his eyebrows at us.

John scratched the back of his neck. "Well, what would you be saying, Paul?"

"I don't know, John, maybe ask her a little more about why she moved? Tell her something about yourself? Just stop being so bloody flustered."

John rolled his eyes, but was unable to hide his blush. I hoped I wasn't doing the same.

"I'm John," said John stupidly

"Good to know, Sherlock," I said.

"John, do you want me to leave?" asked Paul. "I thought this was gonna be more entertaining."

"You can stay, McCharmly. I enjoy seeing you suffer," said John.

"Well, then how about I help you out?" He smirked and turned to me. "Tell us more about yourself, Donna." I looked at my watch.

9:45 PM.

I looked back up. "I'm Donna Epstein. I'm seventeen years old and I'm from London."

"Why'd ye move here?"

"Well, that's my own secret. You'll know in time." I looked down, my hands beginning to shake, growing extremely uncomfortable. I clenched my hands together to hide the shaking.

"Let's talk about something else," John said and I looked back up to see his head balanced on his hands again and his eyes on my hands. I hid them in my lap self-consciously.

Paul tried to figure out what he was missing out on and finally decided to break a long silence. "Well, I'm gonna go now. I'm tired. See ye at school, Donna, and see ye at rehearsal tomorrow, John." He picked up his leather jacket and left the room silently.

"Why did you really move?" John asked, looking almost sympathetic.

I fought to slow my breathing. I gave a long, slow breath finally. "I can't tell you right now. Evidently I'm not ready for that." I buried my face in my hands with a shuddering, painful breath. "Sorry," I added.

"No, it's good. I mean, I'm not gonna rope you into something you don't want. Tell me when you're ready, whether that be in a week or a year." He shrugged. "I know how it feels to be constricted by a bad past," he added hesitantly.

I nodded.

"If there's anything I can help you with," he continued, "I'm always here to, I don't know, talk."

I looked up and smiled, feeling calm under his gaze. "Thanks," I answered. "What about you? Tell me something about you."

He grinned, obviously happy we were over the depressing stuff. "Well, I actually love to write and draw."

"Really?" I sat up straight, interested.

"Yes, I find it very lovely. Reading isn't that bad either. I love Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."

I smirked. "You do? I like that one too."

He nodded, biting his lip. I glanced at the time again.

10:08 PM.

"Well, unfortunately, I think I should be going."

Something hit John's window. He brought a hand to his face.

Everyone likes to throw things at windows in Liverpool, I guess.

"Why is she here?" he said, cursing under his breath. I flushed. "Shh," he told me as he went to the window.

I felt like I was intruding.

"I'll come and let you in, love," I heard him say to her out the window.

I felt stupid.

He closed it again and turned back to me. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking worried.

I was trembling again. Uncontrollably.

"Yes," I wheezed.

"Do you need me to walk you home? Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, more steadily now.

I was so stupid.

He helped me stand and I stumbled a bit before following him down.

"How am I gonna get out without her seeing me?" I asked timidly.

"You'll go out the back. Just through there—." He pointed. "And I'll let her in here—." He paused. "I'm so sorry, Donna. I really am." He looked completely humiliated.

I fought again to regain composure.

This was stupid.

"It's fine, John. Enjoy the rest of your night." I went towards the door he had showed me, not paying attention to his sad expression as I walked away, overridden with a nauseating anxiety.

I slipped back to my house and turned my light off as soon as I stepped through the door, not even bothering to change back into my pajamas before slipping back into my bed and forcing myself to sleep so today would be over.