⇾ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈

Chapter Eighteen: How to Deal With an Intoxicated John Lennon

August 19, 1961

By the next few days, the whole ordeal was forgotten. We didn't speak about it to each other and no one else knew what had happened, at least not to my knowledge. Things weren't exactly awkward, just a little more uncomfortable than usual. I couldn't complain, I guess. What could I have expected? Laying on the floor and crying together isn't exactly a normal friendly encounter.

Friday night around midnight, I was getting ready to lay down in bed when I heard a little shout from outside my window, calling my name. The voice was slurred and at first I didn't recognize it.

"Donna," it said hissingly. I went over to my window and peeped out to see a swaying John standing down below.

"John?" I asked, confused.

He laughed stupidly, sounding off. "Wanna know a secret, Donna?" he said.

"I—." I was confused a moment, before it finally dawned on me. He was drunk. I grinned a little bit, wondering what he was gonna let slip. "I'd love to," I settled on.

"I've been drinking," he said, giggling like an idiot. "Come down here, Donna. I need a friend." Through the moonlight I could see him give me a sarcastic pouting face.

"Oh, alright," I said. Before leaving the window I added, "Stay right there, I'll be down."

What was I supposed to do with a drunk John?

My walk down to where he was standing proved useless. I came up with nothing. When I made it down there, he was sitting against the house with his knees pulled to his chest. His arms were wrapped around his legs and his head was resting on his knees. He looked quite pitiful.

"John?"

He looked up quickly. "Donna?"

I snickered. "Yup, that's my name."

He scrambled up. "I feel ill."

I looked at my feet and came back up to meet his eyes. "Well, maybe you need some water? Have you had any at all?"

"Of course I didn't," he said. "Who drinks water when you've got beer?"

"Ah, well." I wasn't sure what to say. "I'm not sure."

"I want water," he said remorsefully.

I nodded. "You want me to get you some?"

"No," he said, shuffling about restlessly. "I will." He sighed and began to walk towards his house. I didn't follow at first.  "YecomingDonna?" he slurred. Poor thing, couldn't even talk right.

I shuffled up to his side. "Why were you drinking?" I asked, curious.

"Why else? Feelings," he said sadly. I was momentarily confused, but decided to play it off like I knew what he was talking about.

"Ah, alright."

He nodded. "Can I turn 'em off, Donna?"

"I'm afraid ye can't, love."

He frowned thoughtfully. "I want to. They're driving me crazy."

"Well, I'm sorry," I said awkwardly, only vaguely wondering if I knew what he was talking about.

I wish I could turn off feelings too, John, I thought.

He looked sad and happy at the same time and I only realized now how much I could smell the alcohol and cigarette smoke on his breath. I chose to ignore this.

John had gotten annoyingly good at realizing whether or not I was comfortable, and it seemed that translated over to being intoxicated as well.

First, he looked me up and down and cocked an eyebrow. Then, stopping abruptly, his feet coming together with a smack, he turned to me skeptically. I jumped and nearly toppled over as I scrambled to stand next to him. Finally, he noticed my nervousness.

"You're—." He trailed off. "You're shaking," he noted. "Are you—." His words were slurred still, and yet he managed to make them as long and spread out as possible. "You're nervous?" He smirked. "See, I knew ye had something for me."

"John...you—." I stopped, suddenly wondering where I was. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, failing miserably to form words. I took a few breaths and gathered my thoughts. "You need to go inside and go to sleep," I said.

He frowned. "Ah, but that's booooring!" He dragged the word out a mile.

"Yeah, no, it's not, and you're going in right now." I pushed him lightly to see if he'd move, but his feet were fixated to where he could sway on his feet without actually moving. Man, he was good.

He smirked at me as I failed to move him and I frowned at him.

"You're pretty, Donna."

Lord, help us all.

"Shut up, John."

"No, no, no," he whined. "You are."

"Go inside, John." He still wasn't listening. I was beginning to feel a sort of impending doom settling over the night sky above us.

"But I don't wanna." He sounded like a five-year-old who wasn't getting his way.

"Well, tough luck, 'cause you're gonna."

"You'll have to catch me first," he said with a dopey smile and ran away.

Unbelievable.

"C'mon, Donna, have some fun," he said, coming up behind me and spinning me around. He stopped as he found himself so close to my face, seemingly going stone-cold sober and before I knew it, his face was inching closer to mine.

I panicked, of course. Suddenly, a wave of nausea washed over me and I pulled back, scared, almost. He looked at me, sheepish. "Sorry, Donna," he said.

I wasn't ready to have my first kiss, especially with a drunk guy that I may've actually liked. That just seemed like a nightmare and a disaster-in-the-making. "No...you're...I—?" I struggled to find words to say. God, I hope he didn't remember this in the morning. "Let's get you inside," I said with a sigh.

He smiled warmly and nodded. "Fine."

I led him inside, feeling slightly guilty, and after he'd had some water, we retreated to his room where I promptly made him go to sleep. He passed out the second he hit the pillow and I sighed briefly, before leaving the room and slipping back into the night. Instead of going home, I found myself in a park down the road, mulling over my thoughts, tripping over every last one of them, struggling to make sense of how I felt.

I always felt sad, now that I was sure of. I'd become pretty good at masking it, and when I was with Paul or George there was a sense of fun in the air that delighted me, but then there was John. That's where I got lost. It seemed like I should be annoyed by him. He was such a flirt and loved to torment me. He was prideful and such, but it seemed he also had so many good qualities that that all just seemed to balance it all out perfectly. It was baffling, a sort of love-hate relationship, but at the moment, it was teetering, gradually.

And, to my horror, it was leaning towards the love side.