⇾ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈

Chapter Thirty-One: A Pouty, Crying, Puking, and Miserable George

October 11, 1961

"George, you've got a letter," said Dot. "It showed up at the hotel."

"From?" he asked in return.

It was about ten o'clock at night and the Beatles had been playing on and off since six. They were to get off at midnight. Six to midnight with one break every hour. By now, they were already only half-conscious between the alcohol they'd been consuming and the drugs they'd been relying on for energy.

"From Mary," she answered and he smiled, taking it from her and reading over it carefully. His smile faded as he read through it.

George put down the letter with tears in his eyes.

"George, what's up?" asked a concerned Paul.

"Mary, she—well—it's fine." He sighed and looked at the ground, fumbling mindlessly with the tiles on the floor.

Paul sat down next to him. "Aww, George, it'll be alright. There's plenty of girls who fancy you out there. You'll find the one."

"I thought she was the one."

"Oh, c'mon, Geo," said Paul mischievously. "What happened to that one chatting you up earlier?" He raised his eyebrows. "Go find her."

George shook his head. "Not tonight." He stood and went up to the bar, coming back with a drink. He took a long swing of it before John announced they had to go back onstage. "Hey, Donna, will ye hold this?"

I nodded sympathetically, seeing the sadness in his eyes that he was clearly trying to hide. I wonder what had prompted Mary to break up with him. Maybe it was the waiting around. I was fine with it, but I can see why others wouldn't be.

I watched George on the stage as he portrayed his precise fingerings and intricate guitar solos song after song, slowly sinking back towards the wall more, in contrary to his normal bouncing around with Paul and John up front.

By the time they were done performing for the night, George had downed about five more beers and John was keeping a tight grip on me as George stumbled back towards the hotel.

"Bloody hell," said George. "I still want more!"

"I'm gonna have to draw the line, my Georgie. No more drinking for tonight."

George frowned. "Does she find joy in making me sad?" He sighed and it broke my heart in two.

John shook his head. "I dunno, buddy. I should ask myself the same thing." He gave me a sideways smirk. I rolled my eyes. "Do you guys find it fun when we're sad?" he asked cheekily.

"Tread lightly, Lennon," I warned. "I would not, for the record. I would just feel guilty. There are probably people out there who would get a kick out of it though. The world's funny that way." I shrugged.

"There's your answer then, Geo."

He put his hand to his heart. "It really hurts," he said dramatically.

"Oh, George," replied John. Paul and Dot had run off a while ago and Pete had been seen leaving the club with a woman under each arm. These boys were really outlandish, weren't they?

George continued to ramble about whatever he felt like. "I'm just so desperate, John."

"George—?"

"I just want get it over with."

"Donna's here, George," John warned and I suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable.

George sat down, in the middle of the walkway, in the way of everyone trying to pass.

"C'mon, Geo, time to stand up. We'll get ye back to the hotel and get ye to sleep," John said, looking around nervously as people passed by, annoyed.