If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 14 - 4.Oct.1960

Chapter 14

October 4, 1960

The loo smelled, but it was empty and mostly clean, and for that, I was thankful. I hadn't a bloody clue what time it was. By the time I'd finally woken from my deep sleep, the lads were all back, sleeping and snoring in their bunks. I'd untangled myself from John's arm and carefully shimmied to the floor.

My legs were better able to support my weight after sleeping for what had to have been more than twelve hours, but I still wasn't completely steady. My head ached and a wave of dizziness hit me every once in a while, but it was better than it had been.

I stood on the tiled floor and looked at myself. I'd peeled my traveling clothes off and stood only in my undergarments. I knew I needed to hurry, that anyone could walk through the door at any time, but I was too busy examining every bruise, every cut, every place my father had left his mark on me.

"Bastard," I mumbled as I pressed my hand against a particularly nasty bruise on my ribs. I exhaled through the pain. Maybe I did need a doctor, but I wasn't about to bloody find one. I'd probably be fine.

With each new bruise I discovered, I was even more grateful that I was finally out of his grasp. Maybe I should have left in August with John, like he'd wanted. Maybe I could have saved myself the pain. Or maybe it had been important for me to stay, to reach my breaking point...to really prove to myself that I could never go back.

I turned on the faucet and splashed some water over my face, cringing as it stung my lip. With careful movements, I leaned forward and pushed my hair under the running water. It was too dirty to try to salvage it with a bun.

The door swung open, and I jumped, my head knocking into the faucet. I swore as my hand flew to my head, and I stood up, my hair drenched and trickling water droplets down my body.

"Just me," John mumbled as he closed the door behind him, locking the door from the inside. He glanced at me. "There's a lock, y'know."

"Didn't know." I still held my head as it throbbed where I'd smacked it. "And why do you know tha? How much time have ye'been spending in the ladies' room, and do I even wanna know why?"

A smile played at his lips, a mischievous glint in his light brown eyes. "If you saw the one we're meant to use, you'd sneak into this one too."

He sauntered into the room, wrinkled clothing on his body and only socks covering his feet, his eyes falling on me. He sucked in a breath and said, "Shite, Livvy."

Something buried deep within me felt comforted as my old nickname tumbled from his lips. Not that I'd ever, ever tell him that.

He reached for me, running his fingers over the nasty bruise I'd just been looking at, not seeming to care that I was practically starkers. His eyes didn't drag over my body as he had done with the bleeding stripper, at least not that I could see.

"Oi, John, I haven't got any clothes on."

"Noticed," he muttered, his eyes stuck on the bruise and nothing else. "Nothin' I haven't seen."

My gaze flicked upward. Bloody hell, I wasn't thinking straight. Because it bothered me that he didn't look at me like he eyed the stripper...it bothered the piss out of me. Maybe Catherine had gotten in my head implying that there was something more between John and me than there actually was. I needed to write her, anyway, to let her know I was gone...to ask her to tell Harry that I'd quit and had no plans to return.

I glanced at John as he continued to look at each and every mark blemishing my pale skin. I didn't know what to say. I looked proper awful. I knew it, he knew it.