If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 23 - 11.July.1961

Chapter 23

July 11, 1961

The downpour lasted only a few minutes, ending just as John pushed me on the bus. My feet were only half working ever since the effects of my last drink had taken hold.

"Aren't we going to Paul's?" I looked around to find the bus number. I plopped onto the seat next to John. It was the first we'd spoken since admitting to the kiss.

"I don't wanna sleep at Paul's," he said, his eyes fixed on the seat in front of him.

"Well, I do," I said as I attempted to stand. The bus moved forward in the same instant, lurching me back into the seat. "Fuck, the bus is movin'."

"Perceptive bird," John mumbled. "You're off your trolley tonight, Liv."

"Sod off." I smacked my hand against his chest.

"How bloody much did you have to drink, anyway?"

"Well, how many did you have?" I narrowed my eyes at the double standard and crossed my arms over my chest. When he didn't respond, I continued. "See, it's not fun when people ask daft questions."

I stared out the window at the familiar streets, streets I hadn't seen in quite some time. Something eventually clicked in my head. I grabbed his arm as I gulped down a breath, my wild eyes meeting his as he turned to face me.

"I've gotta get off this bus." We were headed toward Mimi's house...toward my father's house. "John, I can't go home with you."

His expression softened. "I won't let anything happen to ye, Liv, all right? Calm down."

"Calm down? When I agreed to come back here, I told you I couldn't be near his house. And you promised I wouldn't have to go anywhere close it. You promised." I wrapped my arms around myself and pinched my eyes closed for a moment. "What if he sees me?"

"He won't." John pressed his hand over my rain-soaked trousers and looked into my eyes. "And if we see 'im, it'll finally give me a chance to murder the bastard for having the nerve to put his fuckin' hands on you."

I wasn't sure how he could be so bloody certain I wouldn't see my father. But I didn't have very many options for where to go, so I stayed put, my hands trembling, until the bus arrived at our stop. John helped me off the bus, practically carrying me, and placed me on the asphalt. I was stuck in my spot as the bus pulled away, unable to make myself take a single step toward the place I feared most. My eyes stared at the empty street as I breathed through the tightness in my chest. I couldn't see my house, but I knew it was close. I knew my father was near.

"Let's go, then," John said into my ear, stretching his arm over my back. His hand gripped my shoulder, and he pulled me close. We walked quickly as I willed my tipsy self to keep up, my feet smacking against the wet pavement as the breeze moved past us.

John kept his eyes focused straight ahead as he guided me toward his house. When we stood in front of his door, he stepped toward me and pushed a finger against my lips.

"Mimi's sleepin'. We'll need to be quiet." He shouldered the door open and silently led me into the dark house. With careful steps, John led me up the stairs, his footsteps quiet while mine were heavy and anything but graceful. He pulled me into his room and flicked on the light.

He hadn't made his bed that morning, and his guitar was propped against the opposite wall. I hadn't been in his room since before I left for Hamburg, and I hadn't actually seen him in his room in almost a year.

"Do you know how many times I slept in here without you?" I mumbled, keeping my voice low as I shuffled into the room. I gazed at the bed and decided not to crawl into the one place that brought me so much comfort. No, I needed to be able to think, and I couldn't think in John's bed.