If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 28 - 18.Nov.1961

Chapter 28

November 18, 1961

Boxes cluttered the floor, and dust hung in the unmoving air. Packing my father's things was a much larger task than I'd anticipated. I knelt beside his nightstand, pulling out his belongings and placing them in one of two boxes—one to keep and one for trash.

I reached to the very back of the bottom drawer, my fingers brushing against a stack of photographs. My fingers gripped the pile and pulled them out. The pictures were a bit worn, as if my father had looked through them countless times. The stack started with images of my mum as a child, and each photo progressed, showing her as she grew. Her smile was ever the same—large, gleeful, glowing. I lingered over each photograph, my hands trembling slightly. I wondered if this was what my father had done with the stack...staring at Mum, missing her, wanting her back.

The very last photo was a picture of the three of us just months before she passed. My chest ached as tears blurred my vision. I moved to sit cross-legged, my back pressed against my parents' bed, as I gripped the photo. The tears made it impossible to see clearly, and I wanted to stare at the picture forever. There was happiness in the image, and it helped my soul to remember the better times.

I blinked, and tears fell from my eyes and down my cheeks. I rubbed the heel of my palm against my chest as more tears fell. My head fell forward as I squeezed my eyes closed. I was finally bloody crying, and once it started, it was impossible to stop. My shoulders shook as I sobbed, my fingers still holding onto the photo like my life depended on it.

A knock came from the front door, and I sucked in a breath, my head popping up. I muttered a few swears before pushing my palms against my cheeks, trying to clear the wetness. The tears didn't let up as I wiped at my nose and pushed myself up. I glanced at the picture again and ran into my room, placing it on my childhood bed, before making my way down the stairs, refusing to think about that damned night my father had sent me tumbling down the staircase.

"Fuck," I grumbled as the tears kept flowing. I spun in front of the door, clenching my hands into fists, trying to get a handle on my emotions. I couldn't bloody well answer the door with tears streaming down my face.

Another knock. This one louder. "Livvy," John said, his voice filtering through the door. "I can hear ye in there. Open up."

"Gimmie a mo," I said, trying not to sound like a blubbering fool. I hadn't seen John since he'd left my house the morning after my father's funeral a few days earlier. My chin trembled as a heaviness settled over my chest.

"Christ's sake, Liv," he hollered. "Open the bloody door. It's brass monkeys out here."

I huffed out a sigh before unlocking the door and pulling it open. John's favorite leather jacket hung over his shoulders, and his hands were shoved into the pockets of his jeans. His dark-rimmed glasses sat on his face, and his hair fell down over his forehead. I was still getting used to the new style, but it certainly suited him.

He pushed past me as cold air spilled in through the open door. I rubbed at my bare arms before pressing my shoulder against the door, closing it with a final push. I turned to find John standing in my living room. He breathed into his hands for a bit of warmth before reaching for his pack of cigarettes. His eyes glanced up as he lit his cig, pulling in a long drag.

I turned away from his gaze and bustled into the kitchen, still desperately trying to take control of my emotions. "Fancy a cuppa?" My bleeding voice cracked as more tears fell. I sat on a wooden chair at the kitchen table and pressed my head into my hand, attempting to pull in a few soothing breaths.