If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 35 - 14.April.1962

Chapter 35

April 14, 1962

I snuck out of Astrid's flat a bit after the sun came up. I didn't want Stu's poor mother to have to deal with me on the couch as she emerged from the guest bedroom. No, she had enough on her plate. So I got up early, which wasn't too bleeding difficult considering how shite of a couch Astrid had. It had been a horrible night of sleeplessness given what I'd been through, but part of that also had to do with my throbbing hand and my persistent headache.

My hand continued to ache as I wrote Astrid a short note with my uninjured left hand, giving her all my love and condolences once again. I couldn't even begin to imagine what she was going through. Part of me wanted to fly back to Liverpool with her, to offer the support I knew she needed. But the boys had no plans to attend the funeral, and I was officially working. So unless John forced me to leave, which was a very real possibility, I'd be staying in Hamburg.

I caught a taxi, and stared out the window as it sped through the narrow, empty streets. No one was up this bleeding early. I peered at my hand. My knuckles were red and swollen, and my thumb was black and blue. Apparently, there was a right way and a wrong way to throw a punch, and it seemed I'd picked the wrong way. With a heavy sigh, I pushed my head against the headrest. I hated that I'd resorted to violence...the one thing I had enough of for an entire lifetime. But what choice did I have, anyway? It was either attack or be attacked.

The taxi crawled to a halt outside the strip club, and the driver gave me an odd look as I paid him and climbed out of the backseat. The morning air was crisp, and I pulled my jacket closed as I crossed my arms over my chest. I surely looked a mess, especially since I'd slept in my outfit and hadn't brushed my teeth or taken a brush to my hair.

I stood in front of the door and contemplated not going inside, because I really wasn't sure what I'd find or what kind of mood John would be in. What if he hadn't even made it home? What if he was passed out somewhere because I left him bladdered and wired out of his mind? The possibilities were endless.

My pulse raced as my shaky hand pulled the door open. I slipped inside and hurried toward the boys' room. I reached my left hand out and shook the handle, but it was locked. Of course it was locked, what had I expected? I pushed out a breath as I raised my hand and rapped my uninjured knuckles against the door, barely making a sound. I was too bloody nervous to knock any harder, because I knew that waking up an entire room of exhausted lads only led to trouble and definitely a pillow or two thrown in my direction.

The door flew open. It was George, his brown eyes were wide, and he looked like he'd hardly slept. He pushed out a huge breath. "She's here. She's all right." He reached for me and pulled me against his chest, squeezing me and bringing me into the room. "Jeezus, Liv. You scared the livin' shite out of us."

I peered over George's shoulder as he held me in a tight embrace. John sat on his bed, his head cradled in his hands. He wore the same clothes he had on when I left him, a dark turtleneck sweater and jeans. Paul sat next to him, his eyes darting up and locking with mine.

"What the absolute fuck, Liv?" Paul said as he popped up and began pacing. "Where in the hell have you been all night?"

"John, she's here," George said, his tone controlled. "She's all right. Okay?"

John finally lifted his head, his hand in his hair. By the looks of it, his hand had been pushed through his hair countless times since I'd left him. His wide, wet eyes met mine. He pushed himself up and wordlessly pulled me out of George's arms. He wrapped me in his embrace, holding me tight, as he pushed his head into the crook of my neck. Although I didn't want to because I was still ruddy livid, I wrapped my arms around him anyway, because it just felt too good to hold him. And truthfully, I was a bit shocked he'd made it back to his bed in one piece.