Miss Americana // The Beatles

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

February 10, 1964

My throbbing head and  the sliver of light casting through the curtain woke me. I was in an  unfamiliar room. I sat up in the bed, looking down and realizing I was naked. I rubbed my head. I turned my head. My heart beating out of my chest and loudly in my ears. I couldn't catch my breath as I looked over  to see John beside me, naked as well. We left the club together last  night.

"Fuck," I jumped from the bed and gathered my clothes from around the room.

Once I hastily dressed, I  left the bedroom. I didn't want to wake John. I couldn't talk to him  now. My memory was hazy on the events of last night, but I knew what  happened. I panicked, my breathing labored and my heart racing as I  quietly closed the door. I saw my heels from last night in the living  room. Paul was asleep on the couch with his clothes from last night  still on. I looked into the mirror above the couch, my hair an absolute  wreck, my makeup smeared and my face flushed. I fixed my hair  frantically. I ran to the sink in the bathroom and washed my face,  getting the smeared makeup from last night off. I went back in the  living room area, trying to put on my heels. I tripped and fell over,  landing on Paul's legs on the couch.

He startled awake, "What the hell, Sasha?"

"I have to go, I, I, don't," I stuttered, my face hot and my head throbbing.

Paul sat up, "Hey, it's alright."

I didn't realize that  tears had started to stream down my face until Paul was wiping them away  with his hands. He brought me into his arms. I cried.

"It's alright, Sasha," Paul said, "You fell asleep in here that's all. We got drunk at the club last night and you fell asleep."

"No," I cried, "No, I've ruined everything. I did something bad, Paul, I did something bad, and I, I..."

He pushed me out of his  arms to look at my face. His thumbs wiped my tears. I looked down at my  lap, ashamed of myself. I betrayed George. I betrayed Cynthia. I felt  dirty. I felt like a whore.

"I slept with John," I whispered.

"Sasha," Paul sighed, "I told you to be careful last night."

"Don't tell me you told me so. Don't say that. It happened, Paul, and I can't change it. I feel so dirty. I feel like a whore."

"You're not a whore,  Sasha," Paul reassured me, "We were all pissed drunk, I mean bad. We  haven't been that drunk in a long time. You don't have to tell anyone  about this. You can pretend it never happened. Everything will be just  fine."

I wiped my face, "I have to go before he wakes up."

I stood from the couch. Paul handed me my purse from last night after I put on my other shoe. He gave me a hug.

"It'll be okay," Paul  said again, "You and John will never tell anyone about this. And I won't  tell anyone, I'll take it to my grave. It was a mistake."

I walked to the door. I turned before leaving, "Paul, I'm not sure it was a mistake."

I closed the door to the  hotel room. I can't believe I had admitted it maybe wasn't a mistake.  Nevertheless, no one could ever find out about this. I walked slowly  back to mine and George's room. My head throbbing, my legs wobbly, and I  hated to admit this to myself but my hips and my most private area were  sore from whatever happened last night. I remember feeling so high, so  amazing and pleasured.

I walked into mine and  George's room quietly. I kicked off my heels and threw my purse onto the  table. I sat down on the sofa. I put my face in my hands, my head  throbbing.