Classic rock one shots and imagines [requests closed]

John Lennon #2 (part three)

A/N: Quick warning, there is a mention of sexual assault toward the end.

~~~~~

"Stuart," I breathed, cringing at the cackles coming from the next room.

"I'm not too late am I?" He smiled sheepishly, his eyes sparkling like they would when we were together. A child-like gaze filled with knowing and curiosity.

He wasn't wearing anything special like I was. He had on his usual denim trousers, untucked button down speaking out the bottom of his thick-wool jumper. The dark, neutral colours he wore greatly differed from the newly made dress I had on. The dark purple and pink flowers splattered atop a white background was a lot more feminine than I cared to wear normally, but I didn't have a choice in the matter.

"No," I beamed, looking down to my shiny black heels. "Actually you're-"

"Clara!" Ella shrieked.

My smile fell, an expression of pain and annoyance replaced it. Without looking at him, I took Stu's hand and pulled him inside. I quickly shut the door and turned away.

"Shit," I gasped after stumbling over my own two feet.

"Are you alright?" Stu asked.

"I'm coming!" I shouted to Ella, nodding to Stu. I gestured for him to follow, and ran off to the parlour.

"Ah, there she is!" My mother beamed, then sternly snapping, "Come here."

In three long strides, I was at her side. She grabbed the skirt of my dress rather harshly, making me clench my teeth to hold my tongue.

"Isn't it just such a lovely thing?" She asked Mrs. Thibeau, her voice weighed down by the amount of wine she had already drank.

"Oh, absolutely!"

Mrs. Thibeau was the woman that had move into the house just down the street. Ella, being the socialite she is, immediately went to introduce herself. Mrs. Thibeau graciously accepted the invitation to my birthday when Ella mentioned it. And just as I had feared, they were becoming the best of friends.

She had a long cigarette perched between the dainty fingers of her right hand. Her nails freshly painted a plum colour and perfectly rounded at the tips.

"Do you have the pattern for it? I'd love to make one for myself."

"Oh, I'm afraid not. I make all Clara's dresses by looking at pictures in Vogue Paris. And having those monthly magazines sent here is very dear, Allison."

Mrs. Thibeau nodded in understanding. "And you can just look at a dress and make it?"

Ella gave a very exaggerated nod, allowing me to roll my eyes unnoticed. She hadn't held an issue of Vogue Paris since she moved to Liverpool with my father. The dress she was looking off of came from a magazine she nicked from the beauty salon she always goes to. The Vogue thing was made up so she would sound more important that she makes herself out to be. She was very talented at sewing, however. She could look at a dress in a picture and make it appear out of nothing.

I sighed quietly, glancing over my shoulder to plan my path out of the crowded parlour. Stu was standing in the door way, looking at me. He gave me a gentle smile.

"Mum," I turned my attention back to Ella and Mrs. Thibeau. "Stuart's here."

Ella's lip twitched like she was suppressing an angry sneer. Her signature forced smile appeared instead, but her wine-laced voice exposed her true feelings.

"Come here, Sutcliffe."

Stu quickly came over to us, watching where he stepped to avoid tripping over careless loungers.