Faded Bruises

Faded Bruises: Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

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After hours and hours of pacing the carpet in front of the fireplace, his arms folded and his eye brows strained together in complete concentration, John had thought of something.

Now, what John thought of and was thinking of, I hadn't the slightest. I'd been sitting in the living room all morning, reading my favorite Agatha Christie novel, (more like re-reading) and John had appeared from somewhere in the house and began to pace. I glanced up, past my glasses, and raised my eyebrows at him.

He'd stop. Draw his hands up to his hips. Drop them back down to his sides. Prop them up against his chest, and the pacing re-starts. A few agitated sighs and moans of frustration would escape his throat, causing me to lay my book down (completely loosing my place). I watched him pace. Seemed like all he did now a days was pace. That man was always thinking. Think, think, think, that's all he ever did.

My eyes followed him left to right, until he'd stopped. Thank God he'd stopped. I thought he would have left a trail in the carpet.

He turned to me, drawing his hands back up to rest on his hips, like he was finally about to say something. I removed my glasses to encourage him into revealing, oh, what would it be? A new song idea? New band name? (Hopefully a new band name, I mean, The Quarry Men, really?) A master plan, something!

"I need to take you on a date."

I stared at him, he stared at me.

"A what?"

"A date."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because, you of all people, deserve a nice night out."

Serious Lennon always made me blush and boy was he serious.

I set my book on the arm of the chair and made my way over to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled his torso against mine. He towered over me, him being 5'9 and me, hardly reaching 5'2. I rested my head against his chest, his fitting grey sweater smelled like cigarettes and cheap cologne.

"Would you really do that for me?" I looked up at him, resting my chin on his chest.

"Of course I would, why wouldn't I?"

"Because you're, big, tough, rock and roller, John Lennon." I teased him, endlessly, with a playful smile.

He looked up, the essence of him trying to hold on to his "man-hood" as much as possible was present in his expression. He even looked a bit dumbfounded, which caused me to laugh. Yeah, I can bite.

"Well," he started. "There comes a time in a man's life, where he needs to..."

I raised my eyebrows, playfully encouraging him to continue. My expression hopefully shouted, "Go on, enlighten me."

"Oh, fucking hell, Scar, just go on a fancy, cheesy date with me, will yah?"

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John had been planning this date for days. He'd been on the phone, claiming it was Mimi or McCartney, even though I knew he was secretly planning something big.

I wasn't to big for surprises. The only real surprises I've ever gotten, turned out to be the bad kind of surprises. Yeah, no girl should have to watch their father walk out on her, her mother crawl threw alcoholism, her best friend lose their mum, an abusive boyfriend.. God, my list could go on of the surprises I'd rather not have had. Now that I thought of it, I don't think I've ever had an actual "good" surprise. My "good surprise scale" was at a negative.