⇾𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Chapter Five: In Which I Always Have Everything Backwards

January 11, 1967

He looked at me, standing up out of the chair and getting into my face. I stumbled back, fear flowing freely through my body, my stomach churning.

"What's it, then?" he asked, his voice rising. Off to the side, Boots had risen from his sleep and he looked at us curiously before jumping off of the couch and running away.

"John, please don't—." I sighed, my voice becoming shaky. I closed my eyes, feeling utterly defeated.

"No, tell me!" he urged. "I want to hear everything wrong with you!"

"I can't do this right now," I snapped, turning away from him and storming towards the door. He reached out to try and catch me, but I simply didn't let him.

"I'm pregnant with your fucking child," I yelled, my hand lingering on the doorknob, my other flailing through the air wildly. "I guess that's not important though." The words were a whisper as I felt tears stream down my face.

His mouth fell open, a thousand emotions racing across his face at once. He stumbled slightly, taking in the words all the way. For a moment, it looked like he was about to vomit.

"Donna, I di—." His voice had stooped to almost a whisper.

"Oh, now you're sorry? You'd don't seem to care about it all when you were shouting at me thirty seconds ago."

He frowned again. "Well, you—."

"Save it for later," I interjected, reaching for my coat. "I'm going out." The first place I could think to go was Paul and Jane's house. Perhaps it was because Jane knew what was happening. She had to know how to help, surely.

Rain was falling from the sky. It was pattering on the awning above our porch, mirroring how I felt right now—dreary, annoying.

I was shaking now. I was cold and crying. I could only hope that there weren't people standing at our front gate like they usually were, rain or shine.

"Donna, Donna, Donna, wait, please talk to me, please." John took my arm and spun me around. I pulled away from his grip, my body trembling from either the stress or the cold, I couldn't tell anymore.

"I can't right now," I said simply, having to raise my voice to fight the sound of the rain and feeling like fainting on the spot. "I'm going to Paul and Jane's."

"What, so when something happens to us, you run to him?" he demanded insecurely, stupidly, his voice rising again.

"Stop yelling at me!" I snapped finally, turning to dash away. Before I stepped off the porch again, I turned back around. "You think I wanted this to happen? You're supposed to be happy. Why aren't you?"

His face looked properly horrified, by either the fact that he would be a father in nine short months or by what he'd done. He knew I was stubborn. If I said I had to wait, he knew he couldn't get me to change my mind.

He tried feebly, nonetheless. "Donna—," his voice began very quietly, almost to where it was inaudible, but I cut him off angrily with a wave of my hand. I wasn't having it right now.

"John, use tonight to decide if you want to be a father." My voice was stone-cold.

He turned towards the brick wall of our house and kicked it forcefully, a frustrated and scared look in his eyes.

Without waiting to see what came next, I turned back around and ran to my car. John didn't try to chase me. He didn't try to fight. I didn't know if I felt relieved or even more upset that he didn't try harder.

I was wet and cold. I didn't have a jacket and it was the middle of January. It was freezing outside. It was surprising that the rain hadn't turned to snow by now. I fumbled around in the purse I'd somehow managed to pick up on my way out for my car keys. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely do anything with them.

I pulled my hands back out of the bag and sat them in my lap, taking a few seconds to just breathe. I peeked up at our porch one more time, but John wasn't standing there anymore. He was back inside, doing God-knows-what.

Finally, when I'd gained my composure enough to think straight, I fished back in my purse and found my car keys almost immediately. Without another word, I jammed them into the ignition and pulled away as fast as I possibly could.

Once I was fleeing in the dark away from one of the only places I could call home, I finally began to cry. I tried hard to focus on the road, but proved unsuccessful. After a few minutes, I pulled the car safely over to the side of the road and sat there, my head against the steering wheel, tears falling rapidly.

An argument isn't the time to tell the father of your child that he's going to be a father. You weren't supposed to yell it, you weren't supposed to be yelled at, you weren't supposed to be chased, and you most certainly weren't supposed to run away afterward. It was supposed to be a happy moment with tears of joy rather than frustration, yelling cheerfully rather than angrily, with kisses and celebrating, not arguing and running away. I didn't understand why it always had to be me that had it all backwards.

One thing was for sure, though. If this was meant to happen, I had no doubt that I'd protect this child with all I had in me...whether I had John or not.

When I had cried all the tears from my body, I sat back up and leaned back against the headrest of the seat, closing my eyes and breathing deeply. The clock on the dashboard read 10:30. Hopefully Paul and Jane would even still be awake.

I finished calming myself down and pulled the car back onto the road. No other cars had driven by the whole time I'd been pulled over, and none were driving now. It was completely dead.

I turned the radio station angrily when the disc-jockey enthusiastically announced the next song: "'She Loves You' by the Beatles!"