𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 → 𝙶𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝
⊹ 𝟹-𝟷𝟾-𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟾 ⊹
I began to feel regret tugging on me as soon as I was able to grasp what had just happened. Not only was I feeling regretful, but I was also feeling a bit confused. Was this cheating? Was I cheating on John when we weren't even really together? Did I consider John shagging Prudence Farrow cheating? Of course, I didn't. That was ridiculous.
Regardless, I wasn't sure what had prompted me to let this happen. Had I really been so bloody desperate that I let Keith Richards shag me? He was sitting on the seat beside me, and we were both facing away from one another. There was a thick and downright suffocating silence between us that no words seemed fit enough to fill.
"The rain stopped," Keith muttered finally, but the tension in the air only thickened.
"Brilliant," I mumbled, reaching for my clothes so that I could make myself decent again. Despite what had just happened in it, the damned car was cold. When I had successfully dressed again, I climbed out of the car, wishing I had a cigarette on me because God knows it would have come in handy. When I finally breathed fresh air, I sighed, dropping my elbows against the top of Keith's car, my head falling forward into my hands.
After a few moments, Keith joined me."You aren't gonna faint, are you?" he asked me and I looked up with a confused.
"Damn, Keith, how good do you think you are?" I asked bitterly.
"I believe you were the one who said I was good...multiple times. Besides, that's not what I meant. I just think you look pale. It's a bit worrying."
It had to be true. My hands trembled relentlessly and my body felt like it was too heavy for my legs to hold up. It felt like I could topple over at any moment. That being said, I definitely would not have been surprised if I had dropped to the ground right now, probably dead of humiliation.
"Might be the regret showing," I mumbled.
"What? You regret what just happened in there?" Keith asked, feigning offense to the statement. "Impossible."
"Oi, just because I said I regret it doesn't mean that I didn't enjoy it." I grinned teasingly.
Keith smirked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette. "Touché," he said, as he stuck the cigarette between his lips and lit it.
"Got an extra?" I asked him hopefully.
He shot me a cheeky look. "If ye fancy gettin' high, then yeah."
I cringed. "You've got to be bloody kidding me," I said.
"I am," he responded, reaching back into his pocket and pulling out a second cigarette.
"Don't worry about that," I tutted. "Don't bloody trust ye anymore."
"Alissa, why the fuck would I get high when I've gotta play my guitar? Hate doing that. Makes me sound like shite."
"You don't like doing that?" I asked and he nodded. "Seems unlikely. I imagine you get high before your shows all the time."
He smirked, still holding the cigarette out for me. "Yeah, you're right," he said. "I promise it's not all funny."
I finally reached and took it from his hands. "You better not be lying," I threatened.
"I would never." He cleared his throat. "Yer hair's all messy," he said with a smirk, lighting my cigarette for me.
"And, whose fault is that?" I asked him as I took a drag of my cigarette and sheepishly reached up to smooth my hair, my cheeks turning red.
"Are you sure you're not about to fall over and die?" Keith asked. "You look incredibly ill."
"No, I won't die. I do think I might need a moment to myself, though, if you don't mind," I responded as I breathed out more smoke and turned around, walking towards my own car.
"See you back in there, then!" Keith called after me.
I folded myself into a ball in my front seat when I made it back to my car and discarded my cigarette. The reality of what I had just done began to catch up with me and it was all I could think about. I was suddenly thinking about how John would react if he ever found out, what Paul would say if he ever found out, what everyone would think of if they found out.
Tears began to pool in my eyes and I nearly screamed in annoyance. "Bloody hell," I muttered, rubbing the palms of my hands over my eyes agitatedly.
What a pathetic, sad-sack I was.
I hated it when my mind wandered. In previous months, I had found it much easier to drink than to worry. Other than my pills, alcohol was about the only thing on the planet that had helped me when I was in a depressive mood. There had even been a few occasions since John and I had split where I had actually considered giving marijuana another proper go, but the fear of losing control of my body always came back just before I could decide that it might not have been such a bad idea. It just didn't make me too happy that John could talk of such fabulous experiences while he was high and all I could remember was curling into a ball miserably as I lost control of my body, and all the feelings of me doing the same during my mental episodes slapped me across the face and filled my veins with fear rather than bliss. There was nothing blissful about that damned memory. I refused to try it again, no matter how desperate I was to feel better.
No, my alcohol and medication were good enough for me.
I wished I had one of those right now because I was suddenly hysterical. I could barely breathe between my sobs and I wondered if I might vomit afterward, considering that was a pretty common occurrence during my anxiety spells. As for now, I'd have to just sit through the damned crying and hope that it didn't last too long. After all, I was still at work, technically. I needed to get back in there sooner or later.
⊹ ⊹ ⊹
I was dying to get my hands on a beer. The band was playing perhaps the most depressing song I had heard all day, talking about the love that's here and then gone. I'd abandoned my camera after I'd pulled myself together and came back in, and now I was drawing instead of writing or taking photos.
I wasn't entirely sure how Keith and I had even gotten away with such an act without someone figuring it out, but we had.
Finally, however, the session was winding down and everyone was getting ready to call it a day. I was hastily putting my things away when someone addressed me and I cursed myself for not making it out of here unnoticed.
"Alissa, did you have a good time today?" Mick asked pleasantly and I turned around with slightly widened eyes to respond. From behind Mick, I could just barely see Keith staring at us, a stupid smirk on his face.
"Me? Yeah, Mick, of course, I had a good time," I responded with a half-hearted laugh.
"Well, when will we see you again?"
"Well—um—I'm hoping to come in sometime this week to do some interviews. Need to get your thoughts on starting this new album. Wanna know what your hopes are and all the shite. Y'know, what people want to read. Well, to be honest, I'm sure they care more about the pictures of you than they do the interviews, but y'know, the interviews are good too." The string of words probably made zero sense to Mick. Hell, I didn't even know what I meant by them.
"Right," Mick responded confusedly. "Well, our session on Friday doesn't start until three, so why don't you see if we could arrange something beforehand?"
"Yes," I said, my eyes flicking away from Mick to see if Keith's eyes were still on us...and of course, they were. His arms were crossed across his chest now, in addition to the damned smirk on his lips. "That'd be good," I concluded.
Mick narrowed his eyes. "What're you looking at?" he asked as he tried to turn around.
"Nothing," I responded quickly, turning around and throwing my bag over my shoulder before leaving the room in a rush. "See you soon!"
"Leaving so soon?" Brian Jones asked as I passed him in the doorway. I brushed by him quickly. "Yeah, sorry, I have to go and get Julian. Gettin' a bit antsy since I haven't seen him in a while. Have a lovely evening, Bri."
⊹ ⊹ ⊹
I rolled up to Kenwood and was hit with distinct déjà vu almost immediately. It had been ages since I had been anywhere near the large house. It was incredibly strange to be back here right now.
My car rolled to a stop and my palms began to sweat anxiously as I climbed out of the car and started towards the front door. I rapped my knuckles against the wood gently as I swore to myself over and over again that I'd act normal. If I could avoid John ever figuring out about how my bloody day went, then that would be best for me, for him, and for everyone involved.
Finally, I was answered. John stood on the other side of the door, and when he saw me, he smiled and moved aside to let me in. "How is he?" I asked immediately.
"Doesn't look like he's getting much better," John responded and I widened my eyes.
"Do you think we should take him to see a doctor?" I questioned.
John shrugged. "How about you call your mum?" he answered. "Get a second opinion, you know."
I nodded. "Now, that is a good idea," I said. "Where is he?"
"Sleepin' again," John answered. "He missed ye today."
The words pulled at my heartstrings and once again, I began to regret leaving him behind, but then I remembered who he was with this time. "But, at least he had you," I responded. "Was he good for you?"
John nodded. "We watched some TV," he responded. "I told him some stories, even got him to listen to some of Peter Pan." He looked so pleased with himself that it was impossible not to smile at him.
"Really?" I asked. "You've been trying to get him to read that with you for so long."
"I think he might be starting to learn to read too." He grinned. "Was helpin' me sound out words even though he was half-asleep."
"You're telling me that he's smart? Clearly, he takes after me, amirite?" I smirked.
John rolled his eyes. "Ye underestimate me," he said. "After all, I do have two published books."
"Yeah," I tutted. "Two books of bloody nonsense."
"I'm clearly just too smart for you. You have to be really evolved to understand my intelligence. Guess you just aren't there yet."
I giggled. "Maybe I'm not," I responded.
There was a brief moment where neither of us said anything, then John spoke again. "Guess we made a little genius, didn't we?" he asked.
I nodded with a chuckle. "I guess we did."
John took a deep breath and his eyes traveled around the room as if he were looking for something to stare at that wasn't my face. "Alissa, can I talk to ye?" he asked.
"About what?" I asked nervously, hoping to God he wouldn't say anything about us because I was still thinking about what had happened with Keith earlier and I wasn't entirely sure if I was ready to discuss...us.
"About us," he answered and I nearly slapped myself in the damned face. He always picked the worst times for these bloody discussions.
I sighed and suddenly, my eyes were scanning the walls to try and find anything else to discuss. "Yeah," I said. "Let's do it."
"Do what?" John's eyes widened.
"Talk about us, ye bloody idiot." I crossed my arms. "As long as you have something for me to eat."
"Ye want some more pizza?" he asked. "It's a frozen one, but—."
"Yes," I said. "I would love more pizza."
"A-alright," John stuttered, looking so damn flustered that I could have slapped him across the face. "I'll get it started, then," he said, scrambling toward the kitchen.
"Well, I'm going to the loo," I said before scurrying off in the opposite direction. When the door closed behind me and I was surrounded by the four white walls of Kenwood's downstairs bathroom, I turned around in a circle to take in my surroundings. There was a window on the back wall. If I really didn't want to do this, I could always just...escape. I could just keep running away and ignoring the elephant that sat in the middle of the room every time John and I were in the same room. I could keep pushing the problems aside and letting them grow until they exploded and I had to face them head-on. I could do all of that...but I could also tackle them a few times, keep them bubbled down until finally, they fizzled out, and either John and I ended up together or apart.
A very large part of my brain wanted to follow along with the first option like I always had done. It was the reason that every so often, I ended up with overwhelming thoughts of self-harm. But, wasn't the latter guilty of the same outcomes? Couldn't facing these problems head-on make me just as bloody suicidal as waiting it out?
Either way, I was probably going to feel like absolute shite afterward, so I might as well have benefitted myself in the long run.
I outstretched my palms in front of me and watched my hands tremble for just a few moments before I balled them into fists and turned to look in the mirror. I almost didn't recognize the face staring back. I looked as damn anxious as I felt. I looked like I was dreading this interaction as much as I was. I was awful at hiding my feelings, dammit.
I took a deep breath and ran my hands through my hair to smooth it out, then turned to leave the room again, mentally preparing myself for the discussion that was about to occur.
John was sitting on the couch casually when I made it back to the abnormally large living room. The two couches in the room were almost comically large and gave me enough room to put some distance between John and me when I awkwardly sat back down next to him.
"Where do we start?" I asked John because if he had instigated this conversation, then I fully expected him to have some sort of plan for it. This was, of course, stupid because John never had a plan for anything.
"No idea," he responded.
I sighed, trying to sift through the desolate wasteland that we were stuck in now and trying to find something to say, but I couldn't because our relationship at the moment was completely and utterly stagnant. Nothing was getting better, and nothing was really getting worse because it had pretty much already reached the lowest point that was possible.
"How long are you going to need to think this over, Liss?" John asked, his voice sounding desperate.
Keith's face flashed in my mind again and I brought a hand up to my forehead, sighing and collapsing against the back of the couch. "Christ, I don't know, John," I responded. "If I were to have cheated on you our entire marriage, how long would it take you to forgive me?"
"If ye felt as sorry as I do, then I'd probably be over it by now," he muttered, crossing his arms.
I rolled my eyes. "Somehow I doubt that," I responded.
"Such little faith you have in me, Alissa. Such a bloody skeptic."
"John, look," I responded, turning to the side so that I was looking at him. "My trust in you is fuckin' zero right now because all you did was lie to me. How the hell am I supposed to trust you if all you do is lie? When you say this shite to me, all this chatter about being sorry, do you know how hard it is for me to believe you? I want to," I said. "I want to believe you, more than anything in the world, but it's so damn hard. You made it so hard."
John looked at me like some sad puppy. "'M sorry, Lissy."
"How many times have I told ye not to call me that?" I mumbled.
"Sorry," he muttered and we fell silent. "There's just one thing I wanna say," John spoke up again.
"Yeah?" I answered.
"You're blaming everything on me," he said. "But, you told me that you were willing to at least try and fix things, but you do absolutely nothing to do that. In fact, sometimes it feels like you are trying to ruin everything. I believe it was you that told me that saying something doesn't do anything because you have to actually try. Do as you say, not as you do, amirite?" I stayed silent. "I want to fucking fix things, Alissa, but you make it bloody hard to do that. You're too damned stubborn, don't you fucking get it?"
"I'm just bloody insecure," I said, tears welling up in my eyes because it was so embarrassingly true. My goddamn insecurity felt like the cause of everything. I overthought every little thing and it drove me nothing short of insane. I was probably the most unorganized person ever. I couldn't even keep my own mind organized, let alone my entire life. I was always one thought away from having a damned breakdown and it was the worst way to live. I was miserable all the time, despite how much I loved certain aspects of my life.
I loved the feeling of accomplishment knowing that I was raising a lovely child (who was already learning to read even though it felt like mere days since I'd been writhing around in a hospital bed in anticipation of his first arrival into this world), and knowing that I had a job to support us. I was content with my success when it came to living on my own, falling into a routine with Julian. I was content with all this shite, yet I was still fucking depressed.
There were still times when the feelings of self-hatred were practically unbearable. There were still nights where I would lay awake in bed for hours because I had a million thoughts and a million worries that were impossible to calm down. I'd lay awake wondering if I was good enough for this, or for that. I'd lay awake and criticize myself for every little mistake I had ever made. I'd lay awake and wonder what it would be like if I fell asleep and never woke up again. I thought about how fucking peaceful it would be to feel nothing, to think nothing, to just fucking relax for once.
I had all these issues with myself that I was trying to get a hold of, so how in the world could I deal with trying to sustain a marriage at the same time? How could I go about pleasing John and keeping him content when I couldn't even do it for myself and when I could just barely get by with Julian?
The answer was simple. I couldn't. I couldn't keep him happy if I wasn't happy. I couldn't keep a healthy marriage when I was so filled with anger all the time that I snapped every time he said one word that I disagreed with. I couldn't do any of that if I didn't sometimes accept that I was wrong.
I was such a mess. Who was I to transfer that mess onto John's shoulders too?
I wanted things to work out with him. I wanted him to love me as much as I still loved him, and I still really loved him. Every time I looked at him, I still felt happier than when he wasn't here. None of my feelings had really changed toward him, except that I was pissed at him for breaking my heart and then expecting me to forgive him immediately. He'd bloody ruined me. He'd ruined my happiness, he'd ruined my self-esteem, he'd pretty much ruined my entire damned life. How in the hell was I supposed to get over that in less than six months?
Was I being unreasonable?
"Mummy?" I let out a sigh of relief when Julian spoke, turning away from John and toward the doorway where the little boy was standing, dragging a blanket along with him.
"Hey, Jules, how was your day with Daddy?" I asked as he came over to see me. He crawled up on the couch and curled up against me. I adjusted the blanket around him.
"It was good," Julian responded. "I wanna stay with him all night."
I couldn't stop the pain in my heart as I heard the words. It made me feel even worse than John's conversation had. Even so, I forced myself to smile at Julian. "As long as that's alright with Daddy," I responded, looking over at John. I knew that John could see in my eyes how I really felt about this. He knew how much it hurt me, and it appeared he looked a bit guilty about it, but I didn't care. Julian deserved some time with John. If John and I were going to be split, I wagered I'd have to get more used to this.
"Of course, that's alright with me, Jules," John responded with a vague smile.
Jesus bloody Christ.