This is short. It's more of a conversation than anything but hey ho let's go!
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You woke with a jump. Unfamiliar room. Unfamiliar bed. Unfamiliar everything. You collected your thoughts as you sat up, clutching the sheets to your naked form and taking in the room. It was definitely a hotel room and a very nice one, at that. There was a little menu for room service on the dresser with the name of the hotel on it. The Morisot Hotel. Thank God! It was just down the street from where you lived.
Once you knew where you were, you turned to have a look at last night's lucky bastard.
That's John Lennon. You'd slept with John Lennon? Where the hell did you get John Lennon from anyway? He likely wouldn't even remember you either, given how much you'd both probably drank to end up here. Not that it bothered you per se, you got what you wanted out of it too.
You found last night's clothes and shoes. Luckily the walk of shame wouldn't be too noticeable as your outfit was rather casual. When you were wearing your trousers, boots and bra, holding your shirt in your hand, you felt a rush of hangover headache but pushed it away. Before managing to pull the shirt over your head you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. Smoothing your hair down and wiping the little black smudged under your eyes.
"Oh," You whipped round. John Lennon was awake now apparently. He sat up. A cocky expression on his face. "Leaving so soon? Normally they stay as long as they can."
"Erm...yeah. Sorry." You turned back to the mirror, trying to look presentable enough to leave without raising too much eyebrows.
"So, you got somewhere to be?" He asked, his face betraying his cool demeanour, as he looked puzzled. You don't care to find out what has him so perplexed as you were busy trying to come up with excuses for being late to work, you couldn't say your car had broken down again.
"I start work in an hour" You say without looking but you could see some of him in the mirror.
"Right. I can't remember your name, sorry."
"That's okay, never mind." You quip, in playful voice. Also because you didn't want to tell him. What did he care? It didn't matter.
He tilted his head to one side. Why was she so quick to leave? Surely meeting someone like him was higher on your list of priorities than your job? Or was he being too arrogant? Maybe she just didn't like him, he didn't like him sometimes, and wanted out right then.
"Okay. Okay, I think I know what's going on" he smiled, reaching for a pack of cigarettes. "You don't-"
"You can't smoke in here." You tell him, finally turning around, he gets a good look at you. He drops the pack and holds his hands up in fake surrender.
"You don't know who I am, do you?"
The cocky look on his face was annoying you. He was under the impression that because he was being treated like a regular person that you must not know that he was some international sensation. Obviously you did. You lived in London where famous rockstars came to party all the time. They constantly ended up in your local clubs when you were out with friends but this was the first time you'd slept with one.
"Yeah, I do."
"No, I don't think y-"
"John Lennon. Beatles. 'Love Me Do' and the rest." You tell him, finally pulling your shirt on.
He goes quiet, looking at you funny. It felt weird to be treated like this. He had grown accustomed to being spoken to with higher regard. The only people who didn't care who he was were this woman here and the policeman that pulled him over last July. But this woman was far less rude. She was just unfazed.
"Well, that's me told, isn't it? You know me, so why are you running off?"
"I'm not running, I have work," you tell him matter-of-factly. Genuinely curious about his preferred reaction, you risk asking: "Why? What did you expect me to do?"
"I- I don't know. Just figured- you don't care?"
"About what?"
"Who I am?"
"Am I meant to? We both got a good night out of this, I don't see why anything else should matter. Not like we're ever going to meet again." You laugh a little in confusion. Surely this was the desired outcome all around?
"You never know. Can I have your name?" He asks, all trace of cockiness gone.
"Why?"
"Just in case I do see you again."
You laugh and pull on your jacket which was laying on the ground next to the bed.
"You won't." There's a degree of certainty and finality that he doesn't know whether to argue with or not. Maybe you just thought he wouldn't recognise you if the two of you ever met again, given that the alcohol had already stolen your name from his memory.
"You gonna make sure of that?"
"The likelihood of you ever meeting me again is tiny. I don't go out very often so you probably just won't see me again, that's all."
"Unless I look for you."
"And why would you do that?" There's silence for a moment. He watches as you give him a deadpan look, all traces of makeup smudges now gone from your face. There's basically no tells that say you'd just come back from a one night stand with a pop star.
"Where do you work?"
"Brinkley Community School. I'm a teacher."
"Fuckin 'ell, if my teachers looked like you I might've payed attention at school" He grins and sits up more. You laugh a bit too, now scooping up your bag, further preparing to leave.
"C'mon, it's just yer name. Please? You know mine." He attempts once more.
"(Y/N)," you give in, looking over at him. "It's been fun, John Lennon. Get home safe."
That was a phrase he didn't hear too much anymore. Get home safe. The crippling normality of her words and attitude were something he quite liked. And she was stunning. John didn't know many 'down to earth' people these days, but she would have made the list had he really known her. But maybe he would.
"See you soon, (Y/N)."