I had been staring at the pale blue of Martin's tiled loo floor, my head against the toilet, afraid I was going to throw up again. I felt shaky, empty, but I thought if I kept throwing up, I could rid myself of what Danny told me. I don't want to think about it, I thought, eyes wide, staring at the floor.
I wanted John. I wanted to feel his arms around me, stroking my hair, telling me it was all going to be all right. I knew he would. He would do anything for me.
"Cora?" Someone knocked on the door. I lifted my head. "Hey, Martin?" I called towards the door.
"It's, uh, yeah, it's Martin," a male voice called, and there was shuffling of feet, someone hissing, move, and then I heard Martin. "Cora! Are you all right?"
I flushed the toilet. "Yes. Just... just an upset stomach, is all."
"Do you need anything?"
"Uh... no. Actually, could I call... no. It's fine. I'll just catch a cab home." I stood up and washed my hands, and then exited the loo, hoping my face wasn't too flushed. All I wanted to do was get home as fast as possible. I had completely forgotten about those two until Danny had reminded me. They were figures of my past. My mother was a figure of my past. June too was a figure of my past, as was Danny, but the damn bastard kept showing up everywhere in my life. Fuck time travel!
I scooped up my purse. "I'll see you, Martin," I said quietly as I half ran out of his flat and quickly sped down the stairs. Panting a little, I reached into my purse only to realize I only had a few quid, not enough to get me back to our little flat. I swore a little, my breath making little circles in the air.
"Need some quid?" I heard next to me.
"Fuck off," I spat. "I don't need your weed money." I turned away from him.
"You don't have enough." Even though I couldn't see him, I could very easily imagine him, standing there, the money held loosely in the hand closest to me, staring off into the sky.
"Why would you tell me that?" I said, a sob crowding my throat.
"You need to know the truth," he said, and I could have been imagining it but I heard his voice get choky as well. The quid was pushed into my hand and I saw the tips of his fingers in the outer corner of my vision, hailing a cab. The door was opened and I clambered inside quickly.
"Don't forget," he hissed and I almost shut the door on his fingers. As the cab drove away, I lay my head on the black leather and sighed out my address to the faceless driver.
Yes. Danny had told me about Jane and Ryan, two figures I never thought I would see again. How when I left, did I forget about them? Yes. Yes, I did. The two of them grew really close. I saw Danny's lips, mouth opening in opposite directions as he annunciated, really close. For a couple of months actually. They were inseparable.
And then they had found out Jane being there was messing things up, Danny explained to me. For history. Butterfly effect. His tone was on the very verge of duh, as I knew Danny, but he was carefully reigning it in. It was hard, but Ryan had had to let Jane go. He saw it in his book, Danny rushed to explain. He saw a world without Jane and it was not good. Things happened which we're not supposed to happen. Too many people he knew didn't exist. Ryan had first cursed the book, but then realized it was the right choice, and Jane had left. He was sad, Danny hastened to explain, and I opened my mouth to yell at him screw you, you don't know anything, but I had rushed into the loo instead, my hand over my mouth.
I had forgotten all about Jane and Ryan, I thought to myself as the cab pulled up to our flat. The thing I hated the absolute most was that Danny made it sound so easy that Ryan was able to let Jane go. That it should be so goddamn easy.
"That'll be five quid, miss," the driver said, leaning over the headrest of the front seat, his mustache hiding his expression, eyebrows raised. I reached into my purse to extract the quid, but I felt a hand on my knee.
"Miss... do you live here alone?" He asked, pressing into my space, too quickly, too close.
"My boyfriend..." I barely managed to gasp out, eyes darting toward the window, but the car was shrouded in shadow, purring in a vacant, lightless corner. Everything seemed to be in slow motion, but I knew I needed, needed to make the right choices in order to get out of this alive.
"Boyfriend, eh? Bet he doesn't treat yer pretty face the way a real man should." He reached forward to unbuckle his seatbelt and I tried frantically to rattle the knob at the door, but it was locked.
"Don't be afraid of me," he said, and his hand crept up farther up my leg. I sat, frozen, nothing going through my head but John saying, Maybe it's different in the future but here, people get mugged, or raped, or worse. I couldn't believe this was happening. "Get off me, please," I gasped out, hating myself for the please.
"Try me, love," he said, and I couldn't tell if he meant try me, in your attempt to get out of here, or try yourself at being with me. Time slowed for a few minutes. I could feel every hair of contact of his finger pads with my bare leg. He was enjoying this, taking it slow.
"Please, I'll—" I started, but there was suddenly a terrific crash at his window and I saw his eyes widen and his arms go slack, his great paw of a hand sliding down my bare leg. I yelped, whipping my head toward the window, and saw John, holding a rock, which he had used to shatter the window, panting, rage spread across the brown in his eyes. My eyes followed his other hand to a pocket knife, to the pocket knife, the pocket knife stuck in the man's thigh.
"Open... her... fucking... door."
"My leg," the driver groaned, his face rapidly turning red.
John stuck the knife in farther. "Now!"
The driver howled and turned a switch, and I fumbled for my senses and got out of the car, breathing in the air, trembling at what had just happened and at the knife in John's hand.
"John!"
He wrenched the knife from the driver's leg and collected me in his arms. My fingers squeezed tightly against his skin. He was wearing a light shirt and pajama pants, and his shoes were on backwards. "If you tell anyone about your leg, I'll mention exactly what you did to invoke it, you scum." He looked like he was going to strike the driver again, but his face suddenly went slack, and I gently guided him back into the flat, away from the scene.
***
John was throwing up in the toilet.
I sat on the bed in our room, holding the bloody knife, and then decided to go wash and for good measure, bleach it. Some of the blood had gotten on my hand. I reached out to turn on the taps and watched the red flow down the drain.
"Cora?" I heard his call from down the hallway.
"Washing the knife, love," I called back to him.
"Could you come here?"
I had been afraid to go near him afterward, still unsure of what he might do or what he wanted. But now that he asked, I opened the door and headed across the hallway to the shared loo. Like I said, it was hard to live in the flat, but we had gotten used to sharing a loo with our neighbors. An older woman in her forties, Charlotte, opened her door a crack. "Yer man all right, love?"
"Yes thanks, Charlie. He ate something wrong." I paused to smile at her.
"Hope he feels better."
"Thanks love." I pushed open the door to the toilet and knelt beside John. "Are ye okay?"
"I hurt him, Cora," he said, eyes wide. "I stuck a bloody knife into him."
"You needed too," I said. "I was in danger. Blimey, John, how many times will you save me? How many times does my idiot self require it from not listening to ye? How do you always show up at the right times?" I blinked back tears, sitting down on the floor of the loo. "I love you."
"I love you too," he said. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. Let's get you cleaned up."
"What do you—oh." He had gently raised my skirt and reached for a washcloth, rubbing soap on it and attacking my knee with a ferocity, where the cab driver's hands had touched me. Even though it hurt, I let him, closing my eyes and leaning back, letting the biting sting of John's energy take away my embarrassment and shame. Maybe we wouldn't talk about it.
***
I love you, I thought, hugging a pillow in front of me, eyes wide open in the darkness. I couldn't tell if John was awake or not, but if he was, he didn't want to talk.
I love you, I love you, I thought but I couldn't bring myself to say it. It was like my daftness was obscuring my path to speak. And so I drifted off into a light sleep.
—was flying down, arms held to my sides like a rocket, passing clouds along the way, feeling like my face was peeling off, the wind whistling between my teeth.
Stop, I didn't want to dream this again.
John with me, me and him with the world going by, his boyish grin in perfect synchronicity with the blue sky and white clouds. "I saved ye, Cora! I love ye!"
"I love you too, John, I love you," I said, the words coming out that I couldn't say in real life, my real self sleeping like a cat next to the man I loved.
We weren't flying any more, now though, we were standing in a black and white tiled hallway, staring at two doors at the end of the hallway.
"Alice in wonderland, eh, love?" John's hand found mine. I squeezed it and laughed. He bent and whispered, "Will you be my white rabbit?"
"If only you'll be my—" I started, but Michael appeared before me. "Which way will you go?" I expected his two faces this time and take a glance at John, but he looked confused. I was too. Did he see Michael?
"We have to choose," I told John. I stepped toward the bright orange door on my left, which shrunk as I approach. Maybe I was getting larger. Sign management contract, it said.
"Once you choose, you cannot go back," Michael's right face reminded me.
"Silly. All your choices in the future inevitably affect your past," his left face said.
"That doesn't make sense."
"Time is a circle. History repeats itself."
"Let her choose!"
I ignored the faces, realizing that John being here was in fact worse. He couldn't see Michael, but he could see the doors: the one that said, Sign management contract, and the other one saying, Return to your present time. The words are uninviting. John tugs at my sleeve like a little boy. "Which one are you going to choose?" He asked. "Well, Julia?" Did he say Julia? Did he say her name instead of mine? I didn't know, but something was creeping up my back. It was darkness. I turned around; the hallway had begun to grow dark, the light diminishing throughout the long corridor. "Choose, girl," the right face snarled. "Quickly."
"Michael, help me," I begged again with desperation. "Please. You always had opinions about everything."
"Not in this dream world. But Cora, I know you can make the right choice."
"I want to wake up! I don't want to choose!" I want to wake up! I want to wake up! I—
"Love?"
"Oh, John, John, John, I love you, I love you so much, I didn't say it before, but I do." I sat up, gasping, and he said, "Bad dream?"
"Yes. I dreamt... I just dreamt I had to leave you."
"You can't leave me," he said, uncertain. "You made a promise. Oh, what the hell am I saying. Fuck the promise. You simply do." We were both silent, hearing the sounds of the night. His eyes followed the shaft of moonlight which rested on the kitchen door, his fingers stroking my skin. Us in our own home. I was so grateful.
***
I was exhausted the next morning, but John had gotten up to make breakfast today for a change, bringing it to me in bed. Tinned fish and a bit of egg, but it was made with love and I didn't complain. The breakfast now currently sat in my stomach, though, as we all sat across Brian Epstein. Everyone was on time this time, miraculously. Paul was seated with his foot across his knee, looking apprehensive. George was fiddling with a piece of wire in his hands.
"As you know, Beatles, in order for me to manage you, I've needed to speak to your guardians."
"You were able to persuade Mimi just like that," John said dryly, snapping his fingers on the last word. "Just showed up like that in yer tie and fancy car." The others stifled giggles and Brian pretended not to notice but plowed on and turned to me. "Cora, you didn't give me notice about who your guardians are."
"I'm twenty," I said. "Isn't—isn't that old enough?" I had been putting this off for as long as I could help it.
"I'm afraid not," Brian said, pressing the tips of his fingers together. "Twenty one is the age of consent."
"I... I don't have contact with my guardians," I said quietly. Old life. Brian didn't push it. "No relatives at all?"
I shook my head, and then brightly said, "Oh, I don't have to be part of the band, if that fixes things. It's all right! Just get someone else.
Paul rounded on me, incredulous. "Cora—"
Brian got there first. "Cora, you're needed. You're part of the deal. It's you part of the band or I don't manage it at all. Listen, um, three days from today. Yes, I can do that. I can get something legal sorted out with you. But if you're out, you need to tell me."
George spoke up. "You mean to say, Brian, if Cora for—" he turned to stare at me "—some reason doesn't want to be managed and have our band get better, you won't manage us any more?"
"It's her or nothing," he said. "She's got the energy. In fact, I think all of you do. It wouldn't be the same with any of you missing." He laughed. "So all of you have to be part of the deal, and then bob's your uncle, I manage you, we get more gigs, get paid more—what do you say? Three days, come back and we'll sign the thing." He grinned, the boys were laughing, and I was laughing with them, but I wasn't sure, exactly at what.