June 4, 1962
"Do you think Brian would trust us with our own room?"
We were heading back to London tomorrow for a week or so. The boys were meeting with George Martin in two days and recording for the BBC a few days after that. It was hard to tell if they were nervous about meeting with Martin or not. Either way, I knew they were excited one way or another.
John and I were at my house while Brian was at work. He was leaning against the wall and I was sprawled across his lap lazily, his hands stroking my hair lovingly. We didn't really have anything to do today. It was just a whole lot of waiting.
"Probably not," I said flatly. "Did I tell you what he said the night after we got back from Lübeck?" I asked, recalling the occurrence with a strong wave of disapproval.
John thought a moment, then shook his head. "I don't think you mentioned it."
I frowned, fiddling with a pen in my hands. "He told me you were a bad influence," I said, rolling my eyes gloomily.
John grinned down at me mischievously. "Well, he's not exactly wrong." He shrugged, his stare suggestive.
I shook my head. "Unbelievable."
"I just can't help myself. You're like a drug. I can't get enough. I always want more."
I sat up, turning to face him. "Do you?" I replied, my voice titillating, too innocent.
He nodded, leaning forward. I put a finger to his lips, a smirk on my lips. "Donna," he whined.
I let my eyes search him for a moment before he forcefully attached his lips to mine with purpose, pulling me as close to him as he possibly could. I didn't do anything to stop him, ecstasy coursing its way from my head to my toes.
~~~
A knocking on the front door jerked us far apart. I jumped away from him quickly, scrambling to get dressed.
"Shit," he said after that, realization washing over his face. "We have a rehearsal."
I sighed. "Only you would forget that, you git." He shrugged innocently.
I went to race downstairs to let Paul and George in, flattening my hair with my hands. When I opened the door, they were turning to leave. They turned back around when they heard the door open quicker than it should have.
"John's in the bathroom," I said quickly. "Wh-what are you doing here?" I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, trying not to blush.
"We just—we came to take John," answered George.
"Right, right," I said, a haze of awkwardness settling over the three of us. Thankfully, John joined us at the door then, fully-clothed and not suspicious in the slightest.
"What's up?" he asked, playing it off as if nothing had happened. I don't think Paul and George were exactly convinced, but I was happy they didn't say anything.
"Okay, lets do this!" said John, taking my hand and walking me out of the house. I reached for my purse next to the door and closed the door behind me in the same motion.
June 5, 1962
That night I had the same dream about my parents I'd had that night in Hamburg with John. Just like before, I couldn't move or say anything. I had to sit there and watched as they were killed.
I jerked awake, breathing deeply, tears streaming down my face. I took a pillow and brought it to my face, falling back down with a groan. I repositioned myself about a hundred times before I decided I wasn't ever going to fall back asleep and went over towards my window, giving a little glance at the clock that read 2:00 AM.
In the corner of my windowsill was a little pile of rocks that I'd used to summon John what felt like years ago. I smiled reminiscently a moment before picking one of them up and tossing it across. It missed it just narrowly. The distance was longer than I'd remembered. I threw another one. It hit hard with a little click! I was surprised we hadn't busted a window doing this yet.
Not a minute later, John came to the window, dressed in only his boxers. I blushed at the sight of him, thankful there was a sliver of darkness to hide my face. I saw his desk lamp flip on and he leaned his head on his hand, staring at me with a tired smile.
"Good morning to you," he said teasingly.
"Sorry," I replied, flipping my lamp on too, my voice trailing off into a sigh.
"Everything alright?" he asked, looking downcast at the fact that something may be wrong over here.
I nodded. "I just had that same dream again," I explained. "Couldn't go back to sleep."
He nodded. "You never exactly told me what it was about. You didn't get to finish."
I shrugged. "It's just a silly dream I had about my parents being killed. It's like—." I stopped talking to think. "I'm in the car with them and you can hear them scream and when I try to say something or scream myself it just doesn't c-come out a-a-and—." John stopped me, beckoning me with a wave of his hand. I leaned my head against the side of my window, closing my eyes for a moment. "I wish you were over here," I said glumly.
"Welllll," he said, giving me a smile. "Isn't Brian going down to NEMS before we leave tomorrow?" He balanced his head on his hands and batting his eyelashes innocently.
I shook my head, a mischievous smile playing on my lips. "Yes, he is. Why, exactly?"
"Mimi's not over here and won't be for a week, so I was thinking—?"
"Which way around?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "You here or me there?"
"Hmm—." He thought about it. "You here," he decided, smirking.
I rolled my eyes again. "Fine." I closed the window and flipped the light off, slipping out of my bedroom door, arranging some pillows as best as I could to look like I was still laying down, just in case Brian came to check on me the next morning.
I slipped through the darkness and out into the night with a fleece blanket around my shoulders. John was waiting on his porch in a pair of checkered pajama pants, a cigarette between his lips.
"Cold?" he asked, a smile dancing on his lips as he studied me up and down.
I shook my head. "Why?"
"You look like it's two degrees out here," he commented with a laugh.
I rolled my eyes. "Make fun of me some more, will you?" I smirked. He stomped his cigarette out and opened the door, gesturing for me to come in. I followed him in, noticing how the atmosphere seemed to change. I instantly more at home being alone with him. The thought tinged my cheeks pink.
He led me upstairs and pulled me close to him, singing under his breath lightly.
"There ain't no reason for you to declare war on the one who loves you so."
It didn't take long for his voice to lull me off.