February 11, 1964
Brian woke all of us up by banging on our doors. I jolted awake and curled closer up to John next to me, not wanting to move. I lifted my head to take a look at the clock that read eight. We'd only been asleep three hours.
John's arms tightened around me. "Why'd you let me drink anything?" he asked, burying his head in my neck.
"I couldn't stop you," I replied. There was another series of banging on the door and we both groaned as we sat up. I shivered against the cold atmosphere of the hotel room and John's arms settled around me. The striped flannel pajamas he had on were warm and inviting.
"Let's get up, then?" he asked groggily.
I nodded and threw the blanket off of us reluctantly so we could get ready.
~~~
"I've got to have you on a train in thirty minutes," said Brian as we were downstairs eating breakfast. All four of the boys looked like they could pass out at any moment.
"A train? We're not flying?"
Brian shook his head. "There's a snowstorm coming. Flying has been deemed unsafe."
John nodded and looked back down at his plate.
"I've got to have a chat with you two," Brian added, pointing to John and I.
I sighed defeatedly, pushing my plate away, seeing John look up in sheer confusion. "Before you say anything—."
"Save it."
I put my hands up in surrender, standing up to put the plate away even though I'd barely eaten anything, feeling someone follow behind me.
"What'd John do, then?" I heard Paul ask.
I frowned sourly. "I suspect you'll see the pictures in a few days time. Word sure does spread fast, doesn't it?"
Paul smirked. "I told Brian you two could never be discrete. Especially when drunk." He winked and I glared at him, turning to leave.
"And I wasn't drunk," I added. "That was on him."
"Feisty this morning, are we?" He ran to catch up with me.
"Shut up, Paul."
"You three go get the instruments," Brian was saying to George and Ringo when Paul and I returned. He'd also pointed to Paul when he'd come up. The three grudgingly walked away. That left John, sitting with his head balanced on one of his hands, and me, leaning against the table on my hands.
"Why are people asking me who 'John's girlfriend' is?" He asked, keeping his voice calm, even.
"I truthfully have no idea," answered John. Of course he wouldn't. They both looked at me.
"Look, Bri, John didn't know what he was doing. Besides, it was just a kiss. It'll blow over soon, right?" The last words came out as mere squeaks. Even though I was slightly terrified of what Brian might do, deep down I was relieved that I didn't have to pretend I didn't have anything to do with John when out.
Brian frowned. "You better hope it blows over."
"I'm sorry, Brian," said John, not looking up to meet anyone's eyes.
"Donna, come with me to get the car ready. John, go help the others."
"I'm sorry," John whispered as he brushed past me when Brian had turned to leave.
I shook my head. "Don't be sorry."
~~~
"Why does it bother you, though?" I asked Brian as we were waiting for the boys to come back down. "It's our problem and we'll handle it. And why were you so keen on keeping us a secret, but not everyone else? What's so special about us?" My voice was desperate for answers. The words fell out in a heap.
Brian frowned at me. "Because, Donna, you and I both know that you don't need all that attention on you. You're my assistant and John's my client. The press would have a few things to say about all that."
I frowned in return. "What if I don't mind the attention? What if I think it's a fair price to pay to just be with John?" I asked bitterly, kicking rocks at my feet. Brian and I were waiting out back, where the boys were actually going to be coming out. Bystanders all thought they were coming out the front door.
Brian shrugged. "Then, it seems you've got this under control, then?" he asked. "I don't need to help you? You don't need me?"
"I didn't say that! Now you're just putting words—." I began, whipping my head up quickly, but when we heard the door open behind us, I left the scene, going to get into the car without saying anything.
"Brian said to tell ye we're going—," John began when he'd gotten in the car with me.
"I know where we're going," I responded before he finished.
"I'm sorry—," he said. "Are you okay, love?"
'No,' my brain immediately said, but my lips didn't move around the words. 'I feel like I could throw up.'
"Yes," I said aloud instead, my voice softening. "I'm sorry."
"Yer not mad at me, are you?" John asked, fumbling with my hand across the console.
I shook my head quickly. "No, no, I'm not mad at you, John." I sighed.
"But, you're mad at someone." He could read me like I was an open book.
I didn't know how to respond, but before I could give an attempt, the back doors opened and the other three were getting in. The crowd had found us now, so they were yelling at one another to get in and close the doors.
I gave John an apologetic look that said we'd talk later, hoped he could read it, started the car, and sped away.
The drive there I kept my eyes firmly fixed on the road, gripping the steering wheel with such force I felt I could have snapped a glass with just my hands. I heard the three in the back talking amongst themselves, but I noticed the absence of John's voice and I knew he was watching me. He could tell something was wrong with me and I could tell it was killing him. I really wished he would talk. His voice was what I always focused on when I got stressed.
The boys had had a special car hooked up to the back of the train for them to ride in when we finally got to where we were going.
The train ride itself was fun, but I didn't really say much. I watched intently as the band played with some cards they had on them, laughing when the small table they'd set up was bounced by the uneven train tracks and the cards got messed up. John kept his hand firmly around my wrist and that's when I finally felt myself relax.