Yesterday.

It was raining lightly today, nothing like it was the past week. Liverpool was just so… so… bland…nothing to do, especially when you’re a Beatles girl. I’ve gotten beat up several times now by deranged fans who swear on their lives that they will end up with one of them, though I know as a fact that they never will. I’ve never told Paul, or George for that matter, what happens. They don’t need the added stress, so I keep quiet. I say I fell down my staircase whenever one of them comments on my bruises, or what have them. Being me, it was a likely story.

But, there was especially nothing to do when you’re a guilty Beatles girl. In my state, I wouldn’t go out anyway. I’ve been completely… miserable since they’ve been gone. I hate him. I hate him. I hate John Winston Lennon! Why would be do that to me? If he cared about me, then why would he do that? If he cared about Paul. The whole thing just killed me.

And the worst part was, I would dream about him. It’s disgusting. I would have dreams about Paul, suddenly realizing they were John. That’s why I hated myself.

I curled myself tighter into the little ball I was in, and sighed, pressing my eyes against my knees. I just wanted Paul to get home, so I could go back and stay at his house so I wouldn’t have to deal with my mom anymore. I almost hate her more than John. Almost.

I was just having a bad week. Paul was gone, John had ruined my esteem, and my mother had to bring up the subject of my father.

I was leaving for work, and I left my house keys on the mantle. She came running after me, yelling about how much she didn’t want to have to be home to let me in later. I told her to bugger off and go fuck some stiff she met at a pub, and she snarled, and told me I was just like my father.

This wouldn’t affect normal people. If I was just like everyone else, I would have walked away with my nose high, not caring. But this was me, so I freaked out.

-Earlier-

”My father would never say that.” I growled, my teeth clenched together, my eyes narrowing.

She laughed, the kind of laugh that made my stomach twist, and my blood start to boil in my veins.

“My father.” I breathed, “was an amazing man. I guess I take more after you on the bitch side.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your father’s dead, get over it.”

“MAYBE IF YOU WOULD REMEMBER HIM!” I screamed, putting my face closer to hers, threatening her to say another thing. I cleared my throat, my stiff knees unbuckling and my hands falling from my chest to my hips.

“I don’t care to.” She shrugged, “He was a terrible man. Ugly, naive… stupid, considering the way he died.”

My heart lunged into my throat, but not like it did when Paul was around. Like it did when it was about to combust.

“He was murdered.” I pushed, “…murdered. And you think it’s stupid? He was mugged, and shot. Stupid? STUPID? Oh, stupid in your standards. He’s stupid because he didn’t shag the guy with the gun before he killed him, huh?”

My mother threw me to the ground, and placed one of her high heeled boot toes on my upper chest, pressing down. I struggled, and tried to push her away, but she kept pushing.

“You shut up, you little slut. Just wait until one of your boyfriends gets murdered, then you’ll see. Then you’ll have nothing, and I’ll have everything, because you’ll kill yourself, and I can have all of your father’s money, because the bastard was too stupid to leave it to me in the will.”

I used all of my power to yank her foot off and throw her to the ground, and I stood, and ran.

**

I didn’t come home from work that night. I slept at Haley’s house, on her parent’s couch. They didn’t seem to mind, they were at work all day, and Haley was going to a community school every other day. I wished that my mother was dead instead of my father. My father was such a… brilliant man. And what did she mean by one of my boyfriends getting killed? They were the smartest guys I know (even John.), and no one in the whole world would be deranged enough to murder any of them. They’re so lovable.

My thoughts drifted around my room, my eyes closed. I wasn’t asleep, just peacefully thinking. Suddenly, there were hands around my waste. I jumped a bit, fearing my mother finally trying to do away with me, but then I felt lips on my neck, and I relaxed, but just for a second. In the next second, I turned around and leaped on top of him, gluing my lips against his, ferociously kissing with all of my might.

He gently put his hands on my chest, and pulled me back, wrapping his arms around my waste.

“Oy, Ann! You’re gonna kill me one of these days, you know that?”

I laughed, and pressed my lips against his again, more lightly this time. I loved the familiar feeling of his skin, it always brightened my mood. For a split second, I forgot all about John Lennon. But when the thought of John’s lips crossed my mind, I became disgusted with myself.

“What?” He looked me straight in the eye, and I sighed.

“Nothing. I love you.”

“I love you too, Ann.”

“No, Paul. I love you.”

He smiled, “And I love you too. Really.”

I didn’t waste time kissing him again.