you really got a hold on me | john lennon

CHAPTER FIFTY SIX

February 25th, 1961

John brought the both of us into his room and slammed the door shut behind us, my heart still beating out of my chest. I couldn't wrap my head around anything that had just happened tonight; none of it seemed real. All of it just appeared as some horrible nightmare that I was yet to wake up from. A long nightmare that had started in Hamburg and hadn't stopped since then, still haunting me back in a place I considered home. This was exactly what I was afraid was going to happen, possibly even worse. We dragged all these other people into our problems, and even ruined George's birthday because of things we had yet to sort out. How silly it was for me to even think I was safe from it just because John cracked some joke. It must've shown how desperate I had gotten for just some sort of normalcy since all this chaos ensued.

His tough yet oddly calculated hold on my arm remained as he had an angry look in his eyes that sent chills down my spine. He knew what he was doing. John was doing just enough to scare me...but not tight by any means to hurt. And that made it even worse in my eyes. If someone from outside this whole situation were to look at us and saw me almost in bloody tears over him holding me rather normally—it would make me look ridiculous. But they wouldn't ever know what was going through John's head as I did and grasp whatever it was that made what he was doing so terrifying.

"John, please, just fuckin' say something to me," I tried pulling away from him but his hold on me didn't budge. If I wasn't terrified of saying the wrong thing in the moment and breaking the thin ice we were walking on, surely I could've said something to defend myself more than that. We both were in the wrong for this one, not just me. And this was the first time I could be confident in saying that when it came to John and I through all our faults. "Please. We can talk this out."

I was hoping that a simple talk with John could change whatever his intentions were, but he and I were very much past that point. Every new argument that sparked between him and I was yet another blow to add on to all the other issues we shared but never truly fixed. I knew deep down when this first started that tossing our problems aside would cause us trouble in the long run, but I never would've guessed for it to get this bad. To think that all this could've been avoided if we had simply talked all of this out. But I suppose it was far too late for clinging on to possibilities that were long gone.

But what was I even doing now? Pleading with my boyfriend into not doing something that he might regret. As far as I know, nothing functional or happy for that matter was supposed to go down like this. We were going down the same path as Paul and I did. And that one didn't end so well for any of us, now did it?

"John, look at me," I brought a shaking, hesitant hand up to John's cheek and rubbed my thumb back and forth soothingly. He closed his eyes for a moment and looked like he was reminiscing on those happier times just like I had used to, before opening them back up with that same hard look in them. "I know that you would never hurt me on purpose, alright? And no matter how fucking sloshed you are right now, I know all of this is still getting through to yer head."

But after slowly taking in each of my words, John finally let go of me and took my hand off of his face. I toppled backwards on the bed—my legs having started to give out while I tried talking John out of whatever he possibly could be thinking of. I looked at his face in hopes of a change of expression for the better, maybe even a hint of his usual sappy self with me, and I somehow got that...but in not the way that I was thinking of. His face now read more of that of a fed up one rather than an angry one, and I had no idea whether or not to take this as a win. Something in me just gave a slight twinge that we were just getting started with whatever that was still to come tonight.

He looked at me on the bed for a moment before heading to the door, shaking his head and murmuring some things under his breath. When he looked at me now it was almost like he was looking at some dead weight, a burden rather. John used to look at me with awe and hopefully even love, and now there was none of that to be seen. Maybe I was a burden to him no matter how many times he denied and said otherwise, just because he couldn't find a way to say it without making himself feel like utter shite.