4 Hours

Chapter 1

"So is this what you meant by studying?" he asked, enraged. I clutched my guitar, scared as to what he might do. "Dad, I was only taking a break, I swear!" I tried to explain, but was cut short by a familiar whipping sensation across my face. I put my fingers to my face, only to find them streaked with blood. "James Paul McCartney, I will not tolerate this behavior in my household!". He threw me outside and told me not to bother to come back. I decided on going to John's.

When I reached his house, I was confused as to how I was going to get his attention. I couldn't just ring the doorbell for it could wake up his Aunt Mimi. "John, get your bloody arse up!" I whisper-screamed while throwing pebbles at his bedroom window. I nearly hit him in the face with one as he cracked it open. "Aye, you almost hit me you bloody git!" he yelled, clearly not aware of what time it was. I shushed him and asked if I could come inside. He let out a long dramatic sigh, but went downstairs and opened the door for me anyway. Once we were inside and in his room, he asked me the dreaded question. "So, mister McCartney, would you like to tell me why you came to my house at" he paused to check the clock hanging in his bedroom "nearly a quarter past one in the morning?" It was still dark in his room so he wasn't able to see the cuts on my face. I turned on the light and immediately saw John's face turn from confusion to sympathy. "Yer dad did this to ye'?" he questioned me, eyes filling with rage. I contemplated lying to him, but I already knew that he would see right through me.  I nodded my head solemnly. Instead of asking more questions, he patted the spot beside him in the bed, motioning me to come. I lied down and started to doze off. "You can sleep now, but just know that when you wake up you'll be answering my questions." I giggled at his classic Lennon humor. After what seemed like ages, I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I woke up to the sound of a Chuck Berry record playing. I looked down at my waist, only to see arms wrapped firmly around it. Arms that belonged to the one and only John Lennon. If that wasn't shocking enough, he has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face "Get yer hands off me, you-you queer!" I yelled at him, startled by his actions. His face filled with many emotions. Regret. Embarrassment. Betrayal? "I , uh," he stammered. I didn't want to hear any of it. I grabbed my jacket from the night before and crawled out his window.

Authors Note: if you're reading this you are an amazing person :D You are even if you aren't reading this tho