My Love, My Drug, My Release

Boxing Day Evening, 1968

So two things: one, we're at chapter freaking 40, two, this story has 5k views! You guys are the best for reading and voting and commenting, and I'm so happy with how this story is coming along. I'm really enjoying writing, so I'm probably going to be updating all my stories pretty frequently, hope you don't mind. We're in the thick of things, so a lot's going to be unfolding in the upcoming chapters. Okay, yeah, I'm gonna shut and let you read lol, enjoy!

After Jack stormed off, the atmosphere turned sour and cold. Paul sipped a single-malt whiskey while he glared into space and Linda dolled out presents, a fake smile plastered to her face. But I couldn't ignore the pile off to the side filled with what I could only assume were gifts meant for my brother. I don't even remember what I got, or what we gave Paul, or which one of our famous friends gave us a two-foot suit of armor riding a unicorn, all I could think of was having to go to the morgue to identify Jackson's body tomorrow. I didn't eat a bite of food for fear I would barf it all up.

"Don't you want any of the brownies?" Linda asked, offering me a plate filled with mini baked goods. "They're your favorite."

"It's okay; I think I have a stomach bug, a kid at school had it right before we went on holiday."

She nodded, but I could tell she knew something else was wrong. I gave her credit for it even though I shouldn't (anyone with working eyes would be able to piece together that my brother's drunken exit caused me distress), but, after the past several months of cluelessness, her concern was practically shocking. Also, Paul didn't seem to understand why there would be a reason to feel anything other than rage and indignance, which put Linda's caring tone into stark contrast.

"Did those kids at school give you anything other than the flu?" the Beatle asked while he refilled his tumbler. 

"No, I haven't really been able to make any real friendships in just a couple of months." I doubt it was his intention, but the question made me feel like shit for not having anyone in my life who'd want to give me a Christmas present, especially since October to December had been more than enough time for Jack to become genuinely popular. He kept telling me to lean into the 'living with a Beatle' thing, but really, when I was spending all my time with Brandon anyway, there was no point in trying to create other meaningful relationships.

The phone rang before I could add that I didn't have the flu, it was just a bug (even though it wasn't either; I was just half-drunk and sad). Linda hopped up to get it, of course, and I stayed sitting there, avoiding making eye contact with Paul while he was feeling so testy.

"Hello, Eastman residence." I knew that was just to deter superfans, but the idea of this being our permanent house made my upper lip sweat. "Yes, I'm his stepmom." Oh, she's his 'stepmom' now. She'd been telling people she was our mum since before the fucking divorce, despite us constantly saying otherwise, but now he was just her stepson, all for Paul's approval. "Wait, what? He's there, what are you- oh my God! Babe, come here!"

Her frightened voice was enough to shake me out of my resentment, and Paul jumped up to take the phone from her.

"Who is this?" he asked. "Okay, where did you find him? Right, well, he brought this on himself; he can spend the night there and then we'll get him in the morning. Thank you, officer, have a pleasant evening."

I walked into the kitchen just in time to see Paul hang up. "What's going on?"

"Your brother got himself arrested for drunken disorderly behavior. Since it's his first offense, and he's only sixteen, he just needs to be picked up by a guardian, which we'll do tomorrow."

"Are you serious?" I shouted. "You're going to let him sit in a cell all night; he's just a kid!"

"I'm not going to ruin our day because of his bad behavior."

"Look around you; the day is already ruined. You want us to be a family, this is part of it; dealing with your kids doing stupid shit." I turned to face Linda and said, with more venom than I could ever recall using in my life, "Or should I say, 'stepkids'."

Her face drooped into a pout like a scolded puppy, and I immediately felt ashamed. We were the ones who constantly rebuffed her, and I couldn't blame her for trying to appease a tyrant like Paul. If it were up to her, we'd be going to pick up Jack right now. This wasn't her fault; none of this was her fault.

"This discussion is finished." Paul grabbed the ice tray out of the fridge and went back to the living room to continue getting drunk, Linda trailing behind him almost reluctantly. 

I would've given them more shit for this if Brandon was still in town, but, as it were, if I got kicked out, I had nowhere to go. I'd be left to wander around London in winter, probably get picked up by the cops like Jack. Maybe I could head to John and Yoko's-

Holy shit, John and Yoko!

I sprinted up the stairs to my room, pulling the wrapped package the couple had given me last night out from where I'd hidden it under my bed. Even though I only had to wait one day to open it, I was terrified Linda find it if she came into my room to obsessively clean, which she'd been doing more as she prepared for the holidays. Then she'd tell Paul, and he'd throw a tantrum. Or, possibly even worse, Jack could discover in it and feel like shit because I was the only one to get a gift from John Lennon. 

But no one had found it, and I'd nearly forgotten it myself. I was sort of glad I had though; right at that moment, I needed a pick me up more than I had in recent memory. I tore the paper off the flattish rectangle to reveal a stunning, ornate leather journal.

I don't know what I'd been expecting, but it wasn't this. I just felt it hard to believe that someone could know me so innately to pick out such a perfect gift for me. It wasn't something I'd ever get for myself, but I didn't know how I'd lived without it. This could make a writer out of me yet. 

Popping it open, I realized there was a note on the first unlined page. It read:

'Rainy, we know the past few months have been hard for you, and that you feel there's no end in sight, but remember that you are special to us. Whatever happens with Paul and Linda, you always have a place in our home and hearts. We love you, and we care about you, never forget that.'

No one had ever called me Rainy before, surprisingly enough, since it was such an obvious and pretty nickname. Below was their telephone number, but I could barely make it out through the tears pooling along my waterline. But they were happy tears, and I felt freer, like all those unpleasant feelings grew wings and flew away. Maybe I'd been wrong to judge Paul and Linda for how they handled the Jack situation. He had acted like a bit of a prick, and in their home on Boxing Day. They were in love, Linda loved us, and Paul probably did too. What could be wrong when it was done in the name of love?

I stashed the journal in my bedside table and wiped my face clean before heading down to rejoin my family. Once I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard some grunting and thrashing sounds, and I wondered, briefly, if they were shagging in the living room. Deciding that was ridiculous, I crossed the kitchen, but stopped dead in the threshold between the two rooms. 

"Lo, honey, can you help me with dinner?" Linda asked anxiously, dragging me away from the sight that had frozen my feet in their tracks. 

But it was too late, I saw what was going on: Paul destroying Jackson's presents.