My Love, My Drug, My Release

Early January, 1969- Later That Day

Soooooo, since I'm updating for the second time in four hours, I'm going to bother you with a shameless plug. I know this is a Beatles fandom, but people can like more than one things, so I wanted to let y'all know that I'm writing a Star Wars fanfic. I'll be updating chapters I have pre-written until I finish my other Beatles story. If you don't like Star Wars, of course you don't have to check it out, but if you do like it, it'd mean a lot to me if you read it. It won't slow down my updating on any of my other stories, pinky-swear. Okay, yeah, thanks for reading this, hope you enjoy the chapter!!!!

"How was your date with Daddy?" Jack asked while he plucked at a ukulele that George had given me for Christmas. I would never learn how to play, and Paul had destroyed all my brother's presents so I told him he could have the tiny, wooden instrument.

"Can you please not call him that?" I begged, pressing my hands to my cheeks in an attempt to cool them down.

"Why, does it stir something in you?"

I rolled my eyes but didn't storm off. His jabs might embarrass me, but they didn't wound me so much anymore. Maybe it was dealing with Brandon's constant criticisms or the gossip at school about my family, but nothing had really gotten to me in weeks. Hurtful words just slid off me like I was made of Teflon. But being ignored only riled Jack up more.

"Guess it makes sense you'd like John better; you're more his type anyway." He narrowed his eyes at my vacant expression. "Don't you want to know why?"

I shrugged. "It seems like you want to tell me, so, sure, why not?"

"Well, everyone says he's a bit of a homo," Jack hissed over the coffee table. "And with tits like those, you could pass for a boy with no problem." He folded his arms and grinned, looking quite proud of himself.

"Hilarious brother," I drawled. "Maybe we should go down to Uncarbonated so you can tell Elliot your brilliant joke."

His face flushed with rage for a moment before it settled again. "I'm not the enemy Lo," he said before storming off, taking the ukulele with him.

I waited for a few minutes to see if he would come back before going up to my room. Paul and Linda were going out to dinner with her father to discuss some legal issues involving music and copyright. At least that's what she told me, and I had no reason to doubt her. It wasn't like they needed to make up excuses to go on a date. I pulled out my journal from under my mattress and flipped open the next blank page, trying to think of what I wanted to write.

There are no sides. Except mine. Choose.

Three sentences, seven words; four then two then one. A Lorraine Foxwell haiku. I smirked thinking about the conversation I had earlier. 'Try making a song out of that, John.'

"Lo! Lo, where is that wool blanket? The really heavy one," my brother shouted from the hall.

"It's in the linen cabinet by the stairs with the rest of the bedding," I replied. Pause. Not even a goddamn thank-you, he had some fucking nerve-

"I knew it!" My brother's shout reverberated off the walls; I nearly jumped out of my skin. I climbed out of bed, clutching my chest, my pulse knocking against my palm. What happened? What did he know?

Before I could open the door, Jack flung it open, storming into my room. The hinges creaked as the door swung and slammed into the wall with a crack. The doorknob probably left an indent in the plaster. His face was shiny with sweat, his eyes, little blue flames. I'd never seen them so bright and clear, so full of conviction.

"As soon as I'm of age, I'm out of here," he said, breathing heavy. "I'll be gone, and you'd be smart to do the same."

Then he threw something onto my bed before running out, feet pounding down the stairs, and, finally, the front door slammed shut with enough force to shake the whole house. It was like a bloody earthquake.

What was he on about? It was a year and a half till his eighteenth birthday; why even plan for it?

I picked up what he'd left me with. It was a rectangle wrapped in red and gold Christmas paper with an envelope stuck on top, my name written neatly with a fountain pen; I could tell by the density and color of the ink. I tore open the gift first, figuring it must've been meant for Boxing Day and just gotten lost in the shuffle. Why the hell did it have Jack so worked up? Inside, was a freshly-printed book, a second-edition of George Orwell's Animal Farm. Such a simple but lovely gift. Who would've thought to send it to-

Oh no. No, no, no.

I ripped the envelope open, my hands shaking so bad the task was almost impossible, but I finally managed. In it was a plain card with a two teddy bears on the front, printed in a flash-animation style, one larger than the other, holding hands. Inside, it read:

Lorraine,

I wish I could be there with you during the holidays, but that seems to be impossible at the moment, so I sent this is my stead. I hope you enjoy the novel. Maybe you and your brother could swap when you're both finished; they sort of go together.

Love, Daddy

In true Felix Foxwell fashion, he'd slipped five fifty-pound notes into the card, but that wasn't what had me and tears.

Paul and Linda knew he'd sent this, and they'd hidden it from us. From me.

A little short, but pretty decent, if I do say so myself. There are things that are coming up that I didn't necessarily plan that really round out the story, and I'm happy with how it's coming along. My friend is turning 21 this weekend and I'm driving up to see her, so I don't know how often I'll be updating over the next few days, but hopefully I'll get at least another chapter or two up. Hope everyone had a good time, and I'll see you soon!