My Love, My Drug, My Release

Early-April, 1969

For the next week, I dove for the phone every time it rang, chewing on my nails whenever Paul go to it first, praying Brandon would pretend to be a Mormon or something when he heard my step-father's voice. I wished my fiance could have been a bit more specific with the timeline so I didn't have to spend most waking hours in constant terror. It was worse considering this was Easter Holiday and I had to spend all day at home, staring at the phone, waiting.

"Are you okay, pumpkin?" Linda asked with concern one day while I sat in front of the telly eating yet another back of salt and vinegar crisps. 

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Because you can tell me if something's wrong, you know that, right?"

I nodded but didn't look up from Steptoe and Son, crunching away as the calories dripped down to my waist. 

Part of my anxiety came from the fact that I hadn't done much in the way of packing, not wanting Linda to get suspicious if she came to clean my room and saw a trunk full of clothes, hygiene products, and books ready to go. I did make a mental catalog of things I wanted to bring with me to France so I could be prepared at the drop of a hat when Brandon called. Since my excuse was spending a night with a friend, I could only take a few items to maintain the ruse: three outfits- one for warm weather, one for cold weather, and one that was nicer for our wedding-, a toothbrush and toothpaste, pajamas, and lots of extra socks and underwear. I chose The Brothers Karamazov and Bleak House as the two books I wanted to bring because they were so long I figured they'd take me months to get through, but they were printed on thin paper so they wouldn't take up too much space in my trunk.

Precisely ten days after I spoke with Brandon outside Abbey Road Studios, the phone rang at home and I picked up immediately, panting from sprinting out of the living room to ensure I was the one to answer it. "Hello, Eastman residence."

"Lo, is that you?"

"Yes it's me," I said, exasperated that he couldn't have thought of a more covert way of asking for me since it might have been Linda on the other end.

"Alright, I'm parked down the street; do you know that pay phone a block away from your house?"

"Yeah."

"I'm right beside that. Come out in twenty."

Hanging up, I turned back to the living room, clearing my throat to announce my presence to Paul and Linda who'd taken to watching TV with me while I was on break. "Um, my friend just called me and asked if I wanted to spend the night at her house and I said I'd ask you guys."

"What's this friend's name?" Linda asked. "Do we need to drop you off?"

"Her name's Jean, and she said her brother would come and get me since he has a car."

The newlyweds exchanged a look- Linda's lips pressed into a thin line and Paul's eyebrow cocked- before they turned to face me again. "Sure thing," the Beatle said, standing up and following me back to the kitchen. "I wanted to have John over anyway."

"Really?"

"Yeah, we haven't had a good, old-fashioned jam in a while."

This seemed a bit strange to me considering their chilly demeanor at the last few recording sessions, but I didn't dwell on it, so excited that my lie had worked and that, in a few short minutes, I'd be on my way to Kent and then France and I'd finally be free. 

It took longer than I expected to pack, folding my clothes taking up the bulk of it, and I didn't know whether to put the books at the bottom or the top of my trunk. I'd nearly finished when I heard a scuffle downstairs as well shouting. God, Paul had only phoned John half an hour ago and they were already fighting like cats and dogs.

Buckling up my trunk, I jogged downstairs, eager to escape this horror house when I saw it wasn't the two songwriters brawling, but instead the two of them struggling to restrain a third person.

"Brandon!" I shrieked, dropping my luggage on the floor in shock. 

"Is this the friend you wanted to spend the night with, Lorraine?" Paul asked snidely.

I looked over at Linda who was standing in the corner of the living room, arms crossed, red-rimmed eyes on the carpet. Nostrils flaring, I glared at John. "You promised you wouldn't tell."

"You shouldn't have lied to us," Paul snapped, grabbing me by the shoulders. "You should never have put him in that situation. What did you think would happen? That you'd run away and get married and thirteen and live happily ever after? I thought you were smarter than that."

Tears pooled along my lower lid, spilling over one after the other. I hated feeling small, stupid, like a child, and with a few words, he'd done just that- cut me down and stomped all over me. He made me resent my own existence.

When he saw I had nothing to say, he turned back to Brandon, fists curled. "Get out of here; I never want to see you around Lo again."

"Okay." He nodded, face shiny with sweat. "I'll go."

After a nod from Paul, John released him, and my boyfriend stumbled out of his reach, giving me one long look before heading towards the door.

"No, no, you can't go, you can't leave me!" I screamed, throwing myself after him, only for Paul's arms to wrap around my waist, restraining me. I thrashed, even as I heard the door close, Brandon gone from my life forever. "Let go of me you son of a bitch. I hate you, I hate all of me, you're ruining my life."

"Get over it." With a swing of his arm, Paul flung me onto the sofa. I grabbed the frame to keep from falling onto the floor, heart slamming in my chest. "That you would even consider doing this after Jackson ran away, after you saw what that did to your mother-"

"SHE'S NOT MY MOTHER!" I screamed. "And your not my father. I didn't want to run away to get married, I wanted run away because I hate you and I hate it here. Leave me alone." I sprinted up the stairs, footsteps pounding after me, but I got to my room first, bolting the door behind me.

"Open up!" Paul shouted, slamming on my door. "Let me in!"

"Go away, I hate you."

"I'll break down this fucking door, Lorraine, I swear to god I will."

"You're going to be an awful father!" He didn't respond; the pounding stopped. "If you think breaking down people's doors and screaming at them is good parenting, you don't know anything; you're going to ruin that baby like you ruined me."

Once I decided he'd gone- no doubt hurt and disgusted by my words-, I reached under my bed for the journal John had given me. Part of me wanted to destroy it as payback, but that wouldn't hurt him at all, and besides, it was a gift from Yoko too, and, as far as I knew, she was innocent in all this. Instead, I flipped to the next clean page, staring at the blankness as more tears streamed from my eyes, a few drops landed on the paper and soaking through. Months of planning dashed to ruin in a moment. Brandon would go to France, I was sure of it, and I'd probably never see him again. With both him and my brother gone, I didn't have anyone, no friends, no family. For the first time in ages, I missed my mother, my real mother.

Uncapping a pen, I intended to write a letter to her, but that seemed too morbid, and besides, I had no idea what to say. After a minute of hesitation, I instead I wrote, with a shaky hand: This is the worst day of my life.

That was a bit painful to write, but satisfying, after this build up. But the story's not over yet... If you liked this chapter, please don't forget to vote, and I'd love a comment letting me know what you think is going to happen next or anything else that's on your mind! See you in the next one.