⇾ 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈

Chapter Forty-Five: My Best Friend, the Tile Floor

April 24, 1964

"Donna? Love, what's wrong?" John clearly didn't know what to do with the crying girl slumped against him. I almost pitied him. I felt bad for not saying anything. I was embarrassed, really, letting this stranger bother me so much. I didn't wanna say it out loud.

"Donna, please talk to me," he pleaded.

In truth, I was shaking and crying too hard to try and speak. I missed all the concerned looks that came from our driver thankfully.

Eventually, he realized that I wasn't going to say anything and he gave up, resorting instead to sending me words of comfort, rubbing his hands along my back. When we finally got home, I was almost too shaky to stand. We made it halfway down the driveway before I had to sit down to avoid passing out.

"Will you tell me now?" John asked quietly, desperately. "Now that we're alone."

It suddenly didn't feel like I had any more tears left to cry. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. The spell just left me struggling feebly with shuddering breaths and a swimming stomach.

"It's so dumb, John. I don't know why I-I-I'm so worked up over it."

"It can't be too dumb if it's bothering you so much." He was still clearly battling with the alcohol in his system. It made me feel good to know that he actually cared so much.

"It was just this girl, you know. When I lost you, she—well—she grabbed me." I blushed at the stupidity of the situation. "She just said some...crude things," I said, shrugging. "It's alright, really. I'll get over it."

John looked at me with a pained expression, looking so angry he could kick a puppy. "Donna, I'm so sorry," he said. "What exactly did she say?"

"Stupid things, you know. She said that I didn't deserve you and that I don't really care about you. It's stupid, really. Honestly, who does she think she is? She doesn't know me." I felt the urge to cry again, but nothing came again. It was just frustration now, nothing more. This was exactly what she wanted and I was just letting her have it. It's not like she'd know anyway because she doesn't know me.

"Oh, Donna, love, it's alright. You know what? She's just jealous."

I thought all the way back to Christmas of 1961, back when John had come to London to help after Brian had collapsed. I thought way back to when I asked him what it was he saw in me. I remembered everything he said. I thought back to every other time I'd asked him the same question. I reviewed every answer he'd given me. They were always different things. He always had something new to add to the list. It was what always gave me the reassurance I was looking for. I found myself going over these encouragements often. I always needed the reassurance. I was so high maintenance that I sometimes felt bad for him. I apologized for it often as well.

"I love you, John. I really, really do."

"I love you too," he said, wrapping his same around my shivering body and resting his chin on top of my head.

"I'm sorry I'm always like this. I don't know why I never can stop. I'm such a...."

"Donna, no. You're perfect. I wouldn't change anything about you. I love you so, so much; just the way that you are." He didn't even sound drunk anymore. He sounded like the situation had flushed all of the alcohol from his system in an instant.

I chuckled lightly. "Overstatement of the century," I remarked.

He chuckled too. "Hey, if everyone really was perfect, what would be the fun in anything?"

I shrugged. "I guess you've got a point," I said.

"Not too bad for a bloke from Liverpool, am I?"

"Not too bad," I agreed.

"Now," he said. "We've finished a movie—."

"Correction," I interjected. "You finished a movie. I did nothing but sit around and watch." I smirked.

"Right," he said rolling his eyes. "Nonetheless, I think we both deserve some sleep. And not outside this time," he added and I laughed.

"Well, I think you're right. I think you need some water," I said. "You drank quite a bit."

He rolled his eyes again. "I can see that now."

He stood up and held out his hand for me to take, then decided he had other plans, sweeping down and scooping me up in his arms. I didn't have the energy to cry out. I settled into his chest as he walked, fading in and out of sleep, and only coming back to reality when he jokingly tossed me onto the bed.

"I think tonight we need to save some time," he said innocently.

"Oh yeah? And what's that supposed to mean?"

"We've only got time for one shower." He gave a cheeky grin.

I rolled my eyes teasingly. "Of course we do."

April 25, 1964

I woke up in an unfamiliar place. A little townhouse somewhere in London. I looked down at myself. I was in a red sundress that fell just below my knees. My long auburn hair was down and being blown by the wind that was also chilling my exposed arms and legs.

I looked up to see the two faces of my parents. They were dressed exactly in what they were wearing in the photo I had of the two of them. They were smiling, almost hauntingly. This couldn't be real. But it felt so real. I found it in me to be terrified.

I went to move, not expecting to be able to. Unlike the same dream I'd had of them repeatedly over the past few years, I actually could move in this one. I walked over to them. They outstretched their arms and went in for a hug, which I accepted graciously.

At this point, I didn't care if it was real or not. My parents were standing right in front of me. I was hugging them! It was the best feeling in the world, something I was unfamiliar with. I obviously hadn't seen them in so long, but everything felt comfortable, not like we barely knew each other. They were family. I knew them.

"Donna," said my mother and she opened her mouth to say more...

Just as quickly as it started, it was over. I bolted upright in bed, gasping for air. It seemed in the midst of my mystical stupor, I'd lost control of my breath. A moment later, John stirred next to me.

"Donna?" he asked. "What're you doing up? Is everything okay?"

I looked at the clock on our nightstand. 3:27 AM.

"I'm sorry," I said for the hundredth time that night. "Just dreaming."

I could still feel my parents arms around me like a ghost. I wanted so badly for it to not have been a dream.

John sat up, eyeing me uneasily. "Are you sure? You look ill."

That's when I found the nausea.

"Huh," I said, standing up and going towards the bathroom, my hands around my stomach. "It seems you're right."

"What'd you dream about?" asked John, jumping up quickly and following behind me. I laid down on the floor, feeling the cold tile underneath me. John sat down next to me, running his hands through my hair.

"Wow, I'm just not doing good tonight, am I?" I asked feebly. "You can go back to bed," I said. "I'll be fine."

"Haha, nice try," he said. "I'm staying right here."

I shook my head teasingly. "Of course you are."