⇾ 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈

Chapter Eighty-Eight: The Moon Always Casts a Light for the People

July 1, 1964

The next two weeks were long. Although my physical illness had subsided, I resorted to taking my sleeping pills every night just so I could stay asleep comfortably. The dreams were scarce, but when they were there, they were awful. Even when they weren't there, I'd always have something wake me up in the middle of the night. After a week of it, I got so tired of it that one would have thought I was having an existential crisis in that room; I finally broke down and couldn't calm myself down on my own.

And that's when I started taking the pills every night—when it got to be too much for me.

There was a time that everyone could tell something was wrong with me. Brian had even pulled me aside and asked if I needed to be flown back to London for the remainder of the month. I shut down the idea immediately.

The last thing I needed to be was alone. Why didn't anyone see that? Despite all the times I'd said it to their faces, they continued to not believe me.

I knew the whole ordeal was hard on John too. Neither of us had any idea why it had started at all. We'd even reconsidered the pregnancy route, but when I started on time the next week, we knew that wasn't the reason. We really didn't know what to do about it. John said I needed to see a doctor, or perhaps another therapist, but I also shut that idea down, telling him I'd get over it eventually.

The vomiting only came back when we had to fly back to London before the premiere of A Hard Day's Night that was to be held in a short five days.

Despite how ill the flight home made me, I was still excited the whole time. Deep down, I know I was hoping that staying at home in my own bed would make everything better.

I would be going to retrieve Boots from Thomas at three on tomorrow. We'd be in another hotel just for tonight, and tomorrow, we were gonna be home. Finally. The four weeks we'd been away felt more like four years.

When we landed finally, it took me a few moments to get used to the unmoving ground; a few more moments than usual. Before going out to the crowd, John took my hand firmly in his, giving it a suffocating squeeze that unmistakably told me that everything was going to be okay. We stood very close to one another, trying to keep the attention away from our hand-holding, but I wasn't really sure what good it did.

Before retreating out to the car that would take us to our hotel for the night, we stopped so I could have my routine visit with the toilet bowl. No one seemed surprised about it anymore. It had undoubtedly been a rough trip for me.

As for the boys, they were happy to be back on stage, I knew that for a fact. They always seemed to be happy out there. All the worry laced into their brows disappeared and all that mattered the the music and giving the audience the time of their life. That, it seemed they did. Everyone loved them. No one could get enough.

When we made it to the hotel, John and I checked into our room and I rinsed my mouth out before we went back downstairs to have dinner with the others.

We were all exhausted, and you could tell. All the time we'd just spent traveling was beginning to catch up with us, and it was only a matter of time before we were all passed out upstairs.

That being said, that night's dinner was a fast one. Everyone was too tired to indulge in conversation, so everything was silent.

But it was a comfortable silence.

Nothing really needed to be said between us. There rarely were any uncomfortable moments when it was the six of us. It was true that the Beatles themselves had been through hell to get where they were now, but Brian and I had been just as overwhelmed as them when it all began to explode and the boys became household names. It was a constant battle to keep them together, that was for sure. That was mostly my job. I helped Brian keep them looking put-together, and Brian kept all the paperwork in order. We were good at our jobs, that was undeniable. We'd all seen crushing lows and rewarding highs. We were all there for one another when it seemed everything was against it.

I was thankful for everyone, but especially for John, mainly because he'd been able to put up with me for so long. We'd been together for coming on three years. It was a crazy thought to come into contact with. I still couldn't understand what it was about him, but whatever it was, I appreciated it.

When I heard the hotel room door behind us close, I dropped my bag onto the ground and turned to John.

"I love you," I said out of the blue, blushing when his lips turned upward.

"I love you too," he responded, closing the distance between us by coming over and wrapping me in his strong arms, the arms that had always been there when I was crying and in need of help.

We allowed the words to echo throughout the room for a long, silent, and beautiful moment.

I love you.

The words were like the tingling of a tiny bell, something homey and pleasant. Why were they so meaningful? When the words were separated, they were practically meaningless, but when together, they formed perhaps the strongest words in the entire English language.

I guess it makes sense, though. After all, that's how love is. You're always stronger together than you were apart. As cheesy as it was, it was undeniable. You could be strong apart, but never as strong as you were when together. It's just how it worked. There was no reasonable explanation for it.

When it was just me and John, John and I, nothing else mattered. We were both vulnerable to one another. Being vulnerable is scary, but it always made it better when you were only vulnerable to someone you knew loved you.

John began to hum. I recognized the tune immediately as our own, a song we'd reserved just for us. Last I knew, John was pushing for a cover of it on the next album. Then, I'd be able to hear John sing it to me whenever it was only myself around.

"Hold me close and tell me how you feel / Tell me love is real, mmm." He began to sway our connected bodies back and forth slowly in time with the song. His voice was serenading me quietly. Hotel walls were thin. This was just a moment for us. No one else.

"Words of love you whisper soft and true / Darling I love you, ooh." He pulled back to look at me as he whispered the last part, moving quickly to catch my reaction. He was rewarded with a smile—a grateful one, a happy one. "It's so good to see you smile," he whispered, breaking the song to make the comment that sent me into a blushing frenzy.

He grinned when he saw what he'd done to me. Then, he leaned back in closely, closing his eyes as he continued. "Let me hear you say the words I long to hear / Darling when you're near, hmm / Words of love you whisper soft and true / Darling I love you, ooh." His voice was slow, mesmerizing, enchanting, and beautiful. I couldn't get enough of it. I knew that I never would get enough of it.

"Would you like me to go on?" His voice was just a mere buzz now, almost too quiet to hear. I realized now that he was tugging on the sleeve of my dress and I allowed him to slide it off my shoulder, followed closely by the other one. I felt the piece of fabric fall into a heap at my feet. The air circulating through the room sent a chill through all the parts of my body that were now exposed.

In response to his actions, I began to help him slide out of his suit, the buttons on his shirt proving rather hard for two eager lovers. When the rest of the suit was finally off, he began to kiss me, starting on my lips and then moving down, making sure that no part of me was forgotten. Every time I made a noise, he made sure to silence me by putting his lips back onto mine.

The moon laid a pattern down on the floor, mirroring the window perfectly, except for the height. The window on the floor was longer than the real window because of the moonlight's angle. It was a quiet night, a comfortable one. For the first time in days, I hoped it would never end.