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It’ll Be Alright, John

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John Lennon was never one to complain if something were bothering him, especially if the person he was complaining to could be of no aid to the dilemma. He felt it unnecessarily needy, and he considered himself independent, self-sufficient.

He took a long drag of his cigarette, wincing as another wave of pain overtook his lower abdomen, he clutched it with a delicate hand. The pain had started this morning without warning, and though the ache was like none he’d felt before, he figured it to be some odd sort of indigestion or hangover.
The brisk autumn wind that brushed his face didn’t help at all. He’d had to step outside of the lounge, where he’d, just minutes ago, snapped at an uncooperative lounge owner. Of course, John was right, the lounge owner had promised that he and his bandmates would be allowed to play at the lounge later that night, without even a coherent explanation as to why. Usually though, John knew how to manage his short temper, but today something snapped. Paul felt it necessary to pull him aside and convince him to go and have a breath of fresh air outside. Now he waited impatiently.

Finally, Paul exited the lounge, looking drained, but not quite distraught. He sighed and rubbed his temples, only looking up when he noticed John’s piercing gaze upon him curiously.
“So? Did the bastard finally give in?” John questioned, annoyed that Paul refrained from immediately informing John of the situation.
After an exasperated huff, Paul replied snarkily, “Yes, he‘s allowing us to perform tonight, although you nearly ruined this for us, with your attitude.”
John’s expression soured at what he perceived as an insult. He glared, his brown eyes boring into Paul’s.
“You’re really sensitive today, Lennon, lighten up!” Paul replied to the expression, following after John as he began to walk away.
John walked down the street, going nowhere in particular. He and McCartney walked in almost complete silence, the only noise cutting through the thick quiet being the occasional labored breath from John, which Paul tried to ignore. He knew mentioning it to John wouldn’t give him any answers, and would only cause him to be more annoyed than he already was.

After a short walk from the lounge to Paul Mccartney’s Allerton home, and an afternoon of rehearsal and conversation, John prepared to leave. He wanted to take a hot shower before the show to try and relieve his cramps, and maybe eat something sweet. Oh, how he craved sugar. Candies. Truffles. Especially truffles. He felt as if he could eat all of the truffles in Liverpool. Even the grotty coconut kind.
“Alright Macca, I’m off.” He stated tiredly, lifting painfully from his sitting position. He reached gingerly for his coat and guitar, already packed away in its case.
Paul couldn’t help but notice a small crimson stain on his writing partner’s rear. He attempted to look away, but his eyes were drawn back after each strained attempt. He needed to say something.
“John-” He was cut off by John’s slightly annoyed gaze, and he decided not to mention it. “See you later tonight.”
John shrugged off the awkward remark, and pulled on his jacket and opened the front door to leave. He waved nonchalantly to Mccartney as he stepped out, his mind on the awkward remark. Was there something that his relatively new friend wanted to say? It could’ve been a confession. He didn’t want to think about it. Paul annoyed him to no end, but he was constantly drawn back. Today in particular though, the odd but familiar feelings towards his colleague were greater, an intense craving. This feeling wasn’t dissimilar to those he had for the chocolate earlier.

When John opened the door, he immediately noticed his Aunt Mimi sitting by a lamp and reading. He wasn’t in the mood to get a lecture from her today, and simply passed her and entered the white tile bathroom.
“Well, hello to you too, John.” Mimi grumbled from over her book, not bothering to look up. She knew her nephew well enough that he was probably having a rough day and prodding would only provoke the short tempered boy.
John closed the door with a heavy hand, causing it to slam a bit. He had no clue why his hand was tense enough for him to slam the door, but he ignored it, as other thoughts occupied his mind. Another wave of dull cramping struck him, and this time, it was accompanied by an odd sensation below his waist. More specifically around his arse. The feeling was foriegn. Sort of like uncontrollably and suddenly sharting jell-o. He felt whatever the substance was that had just exited his anus to be wet and soaking through his boxers.
“Shit!” He cursed, quickly pulling down his pants and boxers and sitting down on the toilet bowl, believing he had sharted himself. He didn’t dare look down, instead attempting to occupy his mind while he sat on the loo with the complicated feelings he had of Mccartney earlier. He quickly cleared them out of his mind as he finally felt all leaking coming to a halt. He reached quickly for the loo roll.
“Huh?” Lennon remarked, spotting blood on the tissue he had just wiped with. Why was there blood? Looking over at the porcelain toilet, he saw a similar crimson color. And the stain on his boxers? And his trousers? The same blood. He reeled at the graphic site, and had to reach for the counter to prevent himself from fainting onto the ground. He grabbed the surface with a loud thud, gaining the attention of Mimi, who looked up from her book concernedly.
“John, are you alright in there?” Mimi, who was now at the door, asked with a tinge of fear in her voice. She wasn’t very strong, and if John was seriously hurt, she feared her inability to reach and help him. When she received no response, she began to panic.
“John, let me in!” The fear in her voice had increased, leading it to be far higher pitched, a scared cry for her beloved nephew to open the door. She cared for him deeply, and if he were seriously hurt she would never quit blaming herself. Finally, with a burst of sudden strength, she grabbed the door handle and wrestled with it. She gave it a mighty push and it burst open, to reveal her nephew sitting on the ground, the toilet bowl still covered with blood.
“Jesus Christ!”
“I- I don’t know what’s happening Mimi!” John stuttered out, his eyes full of fearful tears. He gripped his cramping stomach, allowing himself now to express outwardly the pure and utter pain he felt in whimpers.
“What the bloody hell happened, John?”
“For Christ’s sake Mimi, I have no idea! I’ve been cramping and moody all day, and I just started bleeding-” He snapped back, his voice interrupted by painful hiss.
Mimi shook her head in disbelief. She had only heard stories of this phenomenon, passed down from her family. To her knowledge, it had last happened generations ago, and although she barely understood the silence, she figured the best route now would be to comfort the boy. She crouched down next to him on the floor, making a soft shushing sound.
“It’ll be alright John, it’ll be alright.” She reassured, although she was unsure of that fact.