A/N: A new fanfic that won't be updated as often as Lucille, but I'll try to update it as much as I possibly can. If you are interested, please review!
Love Me Do
Preface
She stood in front of the mirror. She wore no clothes. She looked at her right shoulder. There was a small scratch – it had once been a much larger, deeper cut. There was a fresh ring of bruises on her upper arm. On her left shoulder, there was a trail of red scratches that stopped at her elbow. She looked down at her breasts, and the purple bruises that covered them. On her waist, fresh slap marks were visible. She hated her waist. He was right. She was fat.
A knock at the door echoed through the house. "Caitlin? The door, can you get that!"
"Sure, mum." Caitlin quickly threw on her underwear and a long-sleeved white blouse that would cover up the markings. Including the scars on her wrist, the pain she inflicted on herself. She could blame him for all her other bruises, but not the scars on her wrist. No, he wouldn't hurt her if she was like this. Every single scratch on her body was caused by her. If she was skinnier, prettier, smarter…
"Caitlin?" her mother repeated. Caitlin put on her favourite dark blue skirt and hurried down stairs top open the door. "Hello?"
Standing in front of her was a young man, about her age. He had an aquiline nose, auburn-brown hair piled on top of his head for a teddy boy-type look, and interesting brown eyes. "Hey," he said. Caitlin couldn't say anything. She did feel a bit scared. It always felt this around new people, especially men. And with his couldn't-care-less appearance, messy hair, and leather pants, she felt especially nervous.
"H-Hi," she stammered, trying to calm herself down.
This isn't Jack. You can stop worrying about him.
"I'm John," he said with a small mischievous grin that reminded her too much of Jack. But this isn't Jack, its John.
"I'm Caitlin," she replied, a smile on her face that she hoped didn't seem nervous.
He held out a basket with food and homemaking things that Mimi had put together. "A welcome to the neighbourhood gift, from me aunt." He had quite a strong Liverpudlian accent, Caitlin couldn't help but notice. She suddenly felt a bit self-conscious about her own accent – she spoke with a posh, London manner.
She accepted the gift basket gratefully. "Thank you," she replied, trying to sound less tidy. Her accent was one of the things Jack hated – the way she excessively pronounced the letter 'G' on the end of words carefully and the way she enunciated the letter 'T' drove him insane.
"You aren't local, are ya?" John asked her.
"No, I'm from London," she said, blushing a little.
"You sound it," he told her and her face flushed bright red.
"It's alright, you'll soon pick up on how we speak 'ere," John told her with a wink.
"Oh, no," she rolled her eyes, sarcastically, making the two of them laugh.
"Would you like to come in for a bit – would you like a cup of tea, maybe? It was really nice of you to bring this over," she said, not wanting him to think she was ungrateful. Jack often said she didn't thank him enough.
"Sure," John replied, and followed her inside the house.
It looked modern and fresh from the outside, but inside was a cluttered mess. "Sorry! I know it's not tidy, we're trying, we're just a bit busy…" she babbled apologetically.
He grinned at her, "Hey, no worries! Everyone's house is like this when they move."
Caitlin offered John an awkward smile, which he returned, but more fluidly. She led him to the kitchen. "Who's this?" a small blonde girl, aged about five, piped up.
"I'm John," John answered her. "What's your name?"
"Lillian Elizabeth Callister," she answered primly. Caitlin held back a smirk as she put the kettle on the boil.
"What's Caitlin's middle name?" he asked Lillian smugly.
Lillian opened her mouth, but Caitlin stopped her. "Lill', I think that's enough talking," Caitlin told her younger sister as she finished making the tea. She set the cups on the bench – they didn't have a table yet.
"I'm insensitive about my middle name, too, luv," John told Caitlin, that wolfish grin on his face. "But if you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."
"No." Jack hated Caitlin's middle name. That meant John would too.
"Okay," John answered softly.
He was trying to figure this girl out. Ever since he'd got to her house, she'd been embarrassed about all sorts of silly little things – her middle name, her accent, the house's messy state. Why?
