Chapter 10: Misery

5:41 PM, April 23, 1960

John's POV

I walked down the hall to our apartment, eager to see Delilah after the uneventful day at work. Things had started looking up for us. She was getting better. I was able to kiss her again and she was even eating regularly, smiling.

I reached into my coat pocket, extracting my keys. The deadbolt drew back with an ominous click as I inserted the housekey into the lock. Something seemed off. I closed the door, locking it behind me and turning around to search for Delilah.

There she was, lying on the floor, a bottle in each hand. One plastic, one glass. I rushed over to her unmoving body, pressing my ear to her chest as I touched my fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse and breathing. Nothing.

"Delilah, you fucking stupid girl", I sobbed, lifting her from the floor and carrying her to the bathtub. "You can't do this to me! You can't! You stupid, stupid girl! You can't leave me like this!".

I turned on the cold water and sat down with her between my legs, her head tilted up with her back towards me. I stuffed two fingers down her throat in an attempt to make her throw up the pills. For what seemed like forever, she remained unconscious. Finally, she gagged. I responded by forcing my fingers further down her throat, bringing the pills back up as she leaned away from me, towards the drain. She coughed and spluttered, shivering under the steady pour of icy water as the last remnants of her attempted suicide left her body. Never had anything seemed so wonderful in my life as watching her revival. I'd saved her.

She collapsed immediately after that, prompting me to strip her naked, dry her dripping body, and dress her in one of my sweatshirts. I layed her down under the blanket, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, ready to pounce if she stopped breathing. I brought my hands to my face and sighed, letting a few more tears escape as a million and one thoughts ran through my head, making me realize just how lucky I was to have her back.

I was so busy watching her, thinking about the events that had just taken place, that I'd forgotten all about my soaked clothes. I pulled them off quickly, shuddering as the stinging air of the house made contact with my exposed skin. I didn't bother throwing them in the wash, for fear of leaving Delilah. I had to stay with her, make sure she wasn't going to die.

I couldn't believe she'd tried to kill herself. I sincerely believed she was finally starting to get a grip on her life. It had been only two weeks since that night she told me everything. Everything had been as normal as could be since then and she seemed to be getting her old personality back. Did she not love me anymore? The possibilities as to why she would undertake such extreme measures on her life were endless.

Sure, she'd told me that she felt like everything that happened with her family was her fault, but the suspicious, untrusting part of me said she could have easily been lying. No, she was an absolute mess. It couldn't have been a lie. You can't just fake something like that. I'd never seen her cry that much, even when she came running to me on the night of the murder. I was completely determined to find out what had set her off, what was the final straw to make her even think of taking her own life.

I needed some answers from her, and fast. And the more I thought about it, the more it seemed to me that moving to New York wasn't the best idea. We should just go back to Liverpool. Mimi had told me that the cops were no longer interested in Delilah, and that they'd found evidence pertaining to the murder, stating that Delilah's father had been slowly melting into insanity over the last year. Which meant Delilah was free to do what she pleased.

From the very moment when Delilah started acting strange, something in me had triggered. We had to go back to Liverpool. There was no grand future ahead of us if we continued to stay in New York. We had no plans. I had to get back to England. Before we'd fled here, a few friends and myself had been in a bit of a band. I wanted to get back to that; I had this odd feeling that we would make it somewhere big very soon.

Later that night, while Delilah was still sleeping, I called up Mimi and told her that we were coming back to Liverpool sometime the following week. She didn't bother asking any questions, she knew I wouldn't give her answers anyway. I told her I'd be staying with Paul, as I needed to focus on my music.

Mimi always felt that my involvement in the band was minor, that it was all nothing but a hobby for me. She supported me, yes, but she didn't honestly and truly think we were ever going to get anywhere with it. I persisted. Music was the only thing I was good at. Everyone knew it, even Mimi, she just chose not to admit it; she said I could do anything I wanted, but we both knew that wasn't the truth. Eventually, she let me do what I wanted.

After we'd caught up with each other, I phoned Paul McCartney, my best mate and fellow guitarist of our skiffle group. We had two others involved; George Harrison on guitar as well, a rather skinny lad with bushy eyebrows and wicked sharp canines, and Stu Sutcliffe on bass. We were in dire need of a drummer, which was why we'd decided to take a break for awhile, which made leaving with Delilah a whole lot less complicated for me. But I knew we'd be back together as soon as we returned to Liverpool.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed, lost deep in my thoughts when I heard a slight rustling behind me. I snapped out of my reverie, glancing to my right to find Delilah staring up at me with her hair all tousled and my sweater hanging off of one of her shoulders. She looked so vulnerable and innocent, so full of fear and pain. She still managed to look like a fallen angel despite all the shit she'd just gone through. My chest felt hollow as I gazed at her. A soft pink blush lingered on her cheeks as she shot me a sheepish, questioning look.

"What?", she asked quietly.

"You're so beautiful. Have I ever told you that?", I said distractedly, my eyes still roaming over her figure. She shifted her weight and I was brought back to reality for the second time in less than 5 minutes. A million emotions spilled through me, coursing through my body like adrenaline. The top three emotions I felt, though, were anger, grief and confusion. Not a great mix.

"Why did you do it? Do you know how fucking terrified I was when I saw you just lying there, not even breathing?", I said quietly, but with a tone suggesting fury. When she didn't reply, I kept going, my voice escalating as the words flowed from my mouth.

"I was on the verge of losing my mind, Delilah! Why would you even think of killing yourself! You can't even pretend to not know I'll always be there for you. Or maybe that's just the problem for you. Maybe you don't love me. Hmm? Is that it? Because I can't find any other fucking reason as to why you'd do something like that to me! I love you!", I yelled, inching my way towards her as she recoiled from me. I must've looked like I was about to hit her, because her eyes were wide as saucers and all color that had previously been on her face was gone.

I slumped down onto her lap, resting my head against her thighs as I carressed her hips. She eventually relaxed a bit and stroked my hair, twirling the locks around her fingers.

"I do love you. That's why I did it", she began.

"You tried to kill yourself because you love me?", I interjected.

"Just let me finish, John. I'll explain everything to you if you just shut up and listen for a minute, okay?", she sighed tiredly.

When I didn't say a word for a few seconds, she took it as her cue to resume her explanation.

"The night of...you know, the murder...I just couldn't help but feel like everything was my fault. My dad and I never had a good relationship and you know that. And you also know how he became out of control with his drinking this past year. My mom and sister saw it, too. I guess we sort of ganged up against my dad. And I guess he didn't think too fondly of it, so he thought he could solve everything by just killing all of us. I know you're going to say that it's really all his fault, but the root of the problem is me. I caused this to happen, John. I saw what would happen between us, eventually. I didn't want to put you through any of my stupid shit, so I thought if I just ignored you, you'd leave me, and you wouldn't have to deal with me once I'd killed myself. But you just kept pushing; kept trying to figure out what my problem was. So I just decided that I'd do it and you'd move on and everything would be okay again", she said, still running her hands through my hair.

I embraced her from my position on her lap, burying my face into her stomach and kissing her several times. She kissed the top of my head and brought me in closer.

"We can sort things out in Liverpool, I guess", I said, my voice muffled.

"Liverpool?"