Ladies and gentlemen, I just got flamed. Honestly, I didn't expect for it to hurt this bad. But when a random stranger goes on to two of your stories and calls you a hoe, says you can't write and tells you to get the fuck of this site…well, lets just say I'm crying right now. So I wanted to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has ever supported me, be it with a review, fav-ing or putting me on alert. Without you, none of this would be here. And I thank you all who don't like this story but have the morals to not flame. I appreciate it.
Disclaimer: Don't own it...
A beeping sound wakes me from my passed-out state. I hear some one moan and it takes me a minute to realize it was me. My leg is throbbing, pain dulled by medication. My head hurts; I hear some one speak and feel a prick on my arm. Reality blurs out again as the drugs take hold.
My dreams are blurred and confusing. Pain...lots of pain. And music. Voices and faces; Alexei, the guards, the men I had met in England...agony, so much agony.
"Miss Petrovia? Miss Petrovia, can you hear me?" A voice says. I manage to open my eyes with great effort. A nurse is looking down on me. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes," I whisper, startled at how rough my voice sounds. My body aches and I feel like death.
"Your leg wound got infected. We kept you in a drug-induced coma for four days. Do you remember what happened to you?" the nurse asks. I nod and she smiles. "What happened to your leg?"
I think for a second before answering. "I...was shot. As I escaped over the Berlin Wall. I tried to disinfect it..."
"And if you hadn't done that you would be dead. The bullet ruptured several arteries. We did reconstructive surgery. You should regain the same range of motion you had before," the nurse grins. I smile weakly.
"Will I be allowed to stay?" I have to know this wasn't for nothing. She nods and I relax.
"Are you tired?" she inquires. I shake my head vehemently and she laughs. "You don't have to go to sleep."
A day passes and I quickly bore of my room. I'm staring at my ceiling when the nurse enters. I turn to her, eager for the distraction.
"You have visitors!" she exclaims, a bit flustered. I look at her curiously. Who could these people be? The door opens and the four men from the immigration office. I smile at them.
"So zees is ze famous gymnast," one of them say it a horrible imitation of a German accent. He laughs at his own bad joke as I look at him, unamused.
"Excuse him," another one says. I glance at him and he smiles. "I'm Paul McCartney, this is George Harrison, this is Ringo Starr and the one with no sense of humor is John Lennon."
I laugh and introduce myself. This is followed by an awkward silence.
"Why are you here?" I ask, playing with the top of my sheet.
"Well, a pretty bird with a Russian accent comes staggering into Immigration and passes out. Call us curious," John grins as he sits down next to me. I blush slightly at him referring to me as pretty. "Do you seriously not know who we are?"
"Should I?"
"We're pretty famous here, hon," John leans back, proud of himself. I roll my eyes and laugh.
"Yeah, right."
"I'm serious!"
"Well, then, what do you do?"
"We're musicians."
"Oh, that explains it."
"What is that supposed to mean?" John smirks, leaning forward.
"My former country censored all media, so it makes sense I wouldn't know you," I explain. Paul looks surprised.
"You mean we're banned there?" he gasps. The look on his face is hilarious.
"All non-communist music is banned there," I laugh. Paul looks relieved.
"And I thought we were special!" John whines before winking at me. I laugh again.
"Visiting's over!" the nurse yells before ushering the boys out.
"Bye!" I grin from my bed. John waves from the door. I smile and lean back into my pillows. "They were nice."
"I still can't believe The Beatles came to see you!" the nurse sounds jealous. I shrug, roll over and go to sleep again.
I don't see the other three boys for a while. But John comes every day. We become good friends. John is quite interested in Soviet life and I have an endless curiosity about England. Although John can be a bit of a задница.
After two weeks of hospitalization, I have regained full use of my leg. If all goes well, I'll be out of the hospital by the end of the week. John is visiting as I realize I have nowhere to stay.
"дерьмо!" I groan. John looks at me curiously.
"What is it, Kat?" he asks and leans forward.
"I don't have anywhere to stay," I mutter, still swearing inside my head. John starts laughing. I glare at him.
"I thought we had already talked about this. You're staying with me," John says, still laughing.
"Oh..."
John is there, grinning, two days later as I step out of the hospital. The sun shines as I leap down the steps. London feel so different from Leningrad. It feels light, warm...it feels free