"I can't believe you, John!" I paced around his room, feeling his eyes following me as he sat on his bed.
"We might as well do something together, since I got you out of school for that purpose," John muttered in a snarky manner, crossing his arms.
"No, no. You shut up for a second. Just shut the fuck up, alright?" I snapped, whirling around and pointing aggressively at him.
He threw his hands up defensively, growing angry. "I'm not sure what the bloody issue is here, Roxanne." I fucking hated when he called me Roxanne. I hate it when anyone calls me Roxanne.
"Can you not stay quiet?"
He bit his lip, glaring at me.
"Daft twat," I muttered, turning back around and running a hand through my hair. "You have no bloody idea how much trouble you could have gotten me in!"
John threw his hands out again, jaw agape like he couldn't believe pulling me out of class would get me in trouble. But, he didn't speak for once.
"They could have gotten me in so much fucking trouble!" I cried.
"-Why?" John shot back. "I've done this a bunch of times!"
I turned back around, glaring at him.
His eyes narrowed and he got up, grabbing my forearms. I stopped, gazing at him. "I don't care how you're 'going to get in trouble', but you didn't, and you won't."
Feeling my hands grow clammy, I shook my head quickly, glancing away from him. "Y-yes I will!" Wiping a tear away from my eye before he could see it.
I froze as John leant in, eyelids heavy with an emotion that I had never experienced before. Hand brushing my cheek, he kissed me. Standing with my eyes shut, I found his neck and wrapped my arms around it.
Seconds later, he had pulled away, staring at me for a moment before grinning. "A pretty bird like you shouldn't have to worry about these kind of things." He murmured.
Giving him an unsure nod was easy, but staying still as he pressed his lips lightly against my neck was not. "Okay, John." I'm still not sure why he was so good at making me calm down- but he did every time.
He let go of me, drifting away to look out his window. "How about we go to the Cavern?"
"Yeah, sure." I murmured, watching a car pass by. John stood stationary for a minute or so before swirling around, grabbing his leather jacket.
"Come 'ead if we're going, then!" He called over his shoulder. "We haven't all day!"
~ ~ ~
"What do you mean, we can't come in?" John shouted, getting in the bouncer's face. "We're perfectly in our right!" It was a different fellow from last time we had come here.
He was shoved away, into the wall. "I know you gits are both underage," he snarled. "Why don't you go piss off before I break your nose, kid?" It was a trifle rude, John's nose was a little on the long side.
I watched John clench his fists, staring up at the man. "John, you don't have to quarrel... We can just go-" I whispered, grabbing his arm.
"No, I'm going to get us in," He hissed back.
"You're not going anywhere near here," The bouncer cut in, shoving John away.
"You can't do that!" I huffed, stepping between them.
Rolling his eyes as he cracked his knuckles, the burly man sneered at me. "I can, darlin'."
"Alright, that's it." John stepped up, swinging his arm back and throwing a punch at the bouncer.
He took the hit like it was nothing, glaring down at John. "Wrong choice, bloke." He snarled, narrowing his eyes.
John glanced at his fist, then back at the man before grabbing my wrist. "You're really going to fight two children?" He asked, holding up my arm. "And a bird, at that?" I was slightly offended by that.
"Just let it go, John," I repeated, clenching his hand.
"Bugger off before I call the police."
John ran a hand through his hair, staring at the door of the Cavern before looking at me. I took the chance to begin dragging him off, gazing nervously at the angry bouncer. "I'm sorry, Roxanne." He sighed, not looking back at the man.
"What were you thinking? You could've gotten hurt!" I exclaimed, digging my fingers into his palm.
His brown eyes that I absolutely loved fixated on me. "I didn't mean to have that happen- I just wanted us to have some fun!"
"Getting into fights isn't fun, John!" I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. "Let's just go somewhere we'll legally be let in."
He nodded softly in agreement, still clutching onto my hand. It was a tad awkward, but I was perfectly happy with the gesture, smiling to myself a little. John then started digging in his pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "Fancy a cig?"
~ ~ ~
The searing tip of the cigarette burnt into my arm as Grandmother slowly mashed the burning stick into the skin. I screamed in pain, writhing away. "Stop, Grandmum, that hurts!" I cried.
After a few more seconds, the cigarette was removed, though the burning sensation remained. "Maybe you'll think next time about smoking, then?" Grandmother shouted back. "It is the Devil's product!"
I glanced at my arm. The flesh was bright red- she must've burnt through my skin- and black around the edges. Grandmother seemed more like the Devil than anyone at that moment.
~ ~ ~
I rolled up my sleeve and glanced at the circular scar on my arm, wincing to myself before I gazed back at John. "Sure." I muttered, letting the fabric fall back to its original place.
"What's that?" John asked, referring to the burn scar.
Panicking a little, I brushed my hands off on my skirt. "N-nothing,"
He pressed his lips together, narrowing his eyes as he gave me the fag. I put it between my lips and he lit it.
~ ~ ~
We had ended up going to a few shops around the city, stopping by record shops, sweet shops, and a quaint little café- Cooper's Coffee Shop.
I had also smoked two more cigarettes in that time, whereas John had only one more. I really had been missing out on tobacco the past years of my life, though, so I needed to catch up. What could go wrong?
Puffing one of the fags as we strolled into a record shop, I glanced at a big display of Elvis singles: Jailhouse Rock, which had recently been released. How could I have forgotten? It had already been a few days. "Oh, John, look!" I tugged the sleeve of his leather jacket, even though he had probably already seen it. There was a huge Elvis cardboard cutout beside the stack of records.
I ran over to the cutout, touching Elvis' sweet, cardboard face. He was just so good looking.
Meanwhile, John had picked up one of the vinyls itself. "Funny we've already gotten so much stock right after they've been released in America," he commented.
"Haven't you heard?" The clerk sitting behind a register piped up. "They've started shipping here to the UK at the same time."
I stayed, swooning over the cutout. "Gear." He waved the cover. "Is it any good, then?"
"Of course it's good! It's Elvis Presley!" I shouted, offended. "Sorry, sir."
The man behind the counter gave John a weak smile, then went into a different room. I dug into my pockets for money, producing a pound to pay for it.
I gazed at the cutout again dreamily, Elvis' hair, eyes, nose, goodness, he was the whole package. I wondered if he was nice, as well.
Before walking to the counter, I caught John staring at the cardboard cutout as well before frantically fixing his hair and glancing at me. I giggled, placing the record down for later.
"Blimey," John muttered, holding up a 'Here's Little Richard' album. "I heard Ready Teddy on the radio months ago, but I could never find the whole album." He handed it to me.
I flipped it over, reading the song list. "Long Tall Sally?" I read aloud. "I bloody love Long Tall Sally." Glancing seriously at John, I whispered to him. "We should buy this."
He returned my gaze solemnly. "We should."
Extinguishing my cigarette in an ashtray on the glass countertop, John and I stood patiently waiting for the man to return, him holding Here's Little Richard and me clutching onto Jailhouse Rock for dear life.
"Is this all?" The man asked. His name tag read 'Clark.' We nodded. "That'll be £5.10, then."
The records were put neatly into a bag. "Ta," John called as we left.
~ ~ ~
The warden threw a party in the county jail.
The prison band was there and they began to wail.
The band was jumpin' and the joint began to swing.
You should've heard those knocked out jailbirds sing.
Let's rock, everybody, let's rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock.
Spider Murphy played the tenor saxophone,
Little Joe was blowin' on the slide trombone.
The drummer boy from Illinois went crash, boom, bang,
the whole rhythm section was the Purple Gang.
Let's rock, everybody, let's rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock.
Number forty-seven said to number three:
"You're the cutest jailbird I ever did see.
I sure would be delighted with your company,
come on and do the Jailhouse Rock with me."
Let's rock, everybody, let's rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock.
The sad sack was a sittin' on a block of stone
way over in the corner weepin' all alone.
The warden said, "Hey, buddy, don't you be no square.
If you can't find a partner use a wooden chair."
Let's rock, everybody, let's rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock.
Shifty Henry said to Bugs, "For Heaven's sake,
no one's lookin', now's our chance to make a break."
Bugsy turned to Shifty and he said, "Nix nix,
I wanna stick around a while and get my kicks."
Let's rock, everybody, let's rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock.
I stared at the picture of Elvis on the single's cover as I bopped my head along to the music, lying on John's bed on my stomach with him beside me, listening more intently.
"That's the third time we've listened to this, can we put on Little Richard now, or at least the B-side?" John pleaded, growing annoyed with me repeating Jailhouse Rock over and over again.
"Just once more, please?" I begged John, turning to him.
He sighed, rolling his eyes. "After." He said, placing the record onto the turntable and taking off Jailhouse Rock. "You really should get your own record player."
I rolled onto my back, stretching. "Yes, but I like listening to stuff with you. I don't know if I'd even have enough money, anyways." I did, though, because of the £200 Jack had given me. But I wasn't about to say that.
John shrugged as he laid back down beside me, pecking me on the cheek. I felt my face turn red, and looked away from him as Ready Teddy began to play.
I had turned my ears off, so to speak, so I could focus on looking at Elvis again. "Ey, Roxanne," John had nudged me after a minute or so. "Are you even listening to me?"
Glancing at him nervously, my eyes shifted off to the side. "Er.. Yes, I... Um..."
"What'd I say, then?" He huffed, looking angrily at me.
"You... Were talking about..." I said slowly, trying to think of something, anything that he might say.
"Piss off," He pushed my shoulder lightly. "I was trying to talk to you about Julia, but you're too busy fuckin' gawking at Elvis." John snagged the album cover out of my hands and threw it away from the bed.
I gasped, watching it fly. "Hey!" I cried.
"Pay attention to me a little, won't you?" John murmured, fixing his hair quickly.
"Yes, but Elvis! New Elvis!" I exclaimed, looking at the album, now facing downwards to the floor. Poor guy.
He pressed his lips together. "Roxanne," John said through gritted teeth. "I'm right here. Where's Elvis?"
"On the floor," I huffed. "Ugh, you probably even scuffed the cover."
I moved up so I could go get the cover and fix it up. He snatched my shoulder. "John, just let me go get it!" His grasp became tighter. "Piss off, the thing's brand new!"
He kissed me and I stopped, letting him pull me closer to his body. It was intoxicating, and I was disgusted by myself. How could I let myself just be lost in someone like him? He was an absolute git; a wanker; and he was also kissing me roughly, rolling over on the bed so I was below him. I wanted to push him away, push him off me and run home. I didn't belong here, and I wanted to so desperately. I felt dangerous, being in Liverpool and all, but a little part of me missed Bristol.
"Roxanne," John gasped, pulling away from my lips as he breathed heavily onto me, which was slightly unsanitary if he had any diseases or bacteria upon him. "Bloody fuck,"
I felt my chest heaving as I silently stared up at him. His hands travelled up my sides and began lifting up my shirt. I let him, wrapping an arm around his neck. It ended up in a ring around my collarbone, and I glanced self consciously at John. "Maybe we shouldn't-" I stopped myself from talking as he kissed my neck. I subconsciously began unbuttoning his shirt as he tugged at my kilt.
Finally, my willpower returned and I shoved him off of me. "What the hell?" I demanded.
Just then, the door slammed loudly. "John Winston Lennon!" Mimi's voice shouted from downstairs.
"Shit," He sat up, running a hand through his hair as I fixed my clothing.
"Your middle name is Winston?" I snorted.
"Shut up." He simply replied as angry footsteps travelled up the stairs. He rushed to the window, opening it roughly. "Let's go." He helped me out first and I clutched onto the window ledge as my feet slipped a little on the shingles of the roof. Before he could get out, his door swung open just as I got out of the way.
"John Lennon!" Mimi repeated. "What exactly are you doing here?"
I heard him laugh. "I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Don't give me that, young man!" She scolded him. "I got a telephone call from Quarry Bank, and apparently you were given detention twice, but never showed up to said detentions!"
Shit. I didn't know that. "I didn't want to," John replied.
"It's not a 'want' thing, John! It's a must!" I heard a sharp step and then a quiet 'Ow!' from John. "We're going to that school and you're going to finish the detentions you owe!"
"No! What the fuck?" John complained, his voice farther away until the door to his room slammed.
I sat there, hair flipping in the wind as I clutched onto the shingles. After a few seconds I finally realized where I was and clambered back through the window just as the front door opened and Mimi walked out with John following begrudgingly.
I closed the window and it made a large noise. I jumped, cursing to myself. Both of their heads turned towards it, John's first. He motioned desperately for me to duck, mouthing it as well.
Stepping out of the way just as Mimi turned, I took a sharp breath before waiting a second to watch John get dragged away by the ear. He was glaring at me, and I felt a trifle guilty.
I faced John's small room, glancing around it, taking it in without him around before picking up the album cover and slipping Jailhouse Rock back into the record slip and leaving.
Paul was coming up the front walk just as I had closed the door behind me. "Oh, Heather!" He greeted. "John's still home, yeah?"
Without a word, I guided him up to the gate and pointed down the sidewalk at John and Mimi, who were still slightly visible down the long avenue. He was getting pulled by the arm now.
Stifling a laugh, my cousin turned back to me. "Y'know, I think the reason that my dad hates John so much is because he hasn't any parents harping at him all day. He's just some wild kid.
Somehow that makes him a punk to my father. Honestly? I think John's just misunderstood, and a little lonely."
I nodded in agreement. Maybe John was just sad. He wasn't a bastard, it was more of a show, a mask. I know that's what I would do sometimes.
The more I thought about it, John and I seemed very alike. He too had lost his parents, maybe less tragically, but definitely more emotionally draining than I.
It was odd, how many parallels we had.
~ ~ ~
"Christ," John bitched, pacing back and forth along my floor. "They say I've got no hope going to college unless I fix my grades!" He ran a hand through his hair. "Fucking bollocks. I don't need to fix anything."
"Maybe you should fix your hair," I stifled a laugh. It was poking out in at least seven different directions, since he had ruffled it up.
He was about to crossly comment back at me before he stared at himself in the mirror across my room. "Yeah." John murmured. "But anyways, seriously! They're going on about me being a fuck-up."
"You're not a fuck-up," I echoed to make him feel better.
"I'm not a fuck-up!" He shouted. "I'm going to be bloody famous, and they're going to still be on their arses doing next to nothing!"
I placed my cigarette onto an ashtray John had bought me that I put on my bedside table. "Relax a little, John. I'm sure you'll make it big with the Quarrymen- you needn't get so frustrated."
"Mimi doesn't think so," he huffed, taking a drag of my cig before sitting beside me on my bed. "Fuck, Roxanne." John had said that in a trifle suggestive manner. I wondered what Elaine thought we were up to. "I'm so tired of it all,"
"Then go do something about it," I urged him.
He stood up abruptly. "You know what? I will." John announced, striding out of my room before stopping at the doorway. "Oh- and by the way, I saw that burn scar of yours yesterday."