JOHN

That's it. She wasn't coming.

George's fingers drummed on the table. Brrrop. Brrrop. Mine tapped harshly into the table, pitpitpitpitpit. Two glasses clinked onto the table.

"Thank you," George said politely.

"Mhmm," and the tender was back at the bar, wiping glasses, waiting, it seemed, with us.

She decided not to show up. I must've been daft for thinking she would.

Shhhrrrrrop. George took a long loud sip from his glass. Brrrop. Pitpitpitpit.

"What time is it?" My voice was gruff.

Silence as George turned his hand to look at his watch, then more silence to make out the precise location of the hands. "Five after."

I leaned back into the seat of the booth and grabbed my left knuckle in my right hand. Pop.

Five after. It was too late. Pop.

That lying twit. If only she had thought about what she was doing to me- Pop.

Never missing a chance to hurt me. To twist me around until I could no longer bear it.

Pop. I switched to my other hand.

"John, it's only been a few minutes. She'll be here." Pop. 

PRUDENCE

 Breathe in, breathe out. Again. Count to ten. Shake the nerves out. Crack the neck. Grab a string and pull. In, out, in, out.

JOHN

A pause. Then George lifted his glass, and shhhrrrrrop, took another drink.

POP. My knuckle shrieked at the sudden force of my hand. I flung my hands apart from each other and grabbed my drink. The cold condensation pasted my skin to the glass. I threw the liquid down with a voluminous GULP and banged the empty glass onto the table.

"Ta, Harrison." I grabbed the back of the booth and began to hoist myself out of it, silently cursing myself for falling into her trap yet another time, why, John, did you have to keep on with this game, why couldn't you move on, be happy and not get entangled in the snare-

"She's here." George looked placidly beyond me, to the front door, which opened and closed swiftly, wooopht. I was still half in, half out of the seat, holding on to the back.

The sound of her shoes was soft. She wasn't wearing heels. Fabric whooshed with every step. Bangles clinked with every other. I heard her hair sway, her fingers pass her thighs, her eyelashes swoop closed and open again.

I slowly dropped myself back into the seat as George waved to her. I raised my glass, and the bartender nodded, working on another.

"Hello, Pru," George said softly, standing up and sidling out of the booth, no longer in my line of sight. I refused to look anywhere but straight ahead. I listened to everything they said and did, planting myself further and further into my seat.

I wouldn't run away this time. I tried to steady my heavy breathing, and my fingers started to pitpitpitpit again.

"How are you?"

"Alright." A bangle swooshed, fabric meshed: they were hugging. "And you?"

"The same." Shoes shuffled. "Would you like to sit down?"

A short breath. My eyes widened. I couldn't turn my head.

"Okay." Movement, rustling, and suddenly she was in front of me.

Her copper hair was down, a headband framing it around her face. Her eyebrows were not filled in, but her lashes were heavily coated.

I remembered her mascara. She hated how short her lashes looked.

Her lids were tinted a light, ethereal blue, and her cheeks the most fleeting pink. Her lips looked shiny, but otherwise uncolored. Small hoops dangled from her ears. She wore a flowing shirt of many colors, off the shoulder with big puffy cuffs. Her legs and feet were hidden beneath the table. She crossed her arms on it. A small black purse was hooked to her arm. Her nails were colored a gaudy gold.

Her eyes were wide, her lips tense, her neck tight.  She looked at me and her expression was soggy cardboard.

A glass clinked on the table. "Anything for the lady to drink?" The bartender asked.

The face became shiny plastic. She turned to the bartender. "I'll just have water with lemon, thanks."

"Water with lemon," and he was away again.

Pitpitpitpitpitpitpit-

"Well, if neither of you will start, how about I do?" George began, awkwardly. "As a friend to both of you, I feel-"

"Can it, George, I can handle meself," I spat. George stared at me, but said nothing more.

"That's no way to treat your friend," Prudence said, in the softest voice I'd ever heard her speak.

"Well, you would know the right way to treat someone, wouldn't'cha?" I retorted. I had found my footing. "After all this  hurt I can trust you to give me advice about how to handle my friends, right?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Her voice remained level, but I was determined to change that.

"Oh, so now you're lyin' to me? That's exactly what I need! You would think someone so desperate to see me would know me like the back of 'er hand, but it seems that you're still just a ditzy Liverbird! Worrying only about herself!"

"John, you're shouting-"

"I know I'm shouting George! I want this lying bird to hear me loud and clear!" I shot out of the seat and slammed my hands down onto the table. George and Prudence both jumped, but Prudence didn't uncross her arms. I leaned down into her face, and dropped my voice.

"How 'bout you give me some real answers, Pru? Huh? Can you do that for me one time?" I felt my eyes get hot. "Can I trust you this one time to give me some answers?"

Prudence's eyes were sharpening. "I swore to myself I wouldn't start shouting again. But you're making it very bloody hard to keep that promise."

"You and your fab morals! Wouldn't want to make a scene, now, would ya? You just like seein' me make a fool of meself for you!" I shoved my hands against the tabletop, pushing myself away. My swinging arm knocked my full glass off the table. KRRRANG it landed, pieces skidded across the floor.

"Ay, enough! Out with you!" The bartender marched, klonk klonk klonk, to the booth and grabbed the sleeve of my shirt. I didn't resist, but George quickly stood up and disentangled me from the tender's firm grip.

"Come 'ead, we're going," he breathed, pulling me out of the bar.

"I'm not finished George!"

"We're never finished," he muttered just barely loud enough for me to hear, but continued dragging me. I heard Pru's muted footsteps behind me.

"Sorry," she said to the bartender.

"That's what you're supposed to say to me!" I barked back to her. George tightened his grip and led me out onto the street. Once we hit the pavement he pulled me to a stop and let me go. Prudence stood by his side.

"Well that obviously didn't work," George said, rubbing his hands against his pants. "We can't cause a riot. The paps will have skewers of us."

I looked at Prudence. She didn't look back, just nodded slowly and chewed her thumbnail.

"You can't end things like this. No matter what you both think." George looked at her, at me, back at her. "You have to both talk, and listen, to each other." He stared at me, pleading with his eyes. "Can you try to talk it out?"

"Sod off, George."

He sighed. "Okay, so we can't be in a public place..." He turned around, his back to the street, and rubbed the back of his neck.

"My apartment is nearby," Prudence offered. George slightly lifted his head.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She turned to me. "I still didn't get my chance to talk."

PRUDENCE

We walked to my flat. I led the way, steps in front of John and George. I didn't turn back to them once, just kept walking as if I was making my way home from lunch. With all the shoving, shouting, scurrying Londoners around me, it almost felt like a normal day.

I took them up to the flat and held the door open for them, first George, and then John.

"Your place is lovely," George said politely, walking the four steps across to the other side.

I blushed; they probably haven't seen a flat this small in years. "It's good enough."

George smiled softly and then turned to John, who was leaning against the door, head down, hands together in enveloping fists.

"Make yourself comfortable," I said courteously- ever the gracious hostess. John sauntered over to my bed and sat on the very corner stiffly. George remained by the wall. Instead of smiling, he bit the inside of his cheek softly. I stepped back, facing the two of them equally.

"Now," I said, crossing my arms behind my back. "If you're all done talking-" I looked at John, he stared back under his brow- "I think my turn is long overdue."

"When you left Liverpool, we both promised to write each other. I wrote every week. Every single week."

John's head whipped up, his eyes wide. "I-"

"No, John, I'm the one speaking now," I held up my hand and silenced him. My cheeks grew hot. I begged myself not to start crying. "I wrote every week. I kept writing you months after you stopped writing me. Only when I positively knew you were through with me did I give up."

I leaned against the wall and slid slowly to the floor. I looked up at George, whose face shone with a peculiar sort of sadness. I looked at John. His expression cracked between fury and sympathy.

"I was depressed, John. I lied in bed for days. I didn't see anyone. I didn't eat. I waited for much too long for you, and you didn't come back. I found my way without you. I made my own career. It wasn't quite how I expected it to be, of course," I forced a laugh and leaned my head against the wall, "because I thought I would make it there with you by my side. But I didn't, and that's just as well." I took a breath, and looked down my nose at John, the tears- why couldn't I force myself not to cry?- the tears blurring my vision.

"Why didn't you write, John?" I asked, and my voice became full with the lump in my throat. I shut my eyes and tried to swallow it, to compose myself.

"I did! I wrote!" I opened my eyes. John was tense, shaking. "Every week! I never stopped! Never!"

"John-" George interjected.

"You saw!" John threw his hand accusingly to him. "You saw me writing! In Hamburg!"

I looked at George, and he at me. The nod was almost invisible.

I couldn't breathe. "He wrote? You...?" My hand flew over my mouth and the sobs were unbearable.

He wrote. He wrote. Every week. Never stopped.

John crawled off the bed and over to me, where I heaved with every sob. "When we were kicked out of Hamburg, I was so mad at you. I never got your letters. George and I went to your house to see you, but you were gone. You were gone!"

I felt him shake next to me, and finally realized that he was crying too. I wrapped my hands around my knees and shoved my face into my knees. "It wasn't my fault, it wasn't," he moaned beside me.

"It wasn't either of your faults," George said above us. We both looked up at him. "It must've been the mail system, or wrong addresses... some sort of screwed-up link." He dropped down in front of us, onto his knees, and stared down at his hands.

I looked at John, and he at me.

It wasn't my fault.

It wasn't his.

All those years, that pain, that anger- and no one to blame.

If I had only known, if he had known-

"I have to go," John shot up, sniffling away his tears. "I, um, Yoko..." And he was gone, the door closed behind him.

A scream unfurled from the bottom of my stomach, up my chest, through my throat, out between my lips. The room shook. My hands grabbed at my head, my legs shot out. The scream danced out the window, up into the clouds.

I felt George grab me and pull me into him, but the scream didn't stop, it kept going, getting louder and louder, until the whole world could hear nothing else.

{okay so a bit of drama but it definitely isn't over yet

nowwww time for me to talk about myself kekeke

RADIOHEAD PERFORMED CREEP LIVE FOR THE FIRST TIME IN SEVEN YEARS

I wasn't there cause it was in Paris and my concert is in a few months but MAYBE this means they ended their ban on performing that song and they might do it at my show yayayay

that's it for now enjoy your day guys!!

PEACE AND LOVE L***}