1957–

you and john had started dating not long ago. you had known eachother for ages, but only properly got into a relationship now, since your older brother was his mate and was strict on things like this.

you two clicked instantly, but john was a teenage boy, and most teenage boys you hung around with got angry. very easily.

you had been sitting beside john on the floor, alongside the rest of your mates in the quarrymen; george, paul, eric, and your brother too. you were all drinking and smoking in paul’s living room, chatting about school and music and elvis presley and all that.

you and john kept doing little things like tickling or pinching eachother, or drinking from eachothers beers.. as jokes, obviously. you play fought a little bit, yet something you did must have set john off. maybe you hit him too hard, because he got so mad, and you realised he wasn’t play fighting anymore.

he punched your body once or twice, pushed you off and got up harshly, his jaw clenched. he kicked at you, his hard boots still on, before grabbing his beer and storming off to the kitchen, breathing heavily. the anger had gotten to him.

you were curled up on the floor, holding your stomach with your knees up to your chest as you groaned softly, tears welling up in your eyes.

john got angry a lot, and he’d lose control— it happened all the time. and now he was in the kitchen, weather trying to calm down or drinking more, no one knew.

the others all helped you immediately, but they knew it happened with john a lot.

“bloody hell, what’s wrong with john?” paul asked, helping you up and picking up your spilled beer bottle.

“what’d ya do, love?” another asked.

your brother just sat there, smoking his cigarette. he seemed pissed. he didn’t want his little sister being hurt like that, no one would want that. john needed to bloody control himself, in his opinion.

“it’s alright, lass, john’s just mad today.”

“too much beer, macca. ye shouldn’t buy so much.” george said, patting your shoulder as he looked at paul.