The Long-Awaited Chapter Four!!!! :D
Title: I’ve Just Seen A Face: Chapter Four (Lemons and Pigs)
Author: thetenwords
Rating: R sexual situation, profanity, and violence
Plot: Anne is your average small-town girl who gets herself caught up in her own version of her favorite fanfic, “Living Lennon”. Things don’t go like she planned and all she knows is she won’t forget her life before or after this bittersweet experience…
Warning: READ LIVING LENNON BEFORE YOU READ THIS STORY!!!! This isn’t a sequel, but it will help you kind of understand the plot. Plus, it’s a kick-ass story.
Disclaimer: As often as I check eBay, the Beatles are never ACTUALLY for sale. So I don’t own them. (Yet.)
Let me tell you, I don’t know much about relationships. That’s why I don’t get into them often.
But making out- I know a whole lot about. And that’s all we’ve been doing so far. We’ve just been pressed up against the brick wall, her still pinning me to it, making out. Which, you know, I can make do with. If life gives you keep them. Because hey, free lemons.
Unfortunately, Trevor shows up. Which really blows. Even though it had been at least a good half hour.
“Get the fuck away, boy.”
“You really hate me now. Don’t you, Anne?” he looks down at the cobblestones of the alley and then averts his gaze to her face.
She clutches tighter onto my shirt, simply nodding.
“Haven’t I told you enough?”
He bites his lip, not saying anything for a while. “I’d be willin’ ta fight for ya, love.”
She rolls her eyes. “You couldn’t bench a cob of corn. Much less ME.”
“I meant fight HIM.” He looks at me, grinning like an idiot. “I would fight him and win if I knew it meant I could have you.”
She rolls her eyes. “No way, loser. Get a sack. Seriously. Let’s go, George.” She takes my hand, leading me out and walking with quite a large stride to the car.
I suddenly feel a pain in my left cheek and before I even know what it is, the girl who had been so delicate in a few instances, like when we kissed for the first time, is smothered.
Anne whirls around, letting go of my hand, and stalks up to Trevor. She stamps on his foot with her heels, gives him a pimp slap, punches his stomach, kicks him where the sun doesn’t shine, and then knocks her skull to his, and pushes him down on the wet, cobblestoned ground.
She starts running, despite the heels, and grabs my hand again, pulling me toward the car and shoving me in it while driving away quicker than a drunken John Lennon.
She says nothing while she focuses on the dark and busy road, though her dark pink lips are parted as though she wants to make conversation. Luckily, she does as she makes a turn onto an exit.
“Sing something to distract me from wanting to go back and kick his ass.”
I think for a few seconds before thinking of something I wouldn’t hear very often with my friends in my time.
“Doesn't like crap games, with barons and earls.
Won’t go to Harlem, in ermine and pearls,
Won't dish the dirt, with the rest of those girls,
That's why the lady is a tramp.”
She laughs. “Frank Sinatra? Really?” She pulls up to the building her loft is in, and leans over to kiss me before climbing out of the car. “You wanna make out when we get inside?” she says, grabbing my hand when we get in the elevator.
I apparently look too eager, because that’s all we do the moment we get in the door until 1:47 in the morning the next day.
…..
I wouldn’t have come gone out if I had known that we were going to end up HERE.
“What about this one? On you?” I hold up a white tee with green letters spelling out “RUB FOR LUCK” across the tits.
She rolls her eyes. “I am NOT getting that shirt, George. And we’re shopping for YOU.” She takes the shirt, folds it and puts it back. “This one isn’t so bad.” I see her hold up a red shirt. My favorite color, but not on that shirt.
“I’m not really the surfer type. And that’s what all of this crap is.”
She shrugs. “Well, then by all means, let’s look somewhere else!” And we’re moving like lightning. She is grabbing on my hand as if it’s the only thing keeping her alive. But I stop her when I see a shirt that I DO like. She simply stares at it. “NO. WAY. ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH.”
“But I LOVE it, Anne!!!”
She rolls her eyes, harrumphs, rocks her head back and places her hands on her wide hips. “I am NOT buying you a shirt that says ‘Rock star by day, porn star by night.’”
“But it’s PERFECT.”
She laughs and jokingly replies with a big smile that I haven’t seen on her before, “Yeah, for ME.” Then she laughs and kisses me. Which I don’t mind so much. “Just kidding.”
She grabs my hand again, and we walk around. She constantly asks me if there’s anything I like, and I see extreme everything. Extremely bright, extremely dark. Is that how low the world has sunk??? When I look at Anne, I don’t see that. For example, today she’s wearing a green t-shirt that says “When life gives you lemons, keep them. Because hey, free lemons.” It’s funny, but nothing that would shock me mum. Which means doesn’t really say too much, but still…
“Anne, can I ask ya somethin’, loov?”
“Yeah?” she looks continues looking away before dragging me into another store.
“Is… Is me mum still around?”
She turns around, looking like she doesn’t want to answer. “No, George.”
I nod. “Lou’s alright, then?”
She smiles and nods. “She’s living in Illinois. She made a tribute band called the Liverpool Legends.”
“That’s good to hear.” I nod, and she starts skipping. “What’re you doing?”
She shrugs. “Idunno. Romping, Hari. You should try it sometime.” And with a giggle, she slides her arm through mine.
“Romping.”
A nod. “Romp: To frolic or play in a lively or joyful way. You should really loosen up and dance in public sometime.”
I shrug. “I just don’t.”
She rolls her eyes and smiles before dragging me in another store, called Express For Him….
……………… (Switched perspective now...)
My Sweet Lord. I am clothes shopping with George Harrison. Which, Okay. I don’t mind. I’ve never anticipated such a thing. But…
“Do you like this black V-neck?” I ask, holding up a solid shirt, that I remember shivering over when I saw a model wear it online. He shrugs, so I keep it on my arm. Skinny jeans and tees seem to be passable to him, being the only thing I have been able to get him to sort-of respond to. “Then I guess you’ll at least have something to try on in the dressing room.” I shrug, shoving him into the first open one I see, shoving him in it.
Luckily, when he steps out, I see those tight skinny jeans really WERE form-fitting. He turns and looks behind him. “These aren’t low-rise! I wore ‘em all the time in Hamburg! Me arse doesn’t show!”
I bite my lip and think of Chelsy from Living Lennon. “Your ass is fine.” Those jeans show that he’s got, in my opinion, some fine junk in his trunk. “And that deep V-neck looks… flattering on you.” By flattering, I mean drop-dead sexy.
He shrugs. “ ‘s Okay.”
I roll my eyes. “You look pretty hot.”
He grins kind of goofy, and forgive me, I think I see some color on his cheeks. “Ta.”
……………… (Switching back to Georgie…)
“I never would have imagined you liking Converse, George. Glad we found some that were red.” She puts her soda down, observing my hand on the table. “Never thought you’d like Taco Bell, either. Or V-necks.”
I pick up my burrito. “Didn’t think you’d like V-necks, either.” I take a bite as I watch her eyes grow bigger.
“Excuse me? Why do you say that? I don’t have any.”
“Admit it. You think I’m attractive in a vee.” Her eyes continue to grow to be the size of lemons, and I start laughing. “I got your goat, you silly girl.”
She fakes pouting and giggles. “Well, I’m going to get your pig later.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I am going to chase your pig, and then I’m going to tackle it and pick it up and carry it home with me. And I’m never giving it back. Not even if you offer me a basket of hot wings.”
Playing along, I laugh and take another bite of my burrito. “What if I gave you a barrel of hot wings?”
“I STILL wouldn’t give you your pig back. Not even if-” she pauses and creates a drum roll on the table for dramatic effect, “You gave me back my goat.”
I nod. “What if I gave you back your goat anyway?”
She rolls her eyes, smiling with her whole face. “You’re impossible, Hari. You know that?” she sips out of her soda again. “Impossible.”
“At least I don’t steal pigs,” I utter with a smile.