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John traced a finger down his belly. It was soft and squishy, not quite flat. He was so fat, he could barely see his ribs.
He had found his way back to his cheekbones after that Fat Elvis phase of his. He had risen above his past with LSD, put on some glasses, and found Yoko. Still, the shame of his past lived in every fat cell in his body.
It's not healthy, Yoko had told him. It wasn't healthy to have weight. And he cared about health now because Yoko did. So they snorted heroin until they could barely move, and on the occasion that they had an appetite, they ate health foods; something macrobiotic. It felt good to control what went into their bodies.
The heroin obviously wasn't healthy, they knew that, nor was it particularly fun, but they didn't have much of a choice. When the whole world and John's mates had turned against them, the best they could do was numb themselves to it all. It was an escape, and it felt good, and it stopped John from overindulging in food as his other method of coping.
John moved his finger over to Yoko's belly and traced her skin. She was plumper than him, though in her case, it was delightful because she was carrying the product of their love.
John was very excited to see the physical manifestation of the intermingling of their souls, and when it arrived, the three of them could lock themselves away from the rest of the world and be one with the universe together.
It seemed that Yoko could sense what John was thinking, because she lazily looked up at him and asked, "what's wrong?"
"Just thinking about our baby," John slurred as he trailed his hand down Yoko's arm and enveloped her bony wrist. And, John's bones might have been bigger than Yoko's, but he would give anything to have wrists as slim as hers. Maybe someone could shave down his bones for him.
"I wish he would come out already," Yoko sighed. "I don't like having fat ankles."
"Yeah, and I wanna see your skinny little waist again," John said. "Don't so much mind your tits being bigger though."
Yoko giggled. John pulled her closer, burying his face in her breasts.
"And I'm hungry," Yoko complained. "I'm craving ice cream. Chips with ice cream. Maybe some custard too."
"Ignore it," John said. "You always say, cravings go away if you ignore them. And only if they don't do you actually need it."
"I know," Yoko said. "But I've been speaking with the baby and I'm scared he's not getting enough."
"The baby's fine," John reassured her, brushing a hand over her womb. He grinned, "if he's getting you all worked up already, you know he's gonna be a little menace. Isn't that great?"
"The tarot reader was worried."
"But the other tarot reader said it was fine, remember?"
"She said lots of things could go wrong."
"And she said we'd have a beautiful baby boy that we'd love dearly."
"You're right," Yoko closed her eyes and snuggled her head into John's shoulder.
John watched the clock tick to 6:45pm.
"We've gotta go," John nudged Yoko.
Yoko frowned. "I don't want to."
"Neither," John said. "But we're gonna record my song. It's about you, remember?"
Neither moved. It took a lot of effort for them to crawl out of bed. Eventually, though, they made it to the studio. They were still sleepy, but John swallowed a pep pill and then he was ready to get everyone working on Happiness Is A Warm Gun In Your Hand.
Marmalade sandwiches and other snacks that were being passed around were ignored by John. He couldn't even fathom the idea of eating while he was working. He couldn't fathom how he had done it in the past. Eating muddled up his mind. Digestion wasted energy. Weight slowed him down.
Eight hours and 45 takes later, JohnandYoko returned home.
John looked at the kitchen while his stomach growled. He felt disgusted and nauseous, but they both knew they had to eat sometimes or they would die.
Yoko made something quick and healthy. Though, they both accidentally spewed it out again. The issue was that they had waited too long since their last hit of junk, but when they were on junk, they had no appetite.
They curled up in bed and got their fix. Relief.
They made gentle love. The one meal John never skipped out on or felt guilty about eating was Yoko's pussy.
When John woke up later, he panicked because Yoko wasn't beside him. What was he, without Yoko beside him? He fell out out of bed, landing in a pile of rubbish, and crawled his way out of the bedroom.
Yoko was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, eating biscuits.
"What the fuck are you doing?" John snapped at her.
Yoko looked up at him with wide eyes. "It's for the baby."
John couldn't help giving in at that moment. He sat beside his girlfriend, digging into the biscuits with her. When they relapsed, they always did it together, for support.
"We're pigs," Yoko mumbled.
"We're always gonna be fucking fat because we've got no fucking self-control," John groaned, stuffing another biscuit into his mouth.
"We can learn self-control," Yoko said, putting on her air of confidence that always gave John more confidence too.
"At least we have this," John held up their baggie of heroin.
They both snorted a little, and the packet of biscuits was dropped. For a long moment, they were paralysed in the pleasurable rush.
"Who bought the biscuits?" Yoko asked after a while.
"Somebody sent them to us," John excused.
Yoko gave him a look. "You could have thrown them away. You know we can't keep that kind of thing in our home, John. We don't have self-control."
John felt like vomiting. It was a regular occurrence with good-quality junk like they had.
With shaky, lazy legs, John dragged himself to the bathroom, and threw up his guts. There was something pleasurable about making his stomach completely devoid of anything. And there went the biscuits. Good riddance.
Yoko was next. John helped hold her long hair back.
"We have to fast after that," Yoko told him as she wiped her mouth.
"I know," John agreed.
There was something pleasurable about hunger. There was a giddy sort of satisfaction in control, in ignoring his body's needs. Or, maybe 'needs' was too strong a word. John considered his body a crybaby; he was much healthier with less than what it begged for.
They sat beside the toilet, leaning against each other, dozing in and out of consciousness.
John generally hadn't much clue what happened throughout his day. As long as he stayed close to Yoko like she was the other half of his body, he was okay.
And he was aware of when it was nearly time to head to the studio. This time, though, stars covered John's vision as he tried to walk.
He put a hand to his forehead. "I feel a bit lightheaded, Mother."
Yoko cupped his cheek. "Oh, baby. Are you sick?"
"Must be hunger," he said, ashamed.
Yoko frowned. "But we had biscuits."
"I don't know," John sighed. "It's alright, I'll be alright."
But he still felt dizzy. Yoko knew he couldn't work like that, so she agreed they should eat.
John sat on the kitchen floor while Yoko whipped up something macrobiotic.
They sat up at the table when Yoko was finished, looking at their food with contempt.
John investigated the squishy part of his hips, and the way his stomach folded over a little and thighs were fatter when he was sitting. He comforted himself knowing the food he was eating was healthy and Yoko-approved, which meant it hopefully wouldn't make things worse for John. But it still felt strange to eat, like he was swallowing foreign objects.
As if he hadn't been stuffing his face just a couple of years ago. He could hardly understand that man; depressed and lost, angry and lazy, never been blessed by the sight of Yoko Ono. The only thing he could really relate to now was the fear of the rest of the world.
He would never again see a moptop and a round face in the mirror. These days, he didn't know what he saw, but it was better than it had ever been. It still needed to get even better.
John had never felt quite at home in his body, but the distance had grown as his fame increased. Everybody wanted to touch him. Like a statue loses its colour, John seemed to be gradually losing his relationship to his body with each stranger that rubbed themselves against him. They wanted to feel his skin, feel his arse, feel his cock, stick their tits in his face, and they acted as if they had every right to. He might as well have been a statue because he hardly seemed to be human. He was a myth to be exploited.
He wrote songs screaming for help. He wrote songs that said, 'aren't I a bit like you?'. And people still ignored it, found their own reality within him, and dug for meanings in other songs that were supposed to be nonsense. At least he had Yoko now, who made him feel real when he lost himself.
He wanted, in some sense, to reclaim his body. Certainly, getting fatter hadn't been the way to go. That had been the result of the depression and helplessness. It had been him letting go, allowing himself to be swallowed by the crushing weight of the world. He had to take the reigns and strip away what had been him - the Nowhere Man - and strip away what they had touched. If he could claw off his own skin, he would. At least, as Yoko had told him, it took about a month for all of his skin cells to regenerate, and every seven years his whole body would have completely new cells. So John wanted his new body to be touched only by Yoko. That, unfortunately, was very difficult, and the easier thing was still to take control of this body.
When John was done eating, he added to the pile of dirty dishes, wrapped an arm tight around Yoko, and the moment they were out the door, they ran to their awaiting car before the groupies could do anything to them.
Every day was similar. John knew he had to eat, but the slow rate at which his body weight was going down was frustrating. And sure, Paul would remark about how thin John was getting - remarks John attributed to the way Paul had been putting on weight again after losing it to cocaine; he was weaker than John in that sense. But it really didn't matter how much anyone said John was turning into a Bony Moronie, because the fact was that he was still overweight, or he was fatter than he needed to be for his health.
A disruption in the schedule occurred with Don Short. He was a journalist and close with all of the Beatles. He told John that the drug squad was going to come and get him and Yoko because the cops were on some sort of power trip.
John panicked. Yoko panicked. The last thing they wanted was to go to prison; they would be separated into two different prisons, and John would probably either be killed by another inmate who was either a manic fan or a manic hater, or he would kill himself if he worked up the guts because life wasn't worth living without Yoko.
JohnandYoko squeezed each other in bed. They could never let each other go.
"We have to get rid of the drugs," John said sadly.
Yoko nodded bravely, trying her best to stay collected. She slipped a hand down to her womb. "It will be better for the baby."
"Right," John agreed. "We've gotta do it for our heir."
"We were going to have to stop anyway. We don't want him born addicted to junk."
"Exactly. He'll be big and strong," John kissed Yoko.
John hadn't quit heroin since he had started. He had no idea what it was going to be like, but if the beginnings of withdrawal he had had when he had been at a recording session for too long or some such were any indication, it was going to be hell. At least they had each other.
When the withdrawals kicked in, JohnandYoko were much too hot to have their skin touching. John felt hollow, not touching her. But at least Yoko was beside him somewhere as they both stretched out on the bed.
The phone rang. John was suddenly angered by the annoying sound.
He snatched the phone and shouted into the receiver, "what?"
"John," Mal was calm on the other side. "Are you coming in today?"
"Coming in where?"
"Trident Studios. We're working on George's track today."
"I don't give a shit about his track," John snarled. "Do it without me."
He slammed the phone down again, pain shooting up his arm.
He was still so frustrated that he wanted to pace, but everything hurt down to his bones and every movement made him more nauseous.
John laid down on the cool floor instead. It was still hot, but it was better than the bed. He hungrily smoked down a cigarette while his head throbbed.
"Who was it?" Yoko asked quietly.
"Mal," John murmured. "I'm not recording in this state."
They fell into silence again.
John needed to throw up. Oh, he needed to throw up right now, and he needed to shit.
He scurried to the bathroom, disgustingly releasing himself from both ends. His stomach had never cramped so badly after vomiting.
He was very thirsty and could barely be bothered to get himself water. He managed to drink some out of the bathroom tap.
He wiped his very runny nose with his sweaty arm. He felt so gross. He was in so much pain. Why was he even doing this? He didn't need to do this, and he wasn't going to do this.
He found his way back to the bedroom. Yoko was pulling at her hair.
"I need to shave my head," she said, tears streaming from her eyes.
"I need junk," John said.
Yoko shook her head quickly, then clutched her forehead like she had just made her headache worse.
"No, John," she insisted.
"Yes, John," he countered.
"But the drug squad," Yoko reminded him weakly.
John slid onto the floor, curling into a ball.
"I bet Don is just a fucking liar," he growled. "He wanted to torture us."
"Well... Well, we still need to do this. For the baby."
"I don't give a fuck about the baby! It's just a fucking cluster of cells!" John yelled and had to immediately clutch the sides of his head from the way yelling had only made it pound more.
Yoko fled from the room, stumbling, her legs heavy.
John tightened the ball he was in, despite the way it made him overheat even more. He needed to go back to the womb. If he squished himself tight enough, surely he would reverse himself. He could become a cluster of cells again.
But when he had had enough of the heat, John released himself from the ball. He was so thirsty. He crawled back to the bathroom to gulp down more water. He made his way into the living room where Yoko was watching TV while she alternated between anxiously biting her nails and having a drag of her cigarette.
John joined her on the sofa, cigarette in hand. For a moment, he was distracted by the show that was on. He could leave his body and just be aware of the TV show. Like meditation, he realised.
"Mother, we've gotta meditate," John said urgently, tapping Yoko.
It wasn't the best idea to nudge Yoko like that, because she immediately spewed her guts onto the floor, looking at it in anguish.
She ran a sweaty hand through her hair. "Yes. We do."
They both sat up and closed their eyes. They became one another. They became presence. They became nothing.
In that moment, they found relief from the withdrawals.
Soon, though, John was distracted from the meditation. He opened his eyes, looking back at the TV whilst his stomach did somersaults and his muscles ached, ached, ached.
He felt terrible. He felt like he was going to die. In fact, he wouldn't mind dying in that moment. He had no idea how long this had been going on, but he wanted it over now. He would give anything to anyone to get him out of here; the deepest, coldest part of Hell.
He started nudging his way closer to Yoko's womb, digging his head into her. He wanted to be in her womb. He needed to be in her womb.
"What are you doing?!" she snapped, pushing him away. "You're gonna kill the baby!"
"I'm not gonna kill the baby!" John spat, trying to join their bodies together again. "I need to be the baby."
"Stop," Yoko shoved John away again.
"Don't tell me what to do, you slant-eyed bitch!"
Yoko gaped in offence, stumbling away from John.
John laid down on the floor again. He was still thirsty, but he couldn't find the motivation to get up. What was the point of life?
He habitually squished the sides of his hips. He ran a finger over his cheekbones and their slight squish. The thought of eating was even more nauseating than usual, so that was the singular benefit of withdrawing. So much effort to be thin. What was the point of anything?
He just needed to get high again. That was the point of life. To be high.
He found Yoko again, who was tossing and turning on the bed.
"I'm getting us more junk," John announced.
"You're scaring me," Yoko whimpered.
"I need junk."
"You're scaring me," Yoko repeated.
The words registered that time and clutched at John's heart. This was the woman who had once said she had never felt so safe around anyone as she did with John. John was mad at himself for possibly breaking that trust.
He gripped the doorframe. He needed her. He needed her to feel safe. And he couldn't be in a separate prison to her.
"I'm getting us pot," he amended.
Yoko said nothing else.
John called someone to bring him marijuana.
When they showed up at the door, they were in shock at the state of John and the flat.
John snatched the drugs and slammed the door shut.
He was distracted from the withdrawals as he focused on rolling reefers for himself and Yoko.
Yoko was on the toilet, her head leaning against the wall, a cigarette between her lips.
It smelt terrible in there. John didn't understand how their bodies could be releasing so much vomit and poop when they weren't eating anything.
John lit a reefer and passed it to Yoko. She took it gratefully, having a long drag.
John sat nearby, smoking his own reefer.
Being stoned helped. He was still moody and his body still hurt, but it was reduced.
They found their way back to the TV, and watched in silence.
At some point, the phone screamed with its annoying, piercing ringing again.
"Hi, John," came Mal's even voice. "Are you coming in today? We're working on two of Paul's."
"Leave me the fuck alone," John snapped, and found himself ripping the phone cord out.
Yoko fled, frightened again.
John clearly needed more pot. He laid on the floor with a reefer.
Time was meaningless. He could hardly sleep, so the days he had gotten used to dozing in and out of seemed to drag on and on, but he still couldn't quite grasp the passage of time. John disconnected every phone in the flat, so he didn't even have Mal to inform him of when it had become the next day. All John knew was that everything hurt, he wanted heroin, he was very angry, Yoko was very anxious, and pot helped.
The withdrawal symptoms slowly weaned. John started to calm, though he still needed lots of marijuana to help him.
And eventually, the pain was gone. The nausea was gone. The fever was gone. All JohnandYoko felt was exhausted.
The withdrawal was a blur in John's memories, but he had a vague idea of what had happened. He never wanted to go through that again.
JohnandYoko had a long shower together, trying to scrub off the gunk and grime of their withdrawals and their junkie phase.
John combed his soapy fingers through Yoko's wet hair, dislodging the knots. He squeezed her so her head was against his chest and her own chest against the bottom of his ribcage. They could feel each other's heartbeats. They were one, and they were okay.
"I'm sorry," John said. "I'm sorry for how I was."
"It's alright, it was difficult for both of us," Yoko said gently. "I'm sorry too. I love you."
"I love you too. I love you more than anything," John promised.
"I love you like the stars love the moon."
"I love you like a junkie needs his fix."
They kissed and kissed, and made love on the floor of the shower, water pouring over them. John focused himself completely on Yoko's pleasure, to make up for the way he had behaved.
Afterwards, they cuddled in bed, skin-to-skin.
"Fuck, I'm hungry," John complained.
"Oh, baby," Yoko kissed him. "We need to eat. I don't know when we last ate."
John had felt so disgusting during his withdrawals that the last thing he wanted was to put something as disgusting as food into his body now. But, John knew that Mother knew best.
Holding hands, they went into the kitchen. Yoko made something fresh and green. At least, John reminded himself, it was healthy food, and light on his recovering stomach. Like in so many other circumstances, they were there for each other in this mountainous task of eating for the first time in who-knows-how-long.
After they ate, they headed off to EMI Studios.
The lads were already in the middle of recording one of George's songs. They looked up when JohnandYoko entered.
"You look like shit," George commented.
"Thanks," John murmured.
JohnandYoko were still tired, weak, and shaky.
"Where have you been for the past five days?" Paul asked, annoyed.
"Five days?" John questioned sceptically. "But that's not even a week. It felt like an eternity."
John glanced at Yoko for confirmation. She shrugged, time equally lost on her.
"Well, we're working on George's It's Been A Long Long Long Time," Paul explained.
"I don't know that one," John replied, sitting down with Yoko. "Can we do one of mine?"
Paul looked at George. George sighed but agreed.
"Can someone get me some pep pills first?" John asked. "I threw out all me drugs."
Paul blinked at him. "You did?"
"Yeah. The drug squad's coming to get us," John said. "We're off junk too."
"Oh. Good for you both."
John was given his pep pills and he swallowed one. Yoko stayed leaning on his shoulder.
"So, I've got another song that's sort of about Yoko," John began.
Paul practically rolled his eyes. John was much too tired to care what he thought. They dove into I'm So Tired.
The next day, John was surprised when Yoko turned to him in bed and said, "happy birthday."
Apparently he was 28 years old now. What a strange birthday, in a drug-free household. Well, other than the pot.
John could have gone out for his birthday, but spending his birthday with others would mean they would expect cake and other unhealthy foods. Besides, he would rather spend his first birthday that he was completely devoted to Yoko, completely devoted to Yoko.
It was a slow morning. John stayed wrapped around Yoko, and he came inside her a couple of times before they lifted themselves out of bed.
John was bored. He didn't know what to do with himself. Heroin cravings clawed their way up his spine, repetitively jabbing at his nerves. He needed the apathy, he needed the bliss.
But, he reminded himself as he wrapped his arm tighter around Yoko, he needed Yoko more.
They settled on the sofa, the TV on because they never turned it off. John kissed and nibbled Yoko. He roamed his hands all over her body. He was constantly in awe that this magnificent woman belonged to him. He could fuck her and feel her tits and be held by her whenever he wanted. She was perfect in every way, sent down from the heavens above to spread her wisdom, and John got to have her and belong to her.
John told all of this to Yoko, and she excitedly responded by digging her hands into his hair, making out with him, and telling him he was perfect in every way too; she was blessed to have him too.
When John eventually slouched away and became aware again that he was not Yoko, he remembered that he was hardly perfect. Especially with the way he could pull a little on his soft stomach without a muscle in sight.
"Y'know what I'm craving?" John asked.
"Junk," Yoko answered.
Just the word sent a shiver running up John's body. Junk. It certainly deserved that word over H for Heaven, even if it had felt like that.
"Well, yes," John admitted. "But I'm craving cake. I'm craving a chocolate cake with lots of cream and strawberries."
John's stomach growled. Yoko's stomach followed his.
Yoko grabbed John's hands like she was scared and said, "don't say that. When you say something out loud, it solidifies; it becomes true. If you ignore a thought, it goes away."
"Sorry, Mother," John looked down guiltily.
"But I've been thinking, we should have a meal plan," Yoko let John's hands go. "It's healthier and we can lose weight faster if we're consistent. I think it will work if we eat once a day. We can have all of the proteins we need for the day in one meal, without any of the unhealthy parts."
John let Yoko work it all out. She was smarter than him.
John waited with a reefer for his girlfriend to cook up his birthday meal, getting progressively hungrier. Next time he had to ask for a strain that wouldn't give him the munchies.
John moved his eyes around the flat. It was a complete wreck. But, JohnandYoko were much too lazy to clean it themselves. Then again, maybe what they were lacking in the health department was exercise. John certainly had an aversion towards it, but Yoko would agree that they needed it. And if they couldn't exercise outside for fear of getting spat on by racist sexists, maybe they could exercise via cleaning their own pigsty.
Pulling him out of his thoughts, the phone rang. John had reconnected them all the day before.
He picked it up. "Hello?"
"Johnny!" Paul chirped and dove into singing Happy Birthday.
When he was finished, John asked teasingly, "what about that birthday song you wrote?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Paul said with a grin that John could hear.
Paul started singing Birthday before John cut him off.
"Thanks, thanks, Macca," John rolled his eyes in amusement.
"How does it feel to be 28?"
"You'll see in two years, won't you?"
"What are you doing today?"
"Mostly shagging Mother."
"Just like every other day?" Paul asked with noticeably less cheer. "Got a birthday cake?"
John glared at the wall opposite him. "Birthdays cakes are old-fashioned and childish."
"I could sneak you a cake if your 'Mother' isn't letting you. That Jap crap's not good for you, y'know."
John scoffed. "I don't want a cake, McCartney."
"Or cupcakes?"
"What are you tryna do, fatten me up so you don't feel so bad about how fat you are?"
"Happy birthday, Johnny," Paul gave up, ending the call.
John put the receiver back and puffed at his reefer, sweeping the interaction from his mind.
He massaged his belly. He chugged some water to satiate the hunger.
He started wandering around, picking up some rubbish. He got distracted by a box of tapes. He pulled each of them out, reading the labels on them. When he found the recording he had made with Yoko on that night that they had first made love, he beamed, an idea bursting into his mind.
He rushed back over to Yoko, who was serving out two bowls of brown rice and green things.
"We need to release this," John told her.
Yoko looked at the tape and smiled. "I was thinking the same thing. It's the new direction."
"We've gotta turn everyone on," John agreed. "We've just gotta think of an album cover."
To John's shame, though, he kept looking at the food on the table. Without another word, he sat down and started eating.
"I wish macrobiotics tasted better," John murmured. "Because that's the thing. I'm addicted to things that turn me taste buds on. That's why I craved, y'know, that earlier."
"It doesn't have to taste bad," Yoko said. "Your mind is very powerful. If you want this to taste sweet, you can imagine it is. That's sort of what I did when I was a kid."
John didn't think his mind was quite so powerful as Yoko's, but he still found that it was easier to eat when he pretended the food was sweet. He was weak like that.
John pushed his bowl to the side when he was finished. He was satisfied, but not full, which was good because he hated the feeling of fullness.
John squished the sides of his hips again. He had to trust that Yoko's meal plan would work. It was easy because Yoko was right about everything, so he didn't feel quite so bad about eating what she gave him.
Yoko picked up the tape again. "This is us at our most vulnerable. We were opening our hearts to each other, so if we release it, we'll be opening our hearts to the whole world. Like we're naked."
John grinned. Yoko could always put John's thoughts into words better than he could. They dug each other. They were of one mind.
"Exactly," John said. "And they'll hear, it's the conception of something beautiful and everlasting. Like when Adam and Eve first came together. Two virgins, creating something great."
Yoko nodded, agreeing with every word. "People will feel connected to it. People who have found true love; people who long for it. Connection is the most important thing in the world. That's how we get peace."
John kissed her excitedly because she was right on.
"Y'know how you said it's like we're naked?" John tilted his head to the side. "That could be the album cover. I can take a photo of you naked right now."
Yoko scrunched her eyebrows together, considering it. "And what about you as well?"
John looked down at his stomach and cringed. "But I'm fat."
"So am I," Yoko gestured to her womb.
"That's different, you're carrying a new life."
John leaned down to give her womb a quick kiss.
"If we're being vulnerable, we need to show the world that we're not perfect either," Yoko said. "People think that because you're a Beatle, you're mythological. But you have a regular penis like any other man, you have blemishes like anybody else, and you might be fat, but that's authentic. People will be able to see themselves in you and realise that you're no different to them."
John's heart glowed whenever Yoko shared her wisdom directly from the universe. How could he possibly disagree? He wanted to be human again.
And, he would be showing the world how much he loved Yoko.
They didn't have to strip because they hadn't been bothered to put clothes on that day. John just set up the camera, and they positioned themselves amongst their mess, giggling to themselves.
Click, click, click, click, click.
When the photos developed, they looked through each of them. All John saw were two overweight ex-junkies. They chose the one they thought was the least flattering or sexy.
Nine days after John's birthday (because of course it was nine days), however, John got a call saying the drug squad would be there in half an hour. Half an hour!
Peaking out the window, he could see the Daily Express were already lying in wait to get the fresh scoop.
Yoko was stressed. John held her hands and gave her a kiss.
"It's okay," John said gently. "We're clean. They can never take us away from each other. If they try to, we can make them explode with our minds."
Yoko nodded, smiling a little, breathing slowly, getting a hold of herself again.
John dashed around the flat with a vacuum, just to make sure there wasn't a single trace. He threw away the remainder of his marijuana. He dug through every nook and cranny that he expected he or the former residents would hide drugs in.
When John was completely confident that there wasn't a hint of drugs in their home, he laid back down in bed with Yoko, feeling very clean.
The drug bust passed in a panic. The cops sniffed out hash in a random envelope and in a binocular case that John didn't even remember having ever seen before, and they were dragged out of their home, through the crowds desperate to touch him, under arrest.
Pigs. What were they good for? Nothing but running over mothers and planting drugs in innocents' houses for money.
JohnandYoko didn't get their sentence yet. They had to wait until the end of November. It was an awful lot of stress to hang over their heads. Yoko was convinced that they were going to prison, though John asked around and apparently that was very unlikely. Yoko asked a psychic just to make sure. The psychic said that it would end up costing John more than he could ever imagine. That did not help to calm the two of them.
To make it all worse, the press that already hated the two of them had zoned in their attention on the drug bust, and it became even more terrifying to go outside.
John was still so shaken, he didn't even want to buy any new marijuana. He only smoked when he was with others, and Yoko refused it completely.
So, with their dread, and no drugs to calm them down, Yoko became stressed that her stress would harm the baby. They checked her into the hospital.
The doctors said Yoko was underweight and malnourished. John resisted the urge to call them all quacks. Yoko thought she was healthy, and therefore she was healthy.
"It must be the stress. My body hasn't been absorbing the nutrients it needs," Yoko reasoned.
John accepted her reasoning. Still, 'underweight' seemed very judgemental, and plainly untrue. John imagined underweight people as the ones who were completely devoid of fat and muscle, that was unhealthy. Though, some sick part of John wanted to look like the skeletons he conjured in his mind. That way, he could be completely detached from his past.
John slept in the hospital bed beside Yoko until someone else needed the bed, and then he slept on the floor beside her. No one could ever separate him from Yoko.
John was disgusted by the hospital food. There was no way in hell he was putting that in his body. He wasn't even sure it would fit in his tiny stomach.
"Are you trying to make us more unhealthy so we keep paying you more money to keep us here?" John asked a nurse. "Me and me girlfriend need macrobiotic meals only. You're supposed to accommodate dietary requirements, aren't you?"
"Well, I'm not sure if we can do that specifically," the nurse replied, and had a drag of her cigarette.
"I'm sure you can work it out."
"Yes, alright, we'll work something out."
JohnandYoko got their macrobiotic hospital meals.
John made sketches, they recorded another sort of Two Virgins together, they read the papers, they watched TV. All-in-all, they were no more bored than they were back home, and here, Yoko could be monitored so their little one would arrive safely. The only real issue was that they didn't want to have sex in case someone walked in on them. John felt very pent up. The best they could do were mutual masturbation sessions under their respective covers.
Then everything came crashing down when Yoko lost the baby.
John held his crying girlfriend in his arms, whispering his best attempts at comfort into her ear. Eventually the tears stopped and they were both silent, exhausted, leaning against each other.
It would be a very good time for heroin. John knew Yoko was thinking the same. Alas, with the drug court still looming over their heads, they didn't want to risk it. They could not be separated. To be without each other was to be without skin.
John Ono Lennon II was buried, and they had a little ceremony for him.
"It wasn't the right time," Yoko said softly, through sniffles. "Our baby will come into our life when he's ready to."
"He just wanted to tease us," John joked, to soften the air. "So I'm sure he'll be lots of fun once he finally decides to poke his head out."
He squeezed Yoko's hand. At least they had each other, forever.
They had a lot of sex when they got back from the hospital. They had been craving each other's bodies more than anything. And, maybe John could impregnate Yoko again already.
A week later, John was finally charged for cannabis possession. Just £150. After all that, just £150.
Of course, the natural reaction to that was to start on heroin again.
Having been kicked out of their flat because of the drug bust, John moved back into Kenwood with Yoko. It was strange. There were still traces of John's ex-wife. Soured and rotted memories replayed in his head as he wandered through the manor. He didn't want to be here. He felt so uncomfortable and slightly afraid of himself.
At least he had one good memory of making love to Yoko for the first time there, and at least he had heroin.
Living life in and out of consciousness, their meal plan fell off. They only ate when they were hungry, and that was less than once a day. John figured that was good. Being back in his old home, his aversion for eating had only grown anyway. It was here that he had made himself fat and lost himself.
And, that was life. Heroin, heroin withdrawal, heroin, heroin withdrawal. A body in the mirror John couldn't recognise, and with fat that never seemed to go away no matter how many diets he went on or how much he restricted his eating. Even with all the ways John changed, even with the way his relationship with Yoko changed, there was the ever-present disgust with his body.
Even at 40 years old with a pleasant family life, relative freedom from the press, prominent collar bones, and finally some abs, it wasn't good enough. Sometimes he would lose his grip on himself and eat something sugary, and he would have to throw it up. Sometimes he had to go on fasts with Yoko because it was all too much and he was still fat.
It seemed that no matter what, John couldn't tame the beast that was his body. He couldn't forcibly mould it how he wanted it. He was getting there, sure. Yoko reassured him as much. But even she was still unhappy with her body.
Was it really healthy? Sometimes John questioned that, but it didn't change the way he felt.
He was frustrated whenever he remembered he was attached to this disobedient body. He just hoped that someday, somehow, he would break out of this cage. What was there left to do?