“The Night”
Date Finished: November 15, 2002


The Shaking woke her. Actually it was more of a convulsion. Amie was still groggy as she opened her eyes. She couldn’t remember where she was or how she ended up spooning with someone in their bed. Then he slowly came into focus, the hair and the scent: John. The smile on her face quickly fell when she noticed, realised again that he was shaking.
“John?” she firmly but nervously shook his shoulder, “John?” Her voice getting more nervous as didn’t reply. “Come on!” She sat up, shaking harder, bordering on panic.
“…don’t shake me…” he groaned.
“Thenwakeup!What’sgoingon?What’swrong?WhatcanIdo?” The questions spilled out of her mouth, she brushed the hair off his forehead.
“My jacket. The pocket,” he instructed in broken sentences and haggard breath.
“okay, okay,” she was shaking now. She had no idea what was going on, just a feeling that it was bad, really bad. She stood up and hurried over to his jacket hanging on the back of the chair. Digging her hands into the pockets, the left one first: Nothing, then the right: Again nothing.
“In…side.”
She nodded, digging into the inner breast pocket. Ah ha, that’s where she found something, it. She pulled out a baggy of something, pills she could only guess in the palely lit bedroom, and rushed it over to him.
He grunted a reply, something of a thank you as he sat up. Reaching into the bag he popped an undisclosed number into his mouth, swallowing dry and handed the plastic back to her.
“What was that?” she asked, calming down a little but still generally worried and trying to examine the bag.
“Nuthing. Just put it back and get to sleep,” he wasn’t any happier, but did seem to relax and the shakes were gone. He rolled over and curled himself in the blanket.
Amie, again, did as she was told folding the item back up and into the pocket. She walked around the bed slowly, watching him to make sure he was alright, and sat in her spot. She couldn’t sleep now, she had a nagging worry. Just what pills was he popping? Why? Questions twirled around her head. She watched him, occasionally brushing the hair off his face, taking the opportunities to touch him and press a light, chased kiss on his forehead.
“Night John.”

Shaking woke her again. This time she was the one shaking.
She groaned as she opened her eyes, the force of her shoulder shaking not giving up. The room was painfully bright now as she looked up.
John smiled, sitting next to her, “Good day sunshine.”
She pulled the blanket over her head and groaned again, “no,” refusing to give into the morning.
He chuckled, “Come on,” pulling the blanket off her, “Get up then.”
“You’re far too chipper ‘specially after last night,” she pouted looking up at him.
His face slipped, losing his playful side, “Said it was nothing,” he got off the bed, pulling on his jacket and uncomfortably paced about the room.
She sat up, “I was worried,” she confessed with an unsure voice.
He tried to scoff at her, but was caught on the actual concern she had for him. He just wasn’t used to it. This, whatever this was, was going to be different.
She climbed out of the bed, “Just…just tell me you’re alright,” she tentatively reached for his arm, unsure of if he’d pull away. Which he didn’t, he let her. She tugged on his arm a little, turning him to face her.
He made the decision then, staring into her eyes and running his hand down the side of her face. He’d let her in. “I’ll be fine luv, really,” he placed a kiss on her forehead.



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A/N John’s ‘habit’ is based on information taken from the Rolling Stone interviews he did in 1970.





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