It was a beautiful dawn.

Lou cast an eye over the pinks and peach marmalade that were beginning to colour the eastern sky.

Although Lou only saw black.

She moved her body gingerly slow through the bright red front door, creeping it shut as softly as she could.

George oft would do this, tumble in from long night out with the boys, but his idea of soft and quiet, usually meant the whole house was woken.

Cringing as she held the banister, Lou paused to recover and ready herself for the long trip up the short staircase. She silently bemoaned the fact that she should actually be attending the doctor or hospital, but with no motor or inclination to alert her parents to the infliction's, she felt best a good sleep and shower would be all she could, and should, manage.

Louie fell carefully on the bed after pulling what was left of her work clothes off, piling them haphazardly behind the door in her bedroom, the usual spot for her laundry.

Mother and father would be out today, attending to the weekly shopping and work. She had no need to hastily hide the remains of her clothes away. She would somehow get to that later..

Everything hurt.

If she rolled to one side it would pain, roll onto the other yet more.

Sharper stabs of pain like lightning strikes struck intermittently and her insides felt like they were on fire, split open.....

And she knew there were cuts, deep gashes close to her core, to her female parts, to her sides. Bruises coloured her skin quickly and cigarette burn's, that looked like brands on her stomach and upwards, reaching up her sides, to both her breasts.

Lou winced and relented....she let a few lonely tears slide down her cheeks.

Pulling the sheets high and gently over her body, she tumbled quickly into a deep disturbing nightmare of broken shards of sleep. Her eyelids showing the truth. Eyes sweeping left then right then middle and back again, in a frantic race through her mind.

Her body had shut down and she fled to somewhere deep inside, and hopefully safe.

Only now....

Without her being able to stop it, her unconscious mind recalled the darkness, the nightmare that was her night .

"Wake up lazy bones, come iron my shirt" George poked at Louie, pushing his long finger rudely in her nose til she screamed blue murder for him to stop.

George had never heard her do that before.

Sure, he annoyed her, that was pretty much his job, but the noise she made this morning was like something being killed at the knackery. He raced downstairs and tried in vain to iron his shirt himself.

Paul walked in from the kitchen, ready and immaculate in his pressed clothes, excited and nervous but hiding it well.

He had a few sips from his fresh cup of tea and spied the mashup job George was doing on his shirt. Huffing, he placed the cup on the sideboard then pushed the useless twat aside. "Give it here...."

Having had to fend for himself since his mother passed on, ironing was a norm in his household of men.

The doorbell rang and George ignored it while he could.

The sweet tea he now swilled and tossed back while watching McCartney iron was hands down better than seeing John's ugly mug at 7am in the morn, any day.

The doorbell continued and Harry, one of George and Lou's older brothers, lumbered down the stairs, shook his head at George and slammed the front door wide open. He then took off out the gate, walking down the street toward the bus stop, ready for his shift at the dockyards.

"Oh, you are here then..." John's caustic voice grated through the room "I thought you may have been at church praying for your tackle that I am now going to rip off your puny little body for ignoring my ringing the doorbell!" Johns voice rose as he sauntered into the room, straight and tall. Whacking a busy Paul on the back "Morning Paulie"

"Winston"

"Hey! Now what have I said about calling me that ........" John frowned and shook his head. It was nearly time to go, he didn't have the time or mettle for this "...Hey where's Lou? she has to do the ritual photography bit before we go" John looked into the Harrison's stark kitchen and out the window over the sink into the back garden wondering if she was at the linen line.

The ritual.

One photo of the lads before any big event, or perhaps even at the event, if she happened to be attending.

George shrugged then thought better of it. "She roared at me when I went to wake her up to iron my shirt" Paul handed the neatly ironed shirt over and George began to shrug it on over his white vest.

"Roared eh" John stuck his head up the mouth of the stairs, contemplating whether or not to ascend and be 'roared' at himself.

Checking the clock on the mantle he decided, yes, he had a minute or two to spare, to watch Louie go 'spare'.

"Leave her be" Paul warned "Remember she had to work late"

"Ohhh, Paulie have you a crush on our Louie Louie?" John smirked and George gagged at the thought of his sister and Paul shoving tongues down each other's throats. John noticed George's face contorting with the hairy thoughts. "Get yea head out of the gutter, Harrison"

Taking the stairs two at a time John burst into the sleeping girl's room.

She slept on. So John did what any good lad would do. He had a good nose about.

Wandering around a bit, he picked up her hairbrush and hairspray, sprayed a good whack on his crown and fixed it into place a little more precisely. He then tipped a few pages of her diary, she never learnt did she, he smiled. Always right in the middle of her desk.

He supposed she felt she had no secrets or perhaps it was a case of 'hidden in plain sight'.

Opening her wardrobe he had a gander, flipping idly through the few clothes she had. A few boring work items plain and drab, a nice dress he had never seen her in and the jodhpurs she wore on the odd occasion. Those always fit her arse nicely when she bolted off down the stairs and out the front door to go to the riding school across the Mersey. Some friend of a friend was posh so Lou jumped at the opportunity to ride. It wasn't like every girl in Liverpool had the opportunity to do such a thing so she took it, and had heaps of fun doing so.

He stood over her after kicking the wardrobe door shut with his boot, the soft thud as it closed had him spinning on a penny to see if he'd found mark ... and woken her.

John watched her eyes wander around under her lids, that was one hell of a dream she was currently having. He then peered at her with renewed interest.

She was pretty scrawny, maybe she just had a bit of filling out to do. Though he couldn't see how that was, what with her eating the weight of George in a single dinner sitting. Hell those two were like food demolisher's they were, he grinned thinking of all the times she'd pinched the last of his hot chips or stolen a handful off George.

Leaning right into her face he started singing softly at first, gradually raising his voice to singsong a pretty decent Mabel at the end " Oh, Maybelline won't you be true, Oh Maybelline why don't you be true. Ma-bel, Maaaabel"

Her mind stirred, a voice called close by ....She knew George~ he would poke her in the nose to wake her, Harry and Pete habitually hammered down the door.

This was different, strangely out of the normal sequence of her days. Scary different, terrifying, last nights panic, this morning crawl home, heavy claustrophobic darkness surrounding and burying her.... hands, smells, pain... god the pain.

Lou screamed blue murder and took her sheet up higher from her neck, shrugging it quickly over her head, her body tense, shaking within. This voice so close... Her eyes, blurry and bloodshot, took their time focusing and discovering the culprit.

Then it dawned, that voice could only belong to one person..... John.

"Get out Winnie" She yelled brokenly trying to hold it herself together, trying to hold all the shit together that was currently~ her life. George was bounding up the stairs, his heavy footfalls met her ears, the usual slide of socked feet to her open door...

"Told you so" George stated matter-of-factually, then took off back downstairs with nary a backwards glance chomping on a green apple, his noisy voice yelling back up to meet John's ears." Hurry up John, Richie will be 'ere in a minute"

John kicked the door shut and leaned back on it, crossing his arms, waiting for Louie to wake a little more.

Glancing about again he let his eyes wander from the Elvis poster on the wall above her, down to Buddy Holly record on her battered about, second hand turntable under the window sill on the floor. Eyes drifting over her obviously now too small ballet shoes at the end of the bed then round to the spot on the wall beside him where the wallpaper was torn. His eyes dropping as he fumbled with a stray mint in his coat pocket.

Dirty laundry.

He made a second glance at the pile. It was the gear she had on yesterday, some wet and some dirty. He pushed it about with his boot, then on a whim, wondering why it was dirty, he leaned over and lifted a few things.

Her blouse had been a white lacey affair, he'd noticed it as she was quite close yesterday at the Cavern and he had actually bother to peep down her top for once when he tapped her locket. That blouse was disgusting, blackened with soot or dirt and crud and material was ripped away, along a few buttons. The skirt, her favourite caramel coloured that sat just below the knee, soaking wet, dirty and torn, rips all about and finally... one black heel, no second shoe in sight.

Dumping the shirt his eyes were wider now as he walked back over to give Louise, their Louise, another once over. He watched her breathing, seemingly fallen back asleep. Tentatively John pulled the sheet down and away, she'd fucking kill him he knew it but something was really awfully off with her gear. She may be just Lou but she was a put together shelia and def wasn't the sort to go frog catching yesterday midnight.

The sheet fell away and he stepped back, taken back at the sight. John's new boots drift closer again, to stop him at the side of her bed.

He spotted 3 or 4 round burns and her boob was fucking scratched to all shit and bleeding, blood was everywhere and bruises colouring all over. Wrists red raw and purple. He pushed her gently to wake, shoving the sheet back into place as he did so.

"Louie wake up, would ya" He whispered close to her ear.

"John hurry up!!!" Paul hollered from downstairs and he froze, her eyes opened and she gasped at John, a bare inch from her face, she was quickly ripping the sheet ever higher, fingers clutching it to her achy sore body. John sat on the bed beside her and she moaned quietly from the pain, he stood and tried to lift the sheet.

"Don't you bloody dare John Lennon" Her voice rasped out dryly, she held the sheet tightly like a life line.

"What the hell happened Louise?"

"Nothing, nothing happened. Go on, get out. Off to the studio with you" The quaver in her voice was loud in her ears, her eyes squeezed shut... perhaps he would just go away.

"What happened Lou!?" John backed off hissing the words as he did so, swinging an arm downwards to swipe up a was of clothes from the pile, presenting them to her as evidence, her single heel on his pinkie finger swinging slightly. Lou groaned from both the pain and Johns intrusion, his discovery, he pulled the sheet away uncovering her breast.

"John!!!" She screamed blue murder once more and many feet bound up the stairs. Fingers flailed, grasping gingerly at the sheet against her chest.

"What's going on in there" George tapped on the door, deciding now was a good time to actually care about his sister. John and Lou glared at each other, til she relented.

"Nothing George, John just looked in my diary" She closed her eyes and thought about their day ahead "George the biscuits, don't forget to take the biscuits from the pantry" There that should keep him occupied.

"Now off with you Lennon" she hissed then sighed dejectedly as he just stood waiting for her and watched her like a buzzard. With feigned indifference he tossed all the destroyed and dirty clothing back behind the door and stepped once more toward her single bed.

"You know you can tell me anything Louise right? Anything at all" Johns voice was so warm in that moment, safe and secure she thought as she squeezed her eyes tighter, hot tears threatened and she would be damned if she let them fall now, in front of him.

"Nothing to tell, I fell over walking home" She shrugged minutely, a small movement was all she could afford.

"Don't lie Louise, you've been branded for fucks sake" He pointed the cigarette, somewhat shakily extracted from his pack, toward her chest. He then tried to rip the sheet away one more time.

Lou looked at the door deciding that quick limbs would get her in the bathroom just across the hall, and the door bolted, before John could work out what mission she was on. She readied herself for flight...

Her legs didn't want to move, but she was stubborn and grabbed the sheet to surround herself, shimming off the bed and wrapping it high and tight, she went to walk and fell into John's side, righting herself before he could react.

The top sheet did well to cover her body but at the same time as it covered her, it uncovered the bottom sheet and therein was another problem. Blood stained sheets glared at John, he grabbed Louie as she made to go through the door, slamming it shut in her face.

She stood as tall as John and it unnerved him a tad, he much rather-ed a girl smaller in height so he felt the more superior of the pair. She had always been like this, since the day he met her, in his face, tough, unyielding, bossy yet always fair, honest and sensible.

"Louise" He warned, his voice heavy and solemn, he wanted answers from her, as hard as they were, he wanted something, anything to understand ... to maybe help.

She patted his arm, trying to smile like the world didn't just rip from beneath her feet during the night.

She patted his arm like her mother would a child. Calming, placating. "Go to London, I'm alright John. Please ... I'll tell you when you get back tonight, alright"

He groaned, staring into her as she did him, each waiting for the other to cede. John gave up the fight, she was as stubborn or more so than he was, he would have to leave her be and attempt to find out the problem later.

"Promise... and..... promise me you'll go see the doctor, Louise" Louise nodded looking him straight in the eye so he knew she heard. John watched her shuffle over the few feet of hallway and shut the bathroom door but not before he saw the state of her thighs, gashes and welts, nasty and dried blood covered her.

She opened the door a crack, beckoning him to her "You too Winnie. Promise please, not a word to anyone, especially George" Eyes continued their silent plead as she shut the door, her face a myriad of sad emotions.

John had nodded, he didn't like it but he didn't want her completely alienating him either.

He turned slowly, casting a eye back toward the bed. The fucking sheet was decimated, blood and dirt smeared all over, his eyes dropped to the floor fearful, and worried for her. He himself would admit he was a right bastard himself to girls at times but never this sort of thing. This was below scum, below decency and he had to hold back from punching the wall as he looked back down at the pile of destroyed clothing.

He made himself turn.

Made himself move.

Softly shutting the door, his hand pressed against it as he gathered his wits together to face George, Paul and Richy, pretending he hadn't seen anything amiss. No Louie battered and bruised; That everything was alright.

John walked downstairs his face changing from concern to frown, and finally, to big happy excited 'we're off to the studio' grin as he greeted Paul at the bottom.

He'd make himself wait.

He would need to wait.... til she was ready.

******

The train ride was uneventful Paul slept, George ate and Ringo read a western book. Brian, their manager, looked over the top of the Liverpool Gazette, the local newspaper of choice, watching John's brooding face stare blindly out the window. He dissuaded himself from interrupting the young man's intense thoughts.

September the fourth, this was a big day.

In the studio for the first time with Richy. John took a drag of his cigarette, blowing a puff of smoke from the side of his mouth as he watched the new boy scratch his honker, but didn't joke none, he was ok....

Ringo; good drummer and good decent bloke for a laugh.

Turning back to the window his head rested on the cool glass, breath making marks on the window, his thoughts inevitably turned once more to Georges sister, Louise. He had to stop though, it was bloody maddening not knowing and he hated that he left her there alone in that state. John defiantly kicked the back of the chair in front and turned his head, shuffling down in the seat, to try and get a kip.

To try and forget her for a while.