Love, Love Me Do (Beatles story)

Chapter Fifteen - Decisions To Be Made And Talk Of Kidnap

~Charlene P.O.V~

I was cursing myself mentally (aloud too) for telling George that I could cook because a week later I was running around being the boys maid, they had me cleaning and everything. I was surprised they hadn’t forced me into one of those little black dresses with a little white apron, I mean, they’d even bought a little bell (that they’d first bought for George when he’d lost his voice for a day) that they’d ring whenever they felt like driving me insane; which was quite often.

I growled angrily as I heard the sound of that goddamned bell being shaken, throwing the knife that I had being using to spread butter across the bread for George’s sandwich, I stormed angrily from the kitchen to the sitting room.

“What?” I spat, glaring angrily at Ringo who  was holding the bell.

Ringo gazed at me innocently, but I knew better all four of those boys were far from innocent in anyway. “Oh, hello, love,” he greeted cheerfully, “how are you this fine morning?”

“What’s fine about it?” I snapped, disgruntled.

It was through, though, there was nothing fine about it; it had been raining for constantly for over a week, which had been the reason George had gotten sick in the first place (he’d gotten attacked by fans outside the apartment building in the rain while the boys had been returning from the studio), not to mention it was freezing like a bitch (that is to say if bitches froze, well, that’s what it was doing), and at that moment there were loud, claps of thunder, echoing throughout the city.

“Well,” Ringo gasped in mock offense, “that was rude.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ringo,” I apologised. “Let me rephrase: what the fuck do you want?” I glared, scowling in annoyance.

“You,” he replied simply, casually shrugging his shoulders.

Oh, is that all – wait, what?

George had dropped his cigarette and it was burning a hole in the carpet, but nobody, except me, seemed to notice, his jaw was clenched in fury and he looked just about ready to kill his friend.

“W-what?” I squeaked nervously.

“I said you,” Ringo replied, sounding as though he was bored with the conversation.

What was wrong with him? I was dating his best friend, said best friend just happening to be in the same room.

I glanced towards George just as a furious roar erupted from him and he tried to lunge at Ringo.

Keyword; tried.

He couldn’t get up, even though he was putting up a pretty impressive struggle against John and Paul, both of whom had their arms clasped firmly around George’s stomach. For a man as thin as George, he was doing a darn good job of escaping his two pretty buff friends restraint, but maybe they were just in shock, judging by the fact that John and Paul’s eyes resembled saucers (my own eyes were probably just as round) as they gaped at Ringo, I’m guessing that may have been the case.