Shelter In Your Love (Beatles Fan Fiction)

57. Baby Don't Run Away

Baby, don't run away from me,
Baby, don't go,
Baby, I'm always thinking of you,
Baby, don't run away from my love.

He has kind eyes, this man. Amber coloured, a whiskey brown nearly, with little flecks of orange. He pushes his glasses further up his nose as he leans over me, and the lenses make his eyes appear even bigger.

But I can't look at his eyes any longer. I need to sleep. I want to go to sleep. I'm so heavy. I'm so tired. So cold. My face is wet, but not with tears. My hair is wet too, stuck to my cheeks and forehead. He brushes it off my face for me as he says, 'Don't fall asleep, Hannah. Stay awake.'

He pulls me up into a sitting position. I groan, wanting to lie down again.

'Han, say something. Can you hear me?'

Yes, I reply but I don't think I actually say it out loud.

There's another voice. A soft, deep voice. A mellifluous accent. Soothing. Warm. I can't quite catch the words but listening to the voice is lovely. I close my eyes to concentrate on it. It reminds me of something.

'Hannah, open your eyes, love.'

Home. Real home. That's it. It's a Liverpudlian accent.

Please stop crying, Hannah, love. Please don't cry. You'll make Mummy cry as well.

I snap my eyes open, disorientated. I half expect to see her, but there's just this man in front of me instead. My hero, I think. He's rescuing me, isn't he? My clothes are soaking wet, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's holding me up so I don't slump over again, a hand on either arm, gripping me tightly, safely. I trust him. I don't trust many people, but I trust him. He has kind eyes, I've always thought that. Even when we weren't friends, I could see he had kind eyes and that meant he was a good person. A good man. There aren't many of them around. I could fall in love with him, because that's what you're supposed to do, isn't it? Fall in love with your hero.

But I won't fall in love with this man, because he's my sister's boyfriend.

At least, he should be.

'What the fuck has happened to her?' John says, looking behind him. He doesn't sound quite so gentle now. He sounds agitated, worried. 'Spanner, don't fall asleep!' Back to me. An order this time. Scouse accent creeping in. Harsher. A voice that must be obeyed.

I can't, John, I tell him silently. I'm sorry, I can't stay awake.

'George, you're gonna have to call a doctor or something,' John says.

George! George is here. Oh, Georgie. I need him. I want him. There's something I should to say to him. Something that was on my mind. Where is he? I can't see him.

'What? Why?' John says and then he's gone from me, suddenly. Stood up. Out of sight. My eyes are closing again. 'Who did this?'

Voices. Words.

'You're bloody kiddin'?! That Ricky? But he's so... he's so...' That's Ringo. Ringo's lovely deep voice. Lovely Liverpudlian voice. Everyone else's accent has softened but Ringo seems to have kept his.

Oh, God, I need to sleep. Talk to me some more, Ringo. Sing to me. Sing me off to sleep with your soft, gentle voice. Sleep will take the pain away. You can't feel pain when you're asleep.

'George, what the fuck is going on here, man? Who owns this flat?' John again, angry.

And then George is in front of me. I try to smile at him. Perhaps I manage it because he gives me a small smile back, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He's not happy. He's sad. His eyes are soft and he blinks a couple of times as he takes a deep breath. Don't look sad, Georgie. What's the matter?