Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Ten

I was back home, sitting at the kitchen table. Not willingly, because Dad held my hand to the chair so I was unable to get away. He was livid. 

"Why did you leave? Where were you?" He demanded, crushing my wrist. 

"Dad, you're hurting me!"

"Answer me!" He boomed. 

"I don't know!"

He slapped me and bright colors danced in the room. His screams were droned out by visions of the Beatles and me, and I suddenly had the sensation of falling. 

I was surrounded by...us. Visions of...

Of what?

One of them was Paul crying, tears stains on his pink cheeks. I felt a pang in my heart. Something told me that I would be the reason those tears were falling.

Another was all of us laughing. I noticed that my hand was rested on John's. Paul noticed, and his face fell. 

There was one that disturbed me. It was one of Paul and John. They were fighting, getting so close to each other that George and Ringo occasionally stepped in to force them apart. A few moments after that, I saw myself crying with my hand covered in blood. 

Someone was screaming my name. I fell over, hitting my head hard. 

I woke up in Paul's arms, my hair sticking to my back with sweat. I really needed to stop waking up like this. 

"Paul, you're crushing me."

"Sorry." He loosened his grip slightly, but still held me fairly close. "Elle, you're shaking. Did you have a nightmare?" I looked up and met his tired hazel eyes. His chubby cheeks were slightly pink from the heat of the blankets. His hair was tousled, and I realized that he had no shirt on (It wasn't necessarily a horrible sight to wake up to, if you know what I mean.). 

"You can tell me what happened," Paul said. His eyes were as bright as the lamp beside the bed. But then he shut them, and leaned in. I put my hand on his chest to stop him, and his gaze fell. 

"I think I feel better now, Paul."

"That's good."

Paul's POV

I splashed cold water on my face, wiping the sleepiness from my eyes. As much as I tried to concentrate on shaving, my mind kept wandering to Elle. 

She seemed distant. Whenever I reached out to her, she ended up shying away. 

Maybe it was her nervousness. She might not feel comfortable around men. Her dad... 

I'm not like her father. I would never hurt Elle. 

I'd meet many girls in my lifetime, but none of them were as genuine as Elle. She was truly one of a kind. I wished that she would let me how beautiful I thought she was. But I was afraid to hurt her, and she seemed to be afraid of...me.

Why would she be afraid of me?

Or maybe she just doesn't like you.

I felt a small, sharp pain as I accidentally nicked my chin. Swearing, I dabbed up the bead of blood that was sliding down my face. 

"Paul," Elle asked through the door, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I'll be out soon." I replied. 

When I did eventually come out, Elle standing by the mirror wearing her blouse and the denim jeans she arrived in. She was inspecting the way she looked, quietly sighing occasionally. I knew that she would be mad at me if she caught me staring, but I couldn't help it. The dips and curves of her body were so intricate and delicate, like God made her personally.