Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Twenty-Four

That night before I left for George's house again, I went back to Paul's apartment to get a two extra sets of clothes (With the way Eleanor treated me, I assumed I would be staying for another night after that one), and the box of photographs and postcards.  

When I went back downstairs, I found Paul and Eleanor already getting comfortable on the couch.  She laughed and giggled as he whispered something inaudible in her ear, which made me want to throw up.  

Eleanor shot me a look before I said, "I guess I'll be off then.  Goodnight, Paul."  But before leaving, I added, "And Eleanor."

As much as I wanted Paul to be happy, that girl wasn't going to get on my good side.  

George was waiting outside for me.  His dark suit blended in with the monotone port city.  I clutched my locket, thinking of how much I would miss this place when I had to leave.  Why couldn't Liverpool be my home?  Surely it didn't sound like a lovely place to reside, but it was the place I've found everyone I loved.  

Except for Mom, Grandmother, and Kirby...

Forget about them.  They've long since forgotten about you.  

Was I actually dead to them?

"Ready to go?" He asked.  I nodded, and stepped into his car without another word.  

That night when we got to his house, he put on one of their records for me, which happened to be I Saw Her Standing There.

Two things happened at the same time as Paul's voice came from the turntable.  One, I dropped the box of photographs and postcards and they scattered all over his clean living room floor, and two, I practically collapsed in his arms, trying so hard not to cry over the boy who was currently singing on the record.  

"Elle?  Elle, are you alright?  I know it hurts, but..." He turned to comfort me, but it was no use.  I was crying hard, and I tried to hide it.  Breaking free from his grasp, I scrambled to pick up all of the photographs.  

"I'm sorry, George.  It was an accident-"

He held my wrists to keep me from pulling away again.  I was almost quivering in his arms, so he gently let go of one of my hands, and brushed some of the hair from my face.  "You said it yourself," he explained, "It was an accident."  George's fingers brushed my cheek.  "You're shaking."

"I-I'm...sorry.  I think I just might be cold.  Do you mind if I had a bath?" I asked. 

"No, not at all."

So I had a bath.  It was nice, and I trusted George not to walk in on me.  Of course he didn't, though.  He would never.  

At least I hoped he wouldn't.  

Now that I think about it, it probably wasn't the best idea I ever had, but I like being clean.  

I must have been relaxing for a longer time than I thought, because when I came back out there were fresh flower petals in the bedroom.  And in the dining room, bathroom and living room.  In my hurry to leave Paul's apartment I had forgotten a nightgown, so I figured I would sleep in my dress just once. 

"You're wearing that to bed?" George asked.  

"I suppose."

He went into his room and produced a pair of sweatpants and one of his button-up shirts.  

"George, you're awfully sweet, but-"

He just gave me a look, and I had to give in.  

I rolled up the ankles of the sweatpants and tied them tight around my waist so they wouldn't fall down.  George was definitely taller and leaner than me.  "Thank you," I said once I had changed.  

He shrugged, and sat down on the couch.  

We looked through all of the photographs from the box, and laughed so hard at some of our faces.  I was reading a few of the journal entries I had written when George came back from the kitchen with two glasses of wine.  

"You're making me feel guilty," I said, setting my glass down on the coffee table.  "Paul just stuck you with me and you're treating me like a queen."

"Anything for you," he said quietly.  I set down the piece of paper in my hands.  

After a moment of silence he asked, "What did you mean when you did the...you know..." He motioned to his chest, touching his heart.  My own heart felt like it had dropped into my stomach.  I wanted to believe that I had feelings for George, but that entire night I couldn't forget about Paul.  

"If I tell you, I'm going to have to be completely honest.  Tell me you won't be upset."

"I won't be upset."

"And that you won't tell anyone else?"

"I promise."

My throat felt like sandpaper.  "I'm in love with Paul, and it hurt so bad to watch him kiss Eleanor, but now that I see you and I know you so much better I think I've realized that I fancy you too."  I spoke so fast I'm sure I sounded like a fly buzzing in his ear.  

"What?"

Without warning, I leaned over and kissed him.  He tasted like wine, but I didn't care.  Before he could even think of kissing back, I pulled away, saying, "I'm sorry, but I had to.  My heart hurts, but it's because of you now."

George looked down at the ground, and I felt my face flush.  What was I thinking?  

He doesn't feel the same.

"Elle."

"Yes, Geo-"

He kissed me, but passionately this time, not as scared and afraid as he was that morning.  He wasn't too nervous to hold me, but was gentle enough to know where to hold me.  It did not cross my mind that I was most likely kissing the reason why I had been sent back to the sixties in the first place.  

He pulled away abruptly, and I kept my eyes closed for a moment afterwards, wondering if he was going to kiss me again.  He didn't.  

Looking me in the eyes, he said, "I'm not sorry for that."