Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Forty-Three

Softly knocking on his door, I prayed that he would answer.  Thankfully the boys left their door open that night.  When he did answer, he rubbed his eyes and smoothed out his messy hair.  It was late then, and he began to mumble, "Elle, what is-"

"Ringo!" I threw my arms around him, ignoring the pain in my shoulder.  "I almost did something terrible, and I need to talk to someone.  Please...can I talk to you?"

He ushered me in, and shut the door quickly behind me.  Leading me into the room, he sat me down in the chair, and rested on his knees next to it.  "What has happened?"  His blue eyes were full of concern.  I felt tears form in mine.  

Though I tried my hardest to speak, my voice felt like it had been taken from me.  So, feeling worse than ever, I rolled up my nightgown sleeve and showed him the scabbing cut.  His eyes went wider than I had ever seen them.  "Elle...what have you done?  I have to get Paul."  He stood up, but I grabbed him and pulled him down again.  

"You can't.  Please, Ritchie.  That's why I came to you.  I don't know why I tried in the first place.  I'm so frightened of myself.  But I know I can get better." I cried, taking his hands.  "Please...don't tell anyone."  

"How do I know that if I refuse to tell you won't do it again?" 

Digging into my coat pocket, I took my room key and pressed it into his hand.  "I'll give you this.  You can walk into my room to check on me spontaneously, without warning."

A rosy blush formed on his cheeks.  "What if I walk in on you while you're dressing?"

"So be it," I said.  "It would be different if you were Paul, or John.  I trust you with such things."  As much as I loved the three other lads, I thought it would affect me least if Ringo caught me looking indecent.  

He set the key gingerly on the nightstand next to the table, as if he was afraid it would shatter in his grip.  "Elle, this is wrong.  Paul loves you more than anything.  I must tell him." Ritchie sat up.  

I held his arm.  "If someone must tell him, let it be me.  But not today, or tomorrow."  Though I knew Paul would be absolutely horrified, I couldn't imagine what George would think.  What would he do, knowing I had tried to take my life a second time?  

John was right.  I was sick.  

Though, if I feared death so much, why was it so compelling?

"Alright, Elle.  I'll keep your secret.  But you must tell him sometime," Ringo whispered.  "You best be getting to bed."

"Um...Ritchie?"

"Yes?"

"Can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course."

He tried to offer me the bed, but I had fallen asleep in the chair before he could finish his sentence.  

When I woke, I was alone and Ringo was gone.  Everyone in the suite had left.  I hurried back to my own, and got cleaned up.  My hair was wavy when I let it dry.  I wasn't hungry after seeing the cut in the shower; I skipped eating with the lads that morning.  

Though, when I went to see Paul that afternoon after working on some things for Brian, I almost wished I hadn't.  

"I can't believe you!" Paul shouted.  "You denied knowing about this and she almost killed herself!"

"She didn't seem concerned.  I didn't think she'd actually try something!" John snapped back.  When they noticed I was there, John looked down at the ground and Paul flashed me a tired smile.  

"Hello, my sweet," He kissed my cheek, something sweet I definitely wasn't expecting.  Trying to lead me from the room, he told John, "We'll continue this later."

But the older Beatle just smirked, and continued to argue.  "I'll leave you alone, Paul, so you can go snog the nutter."  I felt like I had just been knocked to the ground.  I tried my hardest not to cry.  The boy who told me he care, who made me feel pretty, called me insane.  And I quite possibly might have been, but it hurt to hear it from John.  

Paul let go of my hand, and stormed up to John.  "You know what your problem is?  You're an arse!   Don't say a word to her!"

"I can say whatever I want to anyone I want, McCartney." John's even tone was eerily off-putting.  I bit my lip, feeling horribly caught in this fight.  It was like they didn't know I was there.  

Paul was more angry than I had ever seen him.  His fists were balled and clenched so tight his knuckles were white.  Please don't hit him.  I'm not worth the fight.  "This fight concerns you and me, not Elle.  If you touch her, I'll..."

"What?" John taunted.  "What will you do to me, Paul?"  His angered silence spoke volumes.  "Exactly.  You can't do anything.  I'm the leader of this band.  You'd be nothing without me, Macca, and it's high time you admit it."  Paul looked like he was about to murder John, which made me step forward to take his arm.  But what was worse were the tears in his eyes.  He tried to hide them from both of us, but John smirked as he saw one drip down his cheek.  John's terribly hurtful words had gotten to him.  "Huh, Paulie, are you mad? Are you going to cry?"

"Paul, let's go someplace else-"

"Oh, I'd have nothing, now?  Says the man with no real family."

"Paul!" I slapped his arm.  John raised his fist to strike him, beginning to shout something vile, but I caught it before it could hit anything.  

With a tone of anger I had only used a few times in my life, I shouted, "Stop it, both of you!  You need each other more than anything.  It's time for you both to swallow your pride and admit it.  Apologize."

John snorted.  "I'm not apologizing to-"  I gave him one intense glare, and he sighed.  "Fine.  I'm sorry, Paul."

"I'm sorry, John."

After giving them both a look, I left the room and was walking down the hallway towards mine when Paul grabbed my hand.  "Elle, I'm really sorry.  It was wrong of me to talk that way around you."

I didn't know what to say, so I just kept walking.  Though with one swift tug, he pulled me into him, chest against chest.  I stepped back a bit, a blush growing on my cheeks.  "Are you angry with me?"

"I'm very tired."

"But are you upset?"

"Paul, I think it's best if I was just left alone."

"Doctor Baudine said you shouldn't be alone.  It will only make you feel worse."

A bitter smile played on her lips.  "Trust me, Paul.  I couldn't feel any worse than I do now."

It all happened so quickly.  Paul kissed me gently, holding my chin so my lips could reach his.  But as much as I loved the feeling, I had to pull away.  He tried to hide the hurt on his face.  

"I'm sorry." He whispered, before turning to go back to his room.  I caught his arm, however and said, "Wait."  His eyes were still teary after the fight, and I dabbed at his damp cheeks as he protested.  

"I don't need it, Elle.  I don't need..." He stumbled.  

"It's alright.  Just let it out, Paul."  

"No," He said, pushing my handkerchief away.  "I'm...I'm fine.  I think I'll be going for a walk, though."  Before I could say a word, he had left.  

How was I supposed to tell him, the boy who loved me so much he let me go, about what happened the night before?

Then he would agree with John.  

The nutter.

Nutter.