Love, Love Me Do (Beatles story)

Chapter Seventeen - Love Me Do

~Charlene’s P.O.V~

I was right, it was a very long night. Long after Cyn and Mo had fallen asleep I was still wide awake staring at the ceiling of Cyn’s sitting room, freaking about the whole George thing. I think I was happier not knowing how much I liked him, now that I knew I’d have to tell him, his face wouldn’t fall anymore when I didn’t tell him that I loved him. I couldn’t sleep no matter how hard I tried, and –believe me – I tried, I just didn’t know exactly how I’d tell him, that’s probably what had me the most freaked out, that and because I was terrified by the thought that I might of scared George off.

So, after getting absolutely no sleep the night before and a slight cold in the head –the consequences of being out in the pouring rain yesterday – I found myself knocking on the Beatles front door, flanked on either side by Cynthia and Maureen.

“Hello, girls,” a man greeted, opening the door. “Come in, come in.”

I blinked stupidly, slowly registering the fact that the man in front of us was indeed not George, my mouth quickly snapped and a blush coloured my cheeks. I’d almost told a gay man that I loved him.

That gay man being Brian Epstein. George wouldn’t be very pleased.

I was so stupid when I was tired.

“Hello, Brian,” I muttered, awkward from my near slip up.

“Charlene,” George stated, appearing in the doorway of the sitting room, staring me directly in the eye. “Are you feeling better?”

I nodded, unable to speak due to the dryness in my throat.

“I love you,” he said cautiously, keeping his gaze planted on me.

I opened my mouth to reply, but couldn’t find any words, I just froze up.

George’s expression fell, the  corners of his mouth drooped down and he turned on his heel, slumping his shoulder and making his way dejectedly back into the sitting room.

Oh shit!

I’d finally realised that I loved George, I just found it so difficult to admit to someone that I loved them. I mean, if I struggled to tell my parents that I loved them, my boyfriend would be worse. I knew telling him would be worth it, though.

I ran after him.

Well, I tried to run after him, but Brian stopped me.

“Brian,” I whined, attempting to sidle around him, but failing because he kept stepping in front of me so I couldn’t get past him. “Move!”

“Sorry, my dear,” he apologised, smiling kindly.

Brian finally stepped aside after someone loudly cleared their throat from the sitting room, allowing me to dash past him.

“George,” I croaked, throat dry from nerves, but quickly halted in my tracks, quirking my eyebrow as I took in the sight before me, I wasn’t expecting it: the furniture was pushed up against the walls, Ringo was sat behind his drums, Paul holding his bass and John and George holding their guitars.

“Love,” George smiled in greeting, “I’m not one to give up, especially not on you, the lads helped me with this, it’s the only way I can think of that could make you even consider staying. Maybe you don’t love me yet, maybe I gave you my heart too easily and too quickly, but either way; it’s yours and now I’m asking you to give me yours.”

After George said that, the band began playing and George started singing:

“Love, love me do

You know I love you