Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Thirteen

A voice came onto the microphone and said, "As soon as you two are done, we were going to start the next track."  We looked towards the sound booth, where Brian and John stood smirking.  Paul was so surprised that he accidentally bit my lip when he pulled away.  

I shared an awkward look with Paul, but then headed back into the sound booth.  John gave me a look as I passed him.  It reminded me off the night before (pun not intended) when he grabbed me and pushed me against the wall.  Under his gaze, I felt helpless.  I wondered if that's what he was going for. 

 The lads were working on another song, and I could feel both Brian and George Martin's eyes on me.  I was so embarrassed.  And to make matters worse, Paul kept winking at me whenever he caught my eye.  

I tried to busy myself with reading the newspaper that Ringo had brought in.  But you can only read the same section so many times before your eyes follow the story and your mind strays.  

In a way, I slipped into a dream.  It was the same nightmare about John getting shot, only he couldn't speak to me and Mark David Chapman was frozen, gun still held in the air.  Chasing after him, I shouted, "Murderer!"  Though, as soon as I touched him, I found myself in reality again.  

"Elle?"

"Elle, love, we're going home." Paul said.  His dark brown eyes were tired, but happy.  He had so much fun working with his friends.  

If only it could have lasted that way. 

Even though I was fully capable, he helped me put my coat on.  He was sweet like that. 

On the drive home, he said, completely out of the blue, "I'm sorry for biting your lip."

I looked at him for a moment and we both burst out laughing.  How silly could that have sounded?

"Brian stared at me the entire time like I was trying to murder you or something." I said, while Paul just continued to laugh.  "I thought he was going to throw me out of the studio."

"Elle, you naughty girl." Paul fake-scolded.  I felt a blush creep onto my cheeks.  Watching the buildings go by in this sleepy seaport city was tiring.  I wonder what it would have been like just to drive around the whole country with Paul.  I would see so many wonderful things, but in reality, the most amazing part was the fact that I was born 1997 and I was seventeen in 1963. 

I raced Paul up the stairs to his flat, and cheered when I won.  He pouted, saying that I had cheated by not telling him it was a race before I was halfway up the stairs.  I tousled his hair, and he frantically tried to fix it.  I laughed.  

"You're such a big baby sometimes," I teased him.  

"I'm not the only one."

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

Paul smirked.  "You're just going to have to figure that out yourself."

I chased him inside, not knowing what that meant.  Teasingly, I said, "Get back here!  I'm not done with you yet!"

It seemed like fun and games then, but that night, I had my first panic attack. 

I took a shower (and made sure to lock the door), but when I looked in the mirror, I noticed something I hadn't seen before.  

My hair was the same length it was over a month ago when I came.  

Normally my hair would have grown at least a bit more.  But I had just gotten my hair cut before I came, and it was as long as it was then.  

The more I looked, I realized that my entire body looked the exact same as it did over a month ago.  I hadn't grown.  I hadn't changed at all.  

Which meant I never turned seventeen.  

Which meant...

"Paul!"

He looked surprised when I let him into the bathroom while I was just wearing a towel.  "Elle, is there something wrong...?"

"Be honest.  Do I look any different than I did when I came here?" I asked.  Paul looked at me with a confused expression on his face, but then he said, "Actually, no."

I looked at myself in the mirror, and then back at him.  "Paul, I never turned seventeen."

"But that would mean..." His eyes went wide.  I couldn't but watch him.  

I took in a huge breath.  "I'm not aging."