Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Fifteen

John eventually found a record that he was satisfied with, something I didn't recognize.  I had made some tea for both of us.  It would warm up my trembling hands.  

When I handed him his cup, I almost dropped it.  He caught it.  Looking at me quizzically, he said, "Elle, your hands are like ice."  He noticed my damp cheeks.  "You've been crying."

There was no use denying it, but I did anyway.  "No, I'm fine, John."

"Don't you think you should rest?  You...you were hallucinating."

"Just let me be." I sat down on the couch, trying to avoid his eyes.  I burned my tongue when I tried to casually sip my tea.  

The Beatle just turned back to Paul's vinyl collection, slightly swaying to the music.  He picked up another record, looked at it for a moment, and then set it back down.  John took my hands, and said, "Dance with me, love."

"No, John."

"Just once.  It will make you warmer."

"No, John, please.  I-I don't know how." I stammered.  

"I'll teach you," His eyes flickered down to my arms.  "Put your right hand on my shoulder, and I'll hold your waist..."

Soon, we were dancing.  I kept stepping on his feet, but he never complained.  As much as I tried, I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye.  And as much as he tried, he couldn't meet my gaze.  

Was it embarrassment?  Sadness?  Anger?  Was that why I could not do it?  I had been thinking about this moment all my life, dancing with him, and I felt dizzy and uncomfortable every second of it.

John's hand wandered from my waist to my bum.  I pushed him away, muttering some pretty obscene words.  He laughed.  

"Sorry, love.  You looked like you were nodding off.  I was checking to see if you were still awake." He explained.  I turned back to sit on the couch.  He took my hand.  

"Love, I promise I won't do it again.  Please...?" John said.  I gave in.  

"Hands to yourself." I warned. 

"Alright."

The record had long since stopped playing, but we kept dancing anyway.  I shivered once, and John held me even closer.  For some reason, I felt so much older than sixteen.  He was humming something that sounded a bit like From Me To You.  I smiled.  

"What is it, Elle?" He asked, a little glimmer in his brown eyes.  

"Oh, it's just what you were humming.  It's a good song."

"Is it now?"

"Yes, it is."

I looked down at the floor, feeling a slight blush on my cheeks.  

Without warning, John leaned down and kissed my cheek.  I pushed him away.  He reached up to touch his lips, as if he was wondering if he did something wrong.  I must have looked horrified.  

"That's enough dancing for tonight." I whispered.  A few seconds later, the door opened and Paul walked in.   

When he noticed us, he said, "Is everything alright, love?"  

I nodded, and then went upstairs.  

After washing my face, Paul came into the bathroom.  He wrapped his arms around my waist and said, "John told me what happened.  Are you alright?"

"I think so.  I think I just miss my parents."  John might have bought that lie, but Paul knew better.  

But before he could speak, I suddenly felt dizzy and saw dots in front of my eyes.   I saw the tiled kitchen floor again, and had the sensation of falling.  Paul was with me, but I couldn't reach him.  

Dad was there, and he was angry.  He had his arm raised in the air, ready to hit an unsuspecting Paul.  

"Elle!" He cried out, trying to reach me.  

"No, Paul!  Don't hurt him!" I cried.  

Then we were on his bathroom floor, tangled in each other.  I was trying so hard not to cry.  

I breathed a sigh of relief.  "You're alright!"

"What happened?" He said, trying to calm me.  

"My dad...he...he was going to hit you.  He would have killed you." I whimpered, burying my face in his shoulder.  "I was stuck.  I didn't know what to do..."

"Love, it's alright.  Please don't cry.  It's all in your head." 

"He's going to kill me, Paul." 

He ran a hand through my hair and rubbed my back.  "No, no.  It's alright.  I won't let him.  I won't let him hurt you."  Paul was about to pull away, but I told him not to let me go.  The feeling of being in his arms was unreal, and I would have hated for him to see me cry.  

Paul was extremely careful with me that night.  He was constantly asking me if I felt dizzy or thirsty or nauseated.  And I always replied with:

"I'm fine. Nothing has changed since last time you asked."

But the next time he did, I said, "When did you become my mom?"

"I'm sorry, love.  I'm just worried about you." He laid down next to me on the bed.  Paul wrapped his arms around me, knowing I was cold.  I rested my head on his shoulder, and he kissed me, gently, afraid he would hurt me. 

"It's alright," I whispered. "I'm not scared anymore."

"That's all I want to hear, love.  You're safe with me."