Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Sixteen

"Playing tonsil-hockey?" John suggested.  Paul glared.  

"McCartney, a word?  Elle, you head back with John."

Is there anything more excruciating than walking with the boy who kissed you the night before and also witnessed you snogging another boy?  John certainly wasn't trying to make it any less awkward. 

"Is that all you ever do?" He asked, as if he was reading my mind earlier.  "Whenever we leave the room, you two just start going at it?"

"Oh, shut it, Lennon."

He raised an eyebrow.  "No need to get all bitchy about it."

"Well, I'm always a bit of a bitch.  And you're always an asshole."

Paul and Brian were walking back, and I caught a bit of their conversation.

"-a distraction.  Is there any way you could-"

"-the only one she's got.  I can't leave her."

"Find a way."

I swallowed, knowing exactly what they were talking about.  It's true; I was a distraction.  I wasn't supposed to be here in the first place.  Would it be better if I just left?  

Where would I go?  Just anywhere?

I didn't belong anywhere anymore.

"Paul?"

"Yes, love?" He kissed my bare shoulder when I was reading in the chair.  

"You know that you don't always have to be here for me, right?  I'm technically seventeen now.  I could get a real job, and maybe go out on my own-"

"What makes you think I don't want you here?" He leaned against the chair, brown eyes glimmering with questions. 

I set down his book.  "I'm a distraction."  

Paul sat down on the arm.  "You're not a distraction, love.  You're my girl."

Standing up and brushing some lint off my jeans, I said, "You're just saying that so I don't feel bad.  Most girls my age live out on their own now, Paul."

"But I don't want you to go."

"Some girls are even married."

"Marry me, love." He said.

I laughed, only to see the serious look on his face.  My eyes widened.  

"You've got to be joking.  I hardly know you.  I'm surprised I even let you lie next to me." I said, turning back towards him.  The young Beatle looked confused.  

"I know you."

"...What's my favorite color?" I inquired.  He looked down at the ground in defeat.  "See?  I told you.  I probably know you more than you do me."

Paul smirked.  "What's my brother's name?"

"Mike."

"Damn it." He muttered, but then added, "Sorry."

As much as I would have loved to be called Mrs. Paul McCartney, that was crossing the line.  I knew I had feelings that more than friendly towards him, but I was already tearing holes in the fabric of time by being here with him tonight.  

I was setting his book back on its shelf when he said, "Would you really leave, Elle?"

I looked down at the ground.  "Of course not.  I haven't any other place to go."

"But if you did?" He relaxed on the chair, resting his chin on his arms.  He looked awfully young.  

"Come off it, Paul.  I was only bluffing."