Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Twenty-Five

My eyes went wide.  "Give it here!"

"I think I might have to read it first, you know." He scooted away from me so I couldn't snatch it away from him.  

"George!"

"Elle!"

"George, it's embarrassing."  I pleaded.

"It can't be that bad."  He said, as his eyes began to follow the words on the page.  Knowing there wasn't anything else I could do, I buried myself in the blanket on the floor and hoped that I would disappear.  

After a moment, George poked the blanket where he assumed my head was.  "Anyone home?"

"No, unfortunately." I sighed from under the covers.

"That's a pity, because I feel like I need to speak to Elle about her innermost opinions about herself." He explained.  

I popped my head out from underneath the blanket.  "What on earth are you talking about?" 

He pointed out the last line in the second paragraph, and I felt my face go completely red.  I buried my face in the covers again, feeling like a shy turtle.  

For some reason George seemed genuinely concerned.  "Why are you so embarrassed?  I just want to know what you mean by someone like you.  What is different about you and Paul?"

"I don't understand..." I began to speak, but then my thoughts took over.  Realizing what he meant, I felt even more exposed to him.  Why couldn't I have just stuck the stupid piece of paper back in the pile and forgotten about it?

 "Well, you know what I'm like, George.  I'm quite shy around people I don't know, and I'm rubbish at flirting.  Paul...he's perfect at things like that.  Eleanor is obviously the match for Paul.  She's beautiful and intelligent." I tried to explain, feeling like I was being dissected.  This was so embarrassing.

"And you aren't?" He replied.  "She's using Paul, and all of us know it.  Though, Paul doesn't realize it." 

The wall suddenly got very interesting.  "He talks about her like she's the greatest thing.  I want him to be happy."

"But what about you?  Are you happy?"

"Not with myself."

"Why?"

I didn't know what to say.  All my life I had basically made myself think that someone would have to make their own happiness, and never find it in others.  I had never fallen in love before I came here.  The only love I had ever known was from my mother and grandmother.  I found comfort in music, and learned how to take beatings.  The thought of happiness was never prominent in my mind; survival was first.

How could I ever go back to living like that after everything that had happened here?  

Would I ever go back home?

"I've just never really found ways to be happy.  I've heard people say that enough though their lives are crazy, they've found absolute bliss in love.  I'm starting to believe I don't know what love is.  Or what it feels like.  My feelings for Paul are more like a childish want than an actually need," I laughed bitterly.  George looked down at the blanket that was showered with black-and-white photographs.  It took me a moment to realize that he was looking at what people would remember him for in the future.  

Oh, George, I'm so sorry.

He studied some of the photographs for a moment in silence.   Then he looked up at me, his brown eyes looking sad, but calm.  "I could show you how love feels."