I'm With the Beatles

Mother Nature's Son (Of A Gun)

After crying for a few minutes, I pushed myself up from the floor and threw the shirt on the bed. Should I wear it? 

Do you want to seem too clingy? 

Well, no, I... 

Then put together your own outfit... 

My brain was right. I needed to find myself through this tangled relationship. Sighing, I searched through my clothes and found a decent shirt and a nice pair of shorts. I then pulled my hair back and wrapped a light blue scarf around my neck. There. That seemed reasonable. Before I slipped into my sandals, I noticed a pair of anchor earrings resting on the nightstand. He also got me those? I shrugged and put them on. Maybe he'd recognize them and be happy. I took one last look at myself and shuffled out the door. 

"Ay, Lizzie," Ringo warmly greeted as I joined the group outside. He ran over and squeezed me in a hug. 

"Hey, Ringo," I chuckled. 

As I looked around, all four of the guys were wearing black swimming trunks and a big white shirt that they tied in the front. Cynthia had the same style going on, but in a full piece swimsuit. Alas, I was the odd one out. 

Paul was busy chatting with John and Mal about fishing poles. I decided to wait before I'd strike up a conversation with him. There was no need to bring up the subject of the past on such a nice day like this. 

"Lizzie, so wonderful to see ye out of the room! Yer so beautiful!" 

I turned and almost bumped into George. He was smiling down at me, his round, brown eyes squinting against the sunlight. 

"Oh, thank you, George..." 

"I guess Paul's shirt didn't fit ye?" he asked. 

"I didn't want to wear it," I fired back. 

"Oh, sorry I asked then..." 

I didn't mean to hurt his feelings! I was already upset over the little spat with Paul. George started to walk back over to Ringo, but I touched his arm. The hairs that graced it sent shivers up my spine. 

"Wait, George! I didn't mean to be so rude. What I meant to say was that I felt like wearing this," I pleaded. 

"Aw, it's alright. I shouldn't 'ave said what I said," he replied. He gazed down to his arm where my fingers still rested. His smile grew bigger and I couldn't help but blush. I dropped my hand away. 

"Sorry..." 

"Why? I actually liked that," he mentioned. 

"Alright, fellas! Time to go," Brian loudly belted. 

We all jumped into the limo to take the ride. I ended up sitting in between Paul and George, whom the latter couldn't stop smiling each time I looked over him to see out the window. Paul, on the other hand, was being the aloof one, consistently fiddling with his shirt and humming some song he was trying to write. I attempted to run my hand along his thigh, but he would shift, making himself, and I, uncomfortable. Thankfully, the car stopped before I could scream my displeasure.