George's POV
Elle didn't come with Paul to rehearsal the next day. It made George feel horrible. Was she so embarrassed she couldn't stand to see him?
Had Paul found out?
Afraid to speak up, he had a heart attack when Paul clapped him on the back and said good morning. He certainly didn't seem upset, and George mumbled a short reply.
Brian had called saying they were running late, and all the lads relaxed in the practice room. Paul looked incredibly anxious, which, of course, made George nervous. Was he just waiting to get George alone, and then bring the hammer down?
"John?" Paul asked him.
"What?"
"Do you think I'm a good kisser?"
George's heart was racing as he looked through some of his music. Keep calm, he told himself. Don't give yourself away.
John propped his feet up onto a table. "Now, why would I know that?"
"Would you think I'm a good kisser?"
"Kiss Ritchie. He'll tell."
Ringo just shrugged and continued to smoke.
"Why are you asking?" George said, cautiously. He didn't want to sound irritated, just curious.
"Well, um...last night, I was, um, kissing Elle and all of a sudden she just stopped and pulled away. She almost seemed angry with me. I just don't understand it." Paul twirled a pencil in his fingers, looking puzzled.
George dropped his sheet music and it flew all over the floor. Ringo bent down to help him pick it up. John muttered, "Klutz."
"Did you say anything to her?" Ringo asked Paul. Paul shook his head, but then hesitated.
"I think I remember saying, 'You're so beautiful. I'm so lucky to have you as my girl.' But I was just complementing her, right? I can't see anything wrong with that." He explained.
George froze as he continued to pick up papers. John hesitated before lighting his cigarette. So many vulgar words went through George's mind...
Elle felt guilty for something that he did, and now Paul was upset over it. She must have not told him what was wrong. She had kept George's little secret.
"Well, mate," John said, after taking a long drag on his cigarette, "I know why she wouldn't kiss you."
George's heart stopped. He almost dropped his papers again. "What the hell are you doing!" He wanted to shout. But he just stood there, silently, waiting for John to tell Paul the awful truth. He waited for Paul, his best mate, to look at him like he was disgusting and below him.
"What is that?" Paul inquired, looking up at him. Ringo even took interest, and stopped tapping his legs with his drumsticks.
"Your breath probably was horrible and she couldn't have been more disgusted," he twirled his smoking cigarette in his fingers before snuffing it out. "Or she realized that disgusting was your true self." George and Ringo forced laughter. Paul smiled at John's snarky remark.
The air in the room seemed ice cold after that. Soon, Brian and George Martin arrived and they got to work. But right before they started singing, George caught John's eye. The expression on his face read, I just saved your ass. But I can put it on the line again.
Elle's POV
Paul came home with flowers and more paperwork for me to do. Fun.
As I organized all of the papers, Paul selected a rose from the bundle he brought back for me and started chanting, "She loves me, she loves me not," as he plucked the petals off the flower and dropped them on my paper and in my hair.
"Flowers aren't the wisest thing to consult for romance advice." I warned, as I brushed some of the petals off the stacks of folders. He pouted and scooted closer to me, adding more rose petals to the stack on my head.
"I'm starting to get the impression that you don't believe in love, darling."
I laughed. "I'm not ready to fall in love."
"That doesn't make sense. People fall in love all the time." He tickled my nose with a petal. I pushed his hand away.
"Not this girl."
Even though I moved away from him, he hopped closer. "Why not?"
"Because."
"Because?"
"I don't want to be hurt."
Paul looked at me with those big brown doe-eyes that he knew I couldn't resist. Pushing the stack of paper off the couch and onto the floor, he said, "Well, you know, if it's the right man, he wouldn't hurt you. And I have this sneaky suspicion that the right man is closer than you think." Paul brushed a piece of hair from my eyes.
"Really?"
"Of course! He has black hair, and brown eyes. He's, dare I say it, devilishly handsome."
"And modest too." I added.
"Oh, yes. He makes all of the birds-ahem- ladies swoon," he inched even closer, "but there's one girl who he can't help but fall for. And all he wants from her tonight is a kiss."
By then, he was so close I could smell the faint scent of his cologne. But he also smelt like roses. It was an intoxicated conbination. Boy, he really was so handsome.
I almost wanted to push him away, tell him I didn't love him and that he deserved better. He deserved a girl who didn't wake up screaming in the middle of the night. A girl who was beautiful and likable and who sat quietly when John teased her.
A girl who was always happy, and always wanted to please him.
I wasn't that girl.
But I couldn't bring myself to do it. Because I wanted that kiss too.
I whispered his name just before our lips met. What happened afterwards I couldn't remember.
Paul's POV
"No, please."
"No! Don't hurt them!"
Elle's cries woke me up. Knowing she would awake in a panicked rampage, I put my arms around her and pulled her close to me. There wasn't any space between us, no way she could wiggle away and start hallucinating. I could hear her sob into my shirt.
She must have thought I was smothering her, because she dug her fingernails into my back. It was painful; with the right amount of pressure, her nails were like little razors cutting into the skin. I bit my lip so I wouldn't cry out in pain. It would only make her hallucinations worse.
"I didn't run away! They didn't hurt me!"
"Elle, darling," I whispered, "Please wake up."
"No, please! I didn't mean to change time! It's my fault, not theirs!"
Her fingernails cut deeper into my back. If she went any further, she'd hit bone.
"Love, it's Paul. You're dreaming. Wake up."
Her shouts were unbearable. "No! Don't! I love him!"
She loved me.
"Elle, it's me! I'm safe! Wake up!"
"Paul!" She sobbed hard into my damp shirt. Her voice grew smaller and wearier. "It's all my fault. Now he's...he's..." Elle was barely audible. "I'm so sorry, Paul. I should be the one to..."
The girl who thought she wasn't worth life fell back asleep in my arms. It was as though she had never had the nightmare in the first place. My back was horribly sore. I relaxed and leaned back on the couch, wincing from the pain. I kissed her forehead, cradling her in my arms. Oh, my poor little darling.
"You deserve the life you have. I need you here. Please don't give up hope. Not now."
"Please."
Getting showered and dressed the next morning, I looked at my bare back in the mirror. There were little crescents cut into the tender skin. My shoulders were incredibly sore. Who knew fingernails could be so sharp?
Why did she have to be so scared? She was safe here, and I would be glad to let her stay with me all my life if she wanted. Elle never needed to go back to her father.
"Paul? What...what happened to your back?" A meek little voice said. I turned around, and grabbed my shirt from the bed.
"Oh, nothing, love. I'm sure I just scratched it."
"But...but they look like little cuts from a razor." She examined my back, running her finger over my shoulder. I winced. "I'm sorry."
I buttoned my shirt up in the mirror, avoiding Elle's eyes. I didn't want her to know about that. It would embarrass her, or make her feel guilty. Why couldn't I reassure her that I would never hurt her?
"Paul, are you, um...are you...cutting youself?" She sounded so concerned. Her big blue eyes almost looked teary. She must have thought she could have prevented it.
My eyes went wide. "No, no! I promise you that's not what it's from. I'm absolutely fine, darling." I kissed her hand, and went to grab a comb.
"Then what is it from?"
I bit my lip, turning away from Elle. "You, um, had a nightmare when I was sleeping. You dug your fingernails..."
Elle looked down at her fingernails, like they were monster's claws. She looked horrified with herself. These poor nightmares were driving her insane. And I felt terrible, because I couldn't do anything about it.
"Paul, I-I'm sorry."
"Elle, it's alright. I promise it doesn't hurt."
"But it cut through the skin-"
"It's harmless. It was just an accident, love." I pleaded. Taking her hands in mine, I could tell she was about to cry.
"This isn't supposed to happen. I'm not supposed to be here," She whispered to herself. I wiped a stray tear from her cheek. I begged for her not to start crying again. It killed me to see her cry. Elle was always so sad. Maybe the doctor was wrong. What if she was suffering from depression?
My voice felt hoarse. "No, darling, I know you're supposed to be here. With me. With us." The look of utter sadness on her face was unbearable. "I promise I won't let your father hurt you anymore. You don't have to leave."
"Paul, please." She begged. Pulling her hands from mine, the light in her eyes just seemed to fade. "Just let me go."
With that she turned her back, and left.