Waking up in the morning before the lads had its advantages. I was able to take a relaxing shower before my date with John, and attempt to curl my hair. Because I hadn't the slightest clue to what he had planned, I wore the blue dress I knew John liked, and tights because I knew it was cold out.
And before I left the bathroom, I sprayed on the tiniest amount of perfume I could. It was one I had got during the tour, and I was rather fond of it so I wanted it to last.
The boys had woken up by then. John and Paul were down eating breakfast at the cafe. Ringo was getting ready in his room. George was about to leave the room when I walked into the living area.
"You look nice today. What's the occasion?" It was the first time he had spoken to me in awhile, and I was surprised that he was talking to me.
"This afternoon I'm going on a date with John," I stated, holding my hands together in front of me, as if I was a teacher instructing a student.
George pulled on his jacket, the smile vanishing from his face. "And I'm supposed to be alright with this? I'm just supposed to give you my permission?"
"You didn't ask for my permission when you flirted with Miss America on the flight here, now, did you?" I snapped. As much as I hated to admit it, that little incident wounded me. I fancied George, and the thought of him seeing other girls hurt me. But on that plane ride he didn't seem to give one care about what I thought. "If I wasn't there, you two would have been snogging behind the refreshments cart by the time we were landing."
His face flushed red with anger. "Maybe we would have, Elle." The little retort caused a cry to build up in my throat, and he knew it. "Oh, does that bother you, now?"
"Not one bit. I'm going out with John, and we're going to have an amazing time." I gave my best fake smile. Feeling absolutely evil, I said, with a piteous look on my face, "Does that bother you, George?"
"Not the slightest, Elle. You can forget about everything I told you a few nights ago. All lies. Maybe John will find something he likes about you," He gave a mocking smile, and strolled out the door to meet the other lads.
If I had been wounded by George flirting with other girls, him saying everything he told me was a lie killed me. I felt like I had been shot in the chest, straight through the heart. It took everything I had for me not to cry, and I waited for Ringo to get ready so I could walk downstairs with him.
George didn't say a word to me the entire day, and into the night.
George's POV
God, damn you, George Harrison. How could you say something like that?
My anger subdued me from apologizing all throughout the morning. I wouldn't even look in her direction. She certainly didn't seem happy, though if she was sad she hid it quite well.
You are an incompassionate asshole.
I had never said crueler words in my life to a girl. I practically said I hated her.
I could never hate you.
I caught her looking at me once or twice during the time I saw her that day. Whenever she looked away her eyes were misty, like she was on the verge of tears. How could I be so heartless? I had promised her I would never leave her. I told her I loved her.
But a small voice in my headed chided my anger on. She's being unfaithful. She deserves to be alone. I avoided her eyes when she tried to catch my gaze. I would refuse to apologize. I would leave her to her solitude. She deserved to feel loneliness.
How dare you!
But she had been alone for almost all her life. She had been burned, scorned, kicked and beaten. I had reached out to help her, only to pull away and let her fall.
I deserved loneliness.
Oh, Elle. I'm so sorry.
I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her again. To tell her I was so, so wrong. I needed her. I could never hate her. I wanted her to be mine, and mine alone. And I would never let her go again.
But would she believe me?
I feared that she might not ever want to see me again. Though, who could blame her?
I certainly wouldn't.
Elle's POV
The date started out a bit rocky.
When Brian found out John's intentions, he gave him a little speech. He wanted to know when we were going to be back, where we were heading off to, how much money were we intending to spend, etc. It was like he was playing my father for the night.
"We'll be back before midnight." John promised, and for once he sounded sincere. He didn't roll his eyes, or making any faces when Brian's back was turned. After he had left, he offered me his arm and walked out of the George V.
Even in winter, Paris is a gorgeous city. The sun had decided to come out, and though it was cold, people filled the streets, walking about chattering in their beautiful language. I could feel John's eyes on me as I scanned the skyline in wonder. An amused smile played on his lips.
I pointed to a figure on the skyline. "Look!" I said. Rising from the ground like a skyscraper across the river was the Eiffel Tower. It was a glorious sight, and one that I found amazing that I got used to so easily. John pulled my arm down quickly, but he didn't look angry. In a quiet voice he said, "Quit pointing at things. You don't want to look like a tourist."
We walked about the city, taking in all of the sights. When we arrived at the Arc de Triomphe, I sighed, "Isn't it beautiful, John? I wish I brought a camera."
John reached into his pocket and produced the said device. "Ringo gave it to me. He figured you'd want it."
I laughed. "Thank you." But as I reached for it, he held it behind his back.
"Give us a kiss first."
"I don't kiss strange men."
He rolled his eyes. "Fair enough."
We took a lot of pictures that day, and I hoped that most of them turned out. When I wasn't completely lost in the Parisian landscape I gave my attention to John, and he made sure to take advantage of that. He told me jokes that made me laugh so hard my sides ached. He was so funny, intelligent and kind. I wished he would have always been like that.
The sun had just gone down on that lovely cold day when we ended up near the hotel again, but on Pont de l'Alma, a bridge that crossed over the Seine. As I looked down into the murky water, I was suddenly entranced. It was the strangest feeling. It was like the water was calling me. A little voice in the back of my mind was tempting me, and for some reason, it was appealing.
Do it. Jump off.
"John?" I asked softly, not taking my eyes off of the water. It was as if my lips were moving without my mind knowing about it. There was a throbbing in the back of my mind. I leaned forward on the railing, standing on the lowest bar.
I could feel John tense up behind me. "Yes, Elle?"
Do it.
"Do you think," I said, almost cryptically, "it would hurt if I jumped?"
"Elle, you're not..." John had more fear in his at that moment than I had ever heard before. He grabbed my waist and pulled me down from the railing. The throbbing, compelling voice in my head was silenced.
At least, for that time.
After my little escapade on the bridge, John decided it would be best if we sat down for awhile. So, naturally, he was drawn to a little pub nearby.
The barmaid looked at me funny when I ordered in my broken French, but never complained. She always kept an eye on John, though his attention was on me. "Do you mind if I smoke?" He asked.
"Yes."
"Do you mind if I drink?"
"No."
"Would you like to try either of the two?"
"No." I stated.
"Good girl," He said. After lighting a cigarette, he exhaled, "What was that up on the bridge?"
"What are you talking about?"
He leaned forward on his stool. "Don't play dumb with me. That's Paul's game. You know what happened up on the bridge. You heard what you were saying." His gaze met mine. After taking another drag on his cigarette and puffing out the smoke, he whispered, "And that's what worries me."
Flipping through some of the postcards I had gotten that day, I said, "You really shouldn't be so concerned. It's all psychological. Perfectly natural."
John took my hands. "I know the thought process. L'appel du Vide. The Call of the Void. That is natural. But actually wanting to is something else. You're sick, Elle."
"I'm fine, John."
The barmaid returned with John's drink. I wasn't thirsty at all, but yet my throat was dry as a desert. I felt hot, and incredibly dizzy. I excused myself to the bathroom.
Leaning over the sink, I was worried I would vomit. I stared at myself in the mirror, focusing on one point on the wall. The dizziness and nausea passed, and I took a few deep breaths before fixing up my hair and walking back out.
John was talking with another man who had stumbled into the bar also, and I didn't want to interrupt their conversation so I waited by our seats. I must have looked lonely, because soon I had company.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" I was surprised to hear another English accent there. But this accent obviously was influenced by alcohol, because this boy was staggeringly drunk.
I stood up from my stool. "I'm sorry, but I'm on a date." I got up to get to John, but the drunk grabbed my arm.
"Come on, now. Play nice." He slurred. His grip on my arm hurt, and he tried to pull me towards the back of the pub. Without warning, I slapped him across the face. The sound seemed to echo in the room, and the people there went completely silent. Even the chatty barmaid looked at us.
The boy growled something obscene and pushed me back into a table. "I'll teach you-"
"Don't touch her." John snarled, shoving the man away from me. He staggered backwards, but came at him again. Though John was smaller he was quicker, and gave him a blow to the stomach that knocked him to the floor.
The barmaid shouted at all of us. "Sortez! Laissez!" Get out! Leave!
John helped me up, and I hurried him out of there before the man would be stupid enough to get back up. By the way John looked at him, I thought there would be one less Englishman in the pub if I hadn't pulled him away.
As we walked, I held his hand. "Oh, John, your knuckles are bruised."
"It's fine. I had to give the lad something to remember me by," He chuckled darkly. He stopped for a moment. "Are you alright? Did he hit you?"
"No, I-I'm fine." I said, watching him as he inspected me. Catching his gaze, I said, very quietly, "Thank you."
He wrapped an arm around me protectively. "Don't mention it. Come along, now. There's one last thing we've got to see before we head back."
Paris was a different city at night. When some people turned in for the night, others came alive with the city. The building were alight, along with the souls of the people in the town. Town just wasn't the right word to describe Paris; it was a city more than anything. The City of Love.
We hurried down Pont de l'Alma, and down the walkway along the river. Couples were out walking along with us, but most in the opposite direction. Some were sitting on benches, talking and whispering. I rested my head on John's shoulder. I was tired, but my heart had never felt so alive. Being able to walk around this gorgeous city was enough to make me smile.
"You know," I whispered. "During the Second World War the general who was occupying Paris was told to burn it when it was liberated. But he couldn't do it, because he thought it was so beautiful." John looked down at the ground.
"It is lovely, isn't it?"
We arrived on the Esplande du Trocadero, and John covered my eyes with his hands.
"What are you doing?"
"Just step where I tell you to."
I walked carefully with him one step behind me. Soon I accidentally walked into a railing. I almost stumbled, but John held me tight. "Now open your eyes." He whispered.
I did, and saw the Eiffel Tower lit up in its full glory. We had arrived late enough that they had lit it for a few minutes, only for it to go out, and its rotating light on the top began to spin. I sighed, thinking about how long I had wished I could see this sight.
"Oh, my, that was beautiful."
John raised an eyebrow. He was still quite close to me, but I liked the warmth. "Really, now? I think I see something prettier."
I blushed, but still continued to chide him. "John, are you flirting with me?"
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," He looked out beyond the balcony.
Feeling a small smirk grow on my lips, I whispered, "I think I know your secret."
"And what would that be?"
"You like me. You just don't want to admit it." I kissed his cheek before taking his hand. "Come now. I want to get closer." I led him down the steps from the plaza towards the illuminated tower.
Paul's POV
Surprisingly, none of the lads besides John went out that night. I knew Elle had left with him, which made me burn a bit inside, but I had to ignore it. I had to be happy for her. If John was the man she wanted...
Leaning out on the balcony in our room, I found myself whistling And I Love Her. It pained me to think that she was out in the city with John, and I could only imagine what they were doing. If John wanted to, he could be sneaky and romantic enough for Elle to fall for him.
An image of them snogging under the Eiffel Tower made me cringe.
"Come on, Paul. If there's one thing you learned from the girl is that you need to put on a happy face," I muttered bitterly. Little did I know I had company.
"What's that?" George asked.
"Nothing."
"What's got you down?"
I sighed. "I made a horrible mistake. I let her go." Looking over at George, I noticed his somber expression for the first time. Had he been so sad all day, and I had been too self-involved to notice? "What's with you?"
He shrugged. "I made a mistake. I said something that someone will never forgive me for." When I looked back at him, he muttered, "Don't ask."
A few hours later, we had already downed a bottle of wine in the living room. I knew that I was going to feel horrible in the morning, but I didn't care. It wasn't as if it was the first time.
"I know what my problem is." I thought out loud. George just looked up at me. "I care too much. When I was with Eleanor, I worried too much about her feelings for me, and I didn't give a care about Elle. And now I care so much about Elle I can't focus on anything else. But sometimes I don't think I care enough, because now she's off with someone else." I groaned miserably and leaned back in my chair.
George leaned forward in his seat, as if he was telling a secret. "My problem is opposite yours. I seem to care too little. There are so many things I've left unsaid."'
"Oh, I know the feeling."
"I could have said I cared just one more time."
"You look so beautiful tonight." l added.
George sighed. "There was never anyone else."
"I don't want to be alone."
"I could never hate you."
And we both said in unison, "I love you."
I was happy that he said everything out loud, but then my facial expression turned to one of confusion. "Wait, who are you talking about?"
The youngest Beatle nervously stood up on his chair and slid his coat back on. Anyone would have noticed a slight blush growing on his cheeks. "I-I have to go. I stayed up too late last night and I know I'm going to feel like rubbish in the morning."
As he turned to leave, I said, "You know, you don't have to-"
But the final slamming of the door silence me.
"Go."