If I Fell In Love With You

Chapter Two

Hazel's POV:

I woke up on the floor at ten thirty at night. He was far, far away, but I knew he would be coming back. I had to leave as quickly as possible. I attempted to get up; however, my body couldn't take it. I squirmed towards the table and pushed myself off of it. I packed all my clothes and took my easel. That's all I had.

"Oh my gosh!" I whispered to myself. I had totally forgotten about my art show money! I limped to the kitchen cabinet, clutching my chest. There was fifty dollars. That's all I needed! I cried tears of joy and locked the door behind me.

I went to Miss. Collins' place, the little old lady who lived in the apartment across from me. Her husband recently passed away from heart disease. Truly breaks my heart to see a loving couple drift apart. Miss. Collins told me he's in a better place now. I wonder if my mom is? I knocked and the little old lady opened the door. I was 5'8 and she was 5'4 so I had to look down at her. She scanned me head to toe.

"Oh Hazel, my dear, what happened?" she said as she came over and grabbed my hand. "It's a long story." I replied. "I'm so sorry to bother you so late, can you take my apartment please? I can never go back there again, its hell." I garrulously said. She was shocked with my language, but I was telling the truth, it was hell. "I must go Miss. Collins. Again, I'm so sorry for this inconvenience." She stopped me because I kept rambling on. "Go, sweetheart." she nodded. "Thank you!" I exclaimed as I handed her the keys. I left the apartment building.

I walked along the sidewalk and thought, I have no idea where I'm going. I was fairly new to Liverpool and I just moved here from Bronx, New York five months ago. I rarely went out to clubs or parties because I was too busy painting. Also, I'm not a party animal like Ross is. Ross convinced me to move to Liverpool when we first met in New York. We met at one of my painting auctions seven months ago and two months later I moved for him. That's what relationships are, you make sacrifices. I guess Ross didn't understand that.

I walked on this cold, dark October night. Then I thought of Cynthia. Cynthia Lennon, my best friend, how can I forget? Her apartment was three blocks away. I walked quickly. The lights were on and I saw shadows of people through the window. I didn't want them to see me like this. I needed help though, my whole life needed help. In a heartbeat I would do this for Cynthia, I thought. I gained my confidence and opened the door. I could barely climb those three flights of stairs. "She had to be on the third floor." I mumbled. I stood on top of the stairwell. I started to lose my train of thought. "Was her room C3 or C4?" I said softly to myself. I heard Cynthia's voice towards the left. She was laughing. Probably laughing at one of John's corny jokes.

I knocked on the C4 door. "I'll get it!" a British man's voice called. I would have gone to the hospital, but I had to save my money. Not to be selfish, but I was hoping Cynthia would take care of that. Cynthia was married to a Beatle for Pete's sake! I put my easel and art supplies in the hallway. I heard the door open. A good looking man with brown hair and hazel eyes looked at me with a concerned look. He began to speak.

"What happened, to you, lov? You look atrocious!" he stated. He handed me his hand and I grabbed it. I started crying, but I don't think he noticed. My whole body was sore and was aching with pain. My head was hurting the most. He directed me to the living room.

"How old is this wine, John?" a man questioned. "I don't know, George. My Aunt Mimi gave it to me." "Well, I love it!" he excitedly said.

We made it to the living room and all eyes were on me. Sitting on the couch was Cynthia, John, and two other guys.

"Oh, honey!" she shrieked. She grabbed my hand as the British guy was holding the other. My head my still gushing blood. I was losing blood so rapidly that I collapsed. Cynthia and the guy caught me. The two other men jumped and John ran to the kitchen, Cynthia sat me down on the couch. John got a bandage to wrap around my head and a wet cloth to clean the blood from my face.

"I'll get that for ya, lov!" the Hazel eyed man said. We both looked at each other as he was rubbing the blood off of my face. "Thank you." I said as we were studying each other's eyes. "Of course!" he winked. "What happened?" Cynthia questioned. I told them the whole story. I could tell they were listening carefully. All five of them looked at each other and nodded with sorrow as I finished the story. To distract myself from crying anymore tears, the hazel eyed man started to introduce himself.

"I'm Paul. This is George and that's Ringo!" He explained. They both waved and said hello. I was a shy person. The only friend I had was Cynthia. I'm not a talkative person, but Paul seemed to be. "And what do you call yourself?" Ringo asked. I blurred out for a second and totally forgot. I looked down and whispered "I don't know." I didn't think they heard me. "I beg your pardon?" George asked. "Ah, ah, oh I'm sorry, I'm, ah, Hazel, Hazel Evans." I scratched my head." She talks!" George said, Cynthia elbowed him.

"Hazel, like your eyes." Paul said. "Also like yours." I said , we both started to laugh. John came over and wrapped the bandage around my head. "Thank you." He smiled, "No problem."

"Doctor John!" George laughed. "Well, I'm just looking after her because she is a very gifted artist." I didn't even want to talk about my life, especially art. Couldn't he have brought up politics? "Fascinating, you're an artist?" Paul said. "I'm a struggling artist, who will never be known." I explained. "Don't say that! We'd all love to see your paintings!" Ringo smiled. I cracked a smile and started to blush.

"I think you should get to bed, we have to get you checked out tomorrow morning." Cynthia said. She held my waist and grabbed my hand to help me stand up. "It was a pleasure meeting you!" Ringo smiled. "Yeah, lovely meeting you, Hazel!" George said after him. Such lovely boys I thought. "The pleasure is mine. Talk to you tomorrow." I waved.

John, Paul, and Cynthia helped me to the guest room."Thank you so much. You don't know how much this means to me." I cried to John and Cynthia. "We love you and I just want you to be safe." Cynthia said. Love? I've never heard anyone say "I love you." to me, except for my mother. The last time I heard "I love you." was before my mom died. Cynthia gave me a soft hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her and John went to their room. As I started unpacking my dirt poor clothes, I heard a knock on the door, it was Paul.

"Do ya need help, lov?" Paul questioned. "I'm fine, thank you." He helped me anyway. "Thank you." I whispered. " Do you want me to tuck you in?" What an odd question I thought. A grown man tucking in a grown women. I stared at him and giggled. Then I noticed he wasnt kidding. He helped me into bed and put the covers on me. He leaned over the bed and made sure I was secure.

"What's your story, Hazel?". I replied in confusion, "I told you my story.". "I mean, what makes Hazel, Hazel?" he smirked. "Oh!" I nodded. I was to embarrassed and ashamed to talk about my past, I had a terrible childhood. I got up and we both sat on the bed. I was just going to be straight forward and tell him the ugly truth.

"Well, when I was about six my father left my mom and I. I hate him. I don't even consider him as my father. He would abuse my mother and I. He would put us down all the time. He made us feel worthless. He would come home every day drunk and angry. When he was angry, he would beat my mom and I. Ross reminds me of my father." I frowned, "My mother couldn't take it anymore, so she..." I started hysterically crying. "Committed suicide. I wish I stopped her. I feel like it's all my fault. I never got to say goodbye to her. She was the only person in my life who I truly loved and always will." I explained. Paul wiped the tears from my cheeks. No one ever listened to me so carefully as Paul did. "So, when I was seven I was sent to an orphanage and I couldn't take it anymore so I escaped when I was sixteen. No one wanted to adopt me because I was different than the other kids." "Yeah, but a good different." he smiled.

"My mum died when I was fourteen." I stopped him there and gave him a hug, he was surprised but he accepted it. I cried in his shoulders and whispered "I'm sorry." He squeezed me harder and looked straight at the wall. I know he was thinking of his mom. Everyone needs a mom to cuddle or talk about their issues with. We ended up talking until three in the morning. I learned that we had so much in common. I needed to get some sleep though, and he had to get back to his girlfriend.

"Goodnight, Hazel!" Paul said softly. I smiled back and closed the door behind him. "Wow!" I said to myself and went straight to bed.