Photography (A Beatles Fanfiction)

29 / devil in her heart

I aggressively wiped the tears away from my face, hoping my anger could overpower my sadness. I pressed my finger on the doorbell and tapped my foot. I was glad that I decided to not take my stuff over to Paul's that afternoon. 

George arrived at the door in just a matter of five seconds.

"Hi, Bri," he said eagerly before he noticed my crossed arms and dead eyes. "Um...is something wrong? Are ye here to get your stuff?"

"No, I'm here because your bandmate Paul McCartney is kind of a douchebag," I said with a sarcastic smile. I didn't want to take it out on George, but that was often how I dealt with my anger--putting it on other people.

"Oh, no...what did he do?" George asked, leading me inside.

I shut the door and kicked off my shoes. "He's clearly still with Jane. And I think they were on vacation with each other. I could be wrong about that part, but um...Paul and I...we were making love, and he said her name."

George just sighed and led me to his sofa. He wrapped his arm around me, and I rested my head onto his shoulder. 

"No wonder he didn't want to ask me out. Because everyone else around here still thinks Jane is his girlfriend. She might even be his girlfriend again," I told George. "I don't know...I feel like he was just using me to get over her."

"You used protection, right?" George asked.

"Yeah. I almost thought he wouldn't, though," I informed him, shaking my head.

"Sounds like something he would do," George muttered. He sighed, then started running his fingers through my hair. I began to think about how bad that would look. If Paul got me pregnant, I'd probably have to stay in Liverpool for the rest of my life. What would my parents say when I returned home? What would I tell them when they'd ask who the father was? Just the thought of all of that made me paranoid.

"I'd probably remember in the middle of it, though. Female guilt is too fast of a swimmer," I finally said, forcing a laugh. George chuckled too, but it didn't last long.

"It's a shame, really," he stated, frowning.

We were silent for a moment and I felt myself beginning to cry again; my eyes were watering and my throat was hurting. I've come to the conclusion that it was my fault for getting my hopes up. It was my fault for believing that someone like me would be special to someone like Paul. I started to realize that the nightmare I had a while back was coming true. 

I guess Paul breaking my heart wasn't such a wild concept after all. And things were going to go on in 1963 as they should--and I wasn't going to be a part of it.

"George, I shouldn't be here. I should be at home, minding my own business and dealing with my shit life, going to school and getting ready to graduate and go to college. Why did Paul bring me here if he was just going to leave me feeling even more alone like this?" I hugged him and buried my face into his chest.

"Bri, please don't go home yet..." George began as he rubbed my back.

"It doesn't matter what year I'm living in, where I'm living at, or if I'm staying at a member of one of the most famous bands in the world's home," I interrupted. "I'm never going to be worth the fight, regardless of where I go. No one will ever want me enough to call me theirs and be proud of it."

"Bri, don't say that love," George replied. "I think you're more than worth the fight. I'm sure there's someone out there who thinks you rock their world. Just because Paul doesn't know what he wants doesn't mean everyone's like that."

A tear rolled down my cheek as I looked up at him. He reached his hand out and wiped it away.

"I know exactly what I want," George said softly with a smirk.

"And...what is that?" I asked, glancing around nervously.

"Hmm, I tell ya later," he replied. His smile grew a little, and he winked. 

I didn't want George's happy face to disappear, but I still had more ranting to do. I was angry, and I knew I couldn't just ignore it. The signs were there, and I was oblivious for all this time. I couldn't just keep sugarcoating everything.

"And you know what makes me even angrier? How I told him so much about Tanner and all of the shit I've been through, and he 'comforted' me. But now, he just fucking ignores it. As if he doesn't even know who I am," I explained to George, feeling my voice getting louder. George removed his hand, startled. "Ugh, I hate him!"

I got up from the sofa quickly and clenched my fists. "He doesn't know what it feels like. To be let down so much that you have to be cautious around everyone who crosses your path. I bet he's never even been rejected by a girl before. You know why? Because he's Paul motherfucking McCartney! You know, after all of the stories I've heard and read about him being a womanizer, I wanted to be that girl. I wanted to be that girl who'd mess with his mind and figure out what made him tick. I wanted to be that girl who was different from all the others; who wasn't naive, who'd show him that she wasn't going to be blinded by the traps he set that every other woman seemed to fall into. I was going to be the exception, the one who could maybe make him feel guilty of his ways--but then my stupid ass fell for him! I should have never let him kiss me. I should have never moved into his home. I should have just saved my heart and let myself fail that stupid photography project!"

George just watched me and sighed.

"Bri, there's actually...a lot that I need to tell ya. Like, a lot."

I sighed and wiped my eyes, shaking my head. "Tell me tomorrow. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"It'll make you feel better..." George singsonged. I turned around, and he shrugged.

"I just want to be alone," I said, my voice cracking. 

I walked past him and ran upstairs as the tears began to well in my eyes again. And I cried all night--cried because of Paul, cried because of George, cried because I wasn't worth it.

Later on that night, I climbed into George's bed. He got in with me shortly after. 

"You still awake, Bri?" I heard him ask. "Paul called...he was checking to make sure ye were safe." 

I still wasn't in the mood to talk, so I didn't respond.

"Hm, guess not," I heard him mumble after a few seconds.

I was drifting off to sleep after that. And I wasn't sure if it was a dream or if it was real--but I swear that I felt George lean over and kiss my cheek. It was probably a dream, though. I had to stop being so unrealistic before things got even worse.

But what sat in the back of my mind was what George said earlier about making me feel better. And maybe I'd feel better the next day. And maybe what he would tell me really would cheer me up.