Wednesday morning at 5 O'clock

Chapter 7

Paul and John had risen their noses up at Michelle as she tried too hard to sound somewhat critical. It had gotten 'out of hand' that Paul and John decided to go to on corner of the room and work on Paul's song.

"What a bint" Paul huffed as he eyed her up, watching her throw her self over George and making Richard laugh every now and then. "When Richard said we could use the comments I didn't know that meant sprawl yourself all over our band mates. Fucking ridiculous" John nodded in agreement and lit a joint.

"I sense bad things about her Paul, really bad. She's just got that feel to her. Big red lips, black hair and pale skin. Just seems a little suspicious of you ask me" John took a long drag and handed it to Paul.
I
"I just don't understand why George is so hung up on her-" at that moment, Paul stopped what he was saying and quickly ran over to Michelle. "What the fuck do you think you're doing!?" Michelle looked at Paul; master tapes in hand.

"I was just looking at your tapes. I like the name of the songs you've got" Paul snatched the unfinished tapes from her hand and held them close to his chest; as if they were a baby.

"These are private. Do you know what that means? It means you can't see them. Now I don't know what you're playing at or if you're some spy but I think you should just fuck off" Paul was red with anger as he turned and walked back over to John.

George however was not impressed. He wasn't having this.

"You can't just tell her to leave Paul. What about when you brought Jane along hmm? We didn't say anything. So why don't you fuck off instead" Michelle smirked and sat on George's lap;she had won.

John took the tapes off of Paul and put them in his bag. He then lit another joint and took a long drag before grabbing his guitar.

"If that's the case then maybe we should just do the album on our own. We need to finish your song Paul. That slut over there won't get her hands in our tapes again" John smiled softly as Paul took out his paper and pen.

Every now and then, the two would look over and the three and turn their noses up; disgusted with what was happening. This was wrong. So very wrong. It went against all rules that the band had set in the studio and now they've changed because of some girl.

Richard watched Michelle and George with observing eyes. He liked Michelle, a lot but he couldn't help feel somewhat scared of her. She had a bad aroma around her that made him feel uneasy. She would make him laugh to the point his sides would split open and that wasn't right. Richard had always been a happy, cheerful man, but Michelle made that side come out more than often.

He studied the way she looked and felt again, uneasy. She looked like a villain you'd see in a comic or a Disney film. And as silly as that may sound, it was true. It was as if she had came here to destroy the band in someways.

Richard stood up, questioning wether or not he did like her and walked over towards John and Paul who were busy with the song. Richard pulled out a chair and sat with them .

"Aye lads I don't know what to think about Michelle. I mean I liked her to start with but now I'm getting an uneasy feel when ever I get to close to her. And I sound insane I know but I thinks she's up to something" John and Paul looked up at each other and then Richard.

"We were just discussing this rings. I feel it too, it's overpowering. Paul doesn't like her and neither do I. " John said looking over at George and Michelle and regretting it immediately.

"They're acting like they've been together since they were teenagers. Now don't get my wrong but I'm pretty sure George is a married man" Paul said scowling. John nodded in agreement and sighed heavily.

It was as if George had been put under a spell.

"Do you think she'll be here tomorrow?" Richard asked feeling uncomfortable with the whole situation. They all felt uncomfortable. They wanted George back.

"She bloody better not be other wise were going to have a serious problem on our hands" John said crossing his arms and frowning hard.