I avoided Paul for the rest of Sunday, continuing straight through to Monday, Tuesday and most of Wedensday.
George didn't know what had happened with Paul, and I didn't plan on telling him; I didn't want to get in the way of their friendship. I don't think he fully believed me when I told him I wasn't feeling well (even though, it wasn't necessarily a lie as my head had started to ache from all the confused thoughts spinning around in my head), but he didn't try to pursue the subject, for which I was greatful.
Wednesday afternoon while the guys were at the studio, I'd fried some bacon and eggs for myself for lunch, washing up afterwards, before making my way into the sitting room to watch television for a while before the band came home. Laying out on the couch and flicking through the channels I finally settled on some movie that I didn't even bother watching as I drifted off to sleep.
A few hours later I awoke to the sound of keys jangling as the front door was opened, I sat up looking around me in confusion, not remembering falling asleep in the first place.
I was expecting George to be on the other side off the door, but much to my surprise (and chagrin), it was Paul.
The awkward tension that fell between us was so thick that not even a knife would cut it. Clearing his throat Paul scurried past me, without sparing me a glance.
"Hello, love," George greeted, smiling brightly at me a moment later as he all but sprinted through the doors.
"Hey, George," I replied, eyeing up his appearance; his cheekks were flusshed and he was panting and out of breath, altogether looking quite ruffled. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"I'm fine, me and the lads were just attacked by some fans," he panted, shrugging his shoullders like this was a daily occurance, which, I had to remind myself, was. "Paul got in here first, but then the fans came, Ringo got caught and John went back for him, I would've gone back, too, only John told me to go in and he could manage."
"Are John and Paul talking again?" I asked quietly.
"Yes," he replied, looping his arms loosely around my waist and burrying his face in my curls. "They started talking this morning. They're being very polite tto each other, a bit too polite, if you ask me... Never mind that, how was your day, Char? Are you feeling any better?"
"My day was quite boring," I admitted, "I fell asleep after lunch and have just woken up. I'm feelingg better, Georgie."
"That's good," George smiled happily. "Now I won't have to cancel."
"Cancel what?" I asked, miffed.
"You and I have a date tonight, love. So you'd best go get ready," he stated, grinning adorably.
* * *
"Is this okay?" George aasked glancing at me nervously from the corner of his eye as we entered the Italian restaurant together; it was called 'Bella'. Trust me when I say it really was beautiful.
"It's perfect, Georgie," I said, kissing his cheek. "Thank you."
He beamed widely, approaching the counter and speaking to the woman named Mildred who confirmed our reservation and showed us to our table, telling us that someone would be with us shortly to take our order.
"Have you ever been here before?" I asked curiously and a tad jealously. Okay, it was mostly jealously. Fine it was all jealously. Happy?"
"No," he shrugged, "this is a new restaurant and it only opened up last month. John has been here with Cynthia, though, and Ringo's been here with Maureen. Even Paul's been here."
"Oh," I said, but before I could say anything else, a waiter came to take our order. A silence fell beween us after we placed our order.
"So," George was the first to speak, "last time you were in the '60's you were in a coma? That's strange."
"Yeah, I know, right?" I shrugged. "I must be in another one, now."
George nodded, calmly. "I understand that, love, but I wonder how you could be in two places at once? I've heard a lot of strange shit in my life, but your story definately surpasses it all."
"I wish I could understand this," I sighed, frustrated. "I mean, I'm only staying for four weeks and I've already been here ten days, another eighteen days and I'll be gone."
"You agreed on staying a month, you have another twenty-one days left," he stated firmly.
"Oh, I forgot," it felt good to know that he was keeping count of our time together. "I'll miss you when I return to my own time."
"I'll miss you, too, love, so much, I'm sure you'll read about it or something someday," he smiled, sadly. "I wish you could stay."
"You know I can't stay, George, as badly as I want to, I can't," I told him, wishing I could give him a diferent answer, but knowing it was impossible.
"I know, but I wish you could," he said, seriously. "It's just I love you so bloody muck and know no amount of preparation could ever or would ever be enough to help me cope with the pain of losing you."
His words were enough to melt my heart, closing my eyes to hold in the tears that were building up at the back, I whispered, "It's the same for me, George, it was like I'd only just accepted the fact that I'd fallen in love with a guy that was old enough to be my grandfather in my own time, and then you were gone."
"I know, love, it was hard for us all," George grimaced, "perhaps I chose the worse way imaginable to handle it, or not to handle it, but the lads and Cynthia and Maureen missed you, too."
"George," I began, "why does Paul sing 'Love Me Do'? You wrote it, didn't you?"
"Paul wrote the lyrics for me as I described my feelings for you to him, I don't usually write love songs, Charlene, not my forte," he explained. "I was going to be the singer, but after you left I didn't want to; it was too painful to think about you, never mind singing the song written just for you."
"Oh," I said, stupidly. "I've wondered about it ever since I listened to it after I got released from hospital last year."
"You know," George's gaze turned stony, "I still can't believe your parents were going to let you die. If I had a daughter, a son even, the idea of allowing them to die wouldn't even be taken into consideration."
"Neither would I," I replied, reaching across the table and squeezed his hand, spotting the waiter returning with our food.
We enjoyed that nights dinner, making the most of our time togther, not knowwing when it would be our last.
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Authors Note: Merry Christmas! This is my little gift for you guys. Also, I'm sorry last chapter was so shitty and short, I rushed it because I couldn't think properly, I just knew what I wanted to happen... :)
I'm about half way through this story I think, I'm gonna miss it, it's the second book in a trilogy.
I'm listening to 'Fairy Tale of New York' by The Pogues feat. Kirsty MacColl.
