Go away, George

Chapter 7

My mind was clouded with thoughts of George. Not just George, in fact. All of them. The entire notion that I would be flung into the path of The Beatles like this was utterly ridiculous, absolutely absurd. And to think I was actually developing relationships with them! My mind drifted to Paul. That was the awkward thing. I was still infatuated with him. I mean, who wasn't? When i was younger I had sang each song to the photo I had hanging of him on my bedroom wall. I watched him intently in all of his interviews, drew his sweet face over and over in any old notebooks. My brain would soon stop liking Paul, right? At least, that's what I hoped. 

The trek back was tricky. George sort of knew where we were going, and sort of didn't. We would wander around empty streets, one after another, until George found one that he recognised. He carried me for parts of the journey. After an hour or so we were home. 

"And where have yer been?" John moaned as soon as we trundled through the front door. His eyebrows raised at the fact I was dangling from George's arms. "And why are yer carrying her around like she's some sort of suitcase? She's perfectly able to walk." 

"Oh shut up John." He snapped and strode into the lounge, gently placing me down on the plush sofa. Ringo sat beside me, messing with angry birds on his phone. I fiddled with a tassel on one of the large, thick cushions.

"So what's the matter with her then?" Paul questioned. "Did she fall over while crying and scratch her poor iccle knee?" 

Him and John started laughing hysterically. Ringo giggled a little too. 

"Or was she colouring in a pretty picture with her crayons and gave herself a paper cut?" John mocked, his head bouncing back with laughter. A tear slipped down my face. 

"She was nearly mugged." George bellowed in an angry tone. Everyone's laughter slowly subsided as they looked towards George.

"Mugged? And they say Liverpool was bad. Don't think I've ever been mugged." John exclaimed.

"Because you were the one mugging people!" Ringo retorted. Everyone laughed.

"So you two have made up then now have yer?" Paul asked, raising his eyebrows as he peered at us.

George smirked. "A little more than made up. Anyway, what time is it? I'm shattered."

"It's only seven!"

"Don't tell me you're not tired." He said and pulled his shirt off. His stomach was toned and I just wanted to reach out and stroke it (which I didn't do). 

Come to think of it I was pretty tired. I nodded in agreement and followed him to a room at the end of one of the corridors.

"Hey, do you mind sharing my bed?" He suddenly asked, looking awkward. "I mean, I can sleep on the floor if you want, if you think that's better, I really don't mind-"
"No it's fine. Its only a bed, right?"
We fell back on to the bed and I dug my way into the covers, inhaling the sweet smell lingering on George as he timidly wrapped his arm around my side. 

We slept together. And I don't mean sex. I slept peacefully in his arms, his body heat encasing me, his heartbeat lulling me to sleep. And I had the best nights sleep ever.