Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Twelve

Paul knocked on the bedroom door a few minutes after I made my grand exit. I was sitting on the bed, clutching a pillow to my chest, thinking about how John touched me. 

He poked his head in. "Are you alright, love?"

"Fine. I'm getting a bit tired though."

I got up off the bed, leaving Paul standing there. 

"Um, if you don't mind, I think I'll sleep downstairs tonight." I said. I wanted to stay away from men at that time. I felt uncomfortable around Paul, even though he didn't do anything wrong. 

"Are you sure that you're fine? You seem nervous." Paul reached out to touch my hand, and I tried to back away as nonchalantly as possible. 

"Really, Paul. I'm fine."

I grabbed my sweatshirt from my bag and was headed for the bathroom when Paul stopped me. 

"I'm sorry about John. He normally knows when to stop. I don't know what had got into him." 

I just wanted to get past him. "It's alright." I pushed him aside and left the room. He didn't follow. 

Once I had slid my sweatshirt on, I laid down on the couch and shivered. I was about to go up and get a blanket, but Paul came down to offer me one. 

"Thanks." I said, laying back down. He kneeled down next to me on the floor. "Are you sure you're alright, love?"

"Yes, Paul. Now, go on. It's late. You're going to be tired in the morning." I said, trying to get him to leave me alone. I wasn't trying to sound mean, I just needed time to think. And it was impossible to think with him staring at me with those big brown eyes.

"Good night, Elle."

"Good night, Paul."

As he went upstairs, I buried my face in my pillow. John was the overriding thought in my mind. The boy was incredibly....everything. One minute he was nice and the next he was calling you ugly. And then he would apologize by insulting you again.

I had just about had enough with boys. 

When I had manage to fall asleep, I dreamt that I was being chased by dogs down one of Liverpool's streets. I was calling for help, but no one heard me.  While running across a bridge, I slipped and fell into the Mersey river.  But instead of hitting the water, I continued to fall. And fall, and fall...

I woke with a start, and I almost shouted, but I covered my mouth so I wouldn't wake Paul. I was sweating, and I went into the bathroom to splash my face with water.  When I went to wipe my face with a towel, I saw another reflection in the mirror.  It was my dad. He reached out to grab me but I backed away before he could. Anger flashed in his eyes before he disappeared.

Breathing hard and frightened of my overactive imagination, I went back up to Paul's room and crawled in bed next to him.

"Elle, what are you doing?" He groaned, shifting his position in bed. 

"I had a nightmare." I whispered, laying my head on his chest. 

"Good night, Elle."

"Good night, Paul."

"Elle, wake up."

"Elle."

I sat up when Paul shook my shoulder. "Elle, I don't feel good. My stomach hurts." The twenty-one-year-old sounded like a five-year-old. 

"Do you feel nauseous or does it just hurt?"

"It just hurts."

"I'll get some medicine." I got up out of bed, and went into the bathroom.  Rummaging through the cabinets, I heard Paul groan and wiggle around in bed.