Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Thirty-One

Paul ended up going off with Eleanor, much to her happiness. So much for my conversation with her.

I wanted to just forget about her, and everything that she said to me . But she was hurting Paul, and it wasn't just because I had slight feelings for him that I cared, it was because he was my friend. He took care of me when I needed it most, and I knew I had to stand for him.

But was I really standing by him? I let him run off with Eleanor when I could have told him the truth. Even though it would have caused drama, it was something he needed to hear.

Brian was the only one who was probably more confused than I was. Why would I still be here if I was Paul's ex-girlfriend? Why do they disappear into the bathroom all time, and come back out angry? Why was I always leaving with George, and returning with Paul? I was afraid he would confront me at the end of the day, but then George took my hand and led me out.

Though, I knew he would get me alone sometime, and I would just weave more mistruths into my already thick web of lies.

And, oh, how I hated lying.

Dark gray clouds hung over Liverpool. As I have said before, the people of the port city always seemed to move slowly, but today they were hurrying along the sidewalks to get home before the storm. When we arrived at George's house, a light rain began to trickle from the sky. I stood outside and soaked it all in as he waited by the door.

"Come now, Elle. You'll catch cold."

"We always have storms in Minnesota, especially in summer. It's uncommon to get light rain. And definitely not in the winter." I told him. The rain was falling harder now, and my damp hair stuck to my coat. I spun around in the rain and splashed in a puddle, feeling like a little kid again.

George came out to get me and took my hand, but I kicked some water at him playfully. "Hey!"

"George Harrison, don't you remember how to have fun?" I teased him. He smirked, before setting down his guitar and picking me up. He ran towards a puddle.

"No!" I shouted, giggling. "No!"

"You're going to get so wet!" He taunted me. He almost dropped me more than once, but it probably wouldn't have hurt that much. I just laughed before he turned around and set me back down.

George and I were so close, and I was still holding onto his shoulders. He leaned down to kiss me, but I stopped him, and he looked down at the ground, embarrassed. But I laughed. Looking up at the rain, I told him, "It's too cliche. Kissing in the rain."

He laughed. "But you like cliche. Remember the rose petals?"

I laughed, and as his lips met mine, I had forgot everything that had happened today. All I knew then was the happiness he was bringing me.

"No."

"No, Mom!"

"Please don't hurt her!"

"NO!"

I was awaked by my own shouts. Praying I didn't wake George, who was asleep in his room, I crept into the kitchen to get a glass of water. But when I did, my mind wandered to my nightmare. Dad had just come home, and my mother had stopped him from hitting me. Instead he took his anger out on her. When I was younger, she would always tell me to go do my homework in my room, or go watch television on my parents' bed, so I wouldn't see.

When I was younger I had no idea what was happening. I had only found out when I was thirteen that he had been hitting Mom since I was seven.

As I stood in the kitchen, overcome by the terrible memories, I felt tears in my eyes as I realized that my entire childhood was based on a lie. "It's alright," Mom would tell me when she tucked me in at night, "He's just frustrated today. He will smile tomorrow."