Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Fifty-Six

I swore when I woke myself up insanely early in the morning.  It was barely light out behind the curtains.  John was sound asleep, and I jumped when I noticed how still he was.  I had that same horrible nightmare of him dying in my arms outside the Dakota.  Only this time, he was killed instantly and I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye.  

It was as though my dreams were telling me my chances of saving him were getting slimmer and slimmer as time went on.  I bit my lip so I wouldn't cry and wake John.  

Slipping out of bed, I hurried into the bathroom to get a drink of water.  I was still so tired, but the cold water woke me.  The poor girl in the mirror looked horrified at me.  My eyes had dark circles beneath them, and my cheeks seemed to look a bit hollow.  I swallowed hard before setting the water glass down.  

I stumbled back into the shower curtain and almost fell into the bath, but someone caught my hands and pulled me back.  "Are you alright, love?  I've watched you a few minutes and you seem horribly uneasy."  John adjusted the sleeve of my nightgown, which had started to fall down a bit too revealingly for my liking.  But when I looked up at him, I saw him as he died in my dream, and I shrieked out loud.  

John reached out to me.  "Love, what's wrong?"  Holding me in his arms, I began to shake.  I had to save him, this living person, with a beating heart and wonderful mind.  As much as I tried not to, I cried into his shirt silently, trembling.  

"I don't know what to do anymore," I whispered.  

"Love...Paul will come through.  As long as you explain to him that you...don't love me...and that you love him," John's voice sounded hoarse, "he'll...he'll know it was a misunderstanding."  Then he let go of me.  Surprisingly, he was teary.  "No, no.  I can't just pretend anymore, Elle.  I can't pretend that it doesn't hurt, because it does like hell.  I never thought that I'd fall in love, because all I've learned in my life is to fear loving someone and to be loved by someone.  I should have known that you wouldn't have cared anyway."

It wasn't why I was scared, but how could I explain that to him?  Though as he poured out all of his inner thoughts to me, I realized how much I despised myself for hurting them.  All of them.  

"I do care, John.  And I know it's hard for you to do, but I wish there was a way for us to just be good friends.  And I wish the same thing for Paul and me, too.  George hates me.  There is nothing I say to him to lessen his anger."  I explained to him, taking his hands.  

John pulled his hands away.  "Do you know how hard that is?  I've been trying for so long to keep my feelings for you a secret, and now that I do..." He bit his lip.  "Fine.  I'll...try.  But first..." John leaned in and kissed me, holding my face in his hands.  But as soon as I touched his hand, he pulled away.  

Standing in that dark bathroom, I knew I was horribly wrong.  I needed to choose, and I had a feeling I knew what was going to happen.  

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I tried my hardest to talk to Paul while I helped set up the stage, but acted as if he couldn't hear me.  Though I knew I had to at least try and talk to George, I didn't have the courage.  

"Paul, please.  I need to talk to you," I pleaded quietly with him.  He just continued to tune his bass, which made me feel utterly pathetic.  However, I knew I deserved the treatment I was getting.  I gave up trying to talk to him that day, but I made several attempts the days afterward.  

The show the lads did that night was in Boston, and they all went out after the show for a few hours.  I, of course, stayed at the hotel and sorted out some files with Brian, but I began to grow worried when only three out of the four Beatles returned.  And John, Paul and George were all staggeringly drunk.