Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Fifty-Eight

I busied myself with my job, and worked even harder by helping carry instruments and tear down some of the sets.  But I couldn't help but notice George and all his girls.  

You heard me right.  

Girls.

Every single city we visited he went out with a different girl.  I knew that I had played with three of the Beatles' feelings, however I coudn't help but feel angry.  But was it because I knew he was messing around with young girls, or because I was jealous that it wasn't me?

John noticed one time.  "Elle, you've got to stop watching him.  If you really do want him, make it seem like you couldn't give a damn."

"I don't want him, though.  I promised myself I would be friends with all of you, and nothing more." 

The Beatle shrugged and went back to his hotel room.  That night, I heard him leave his room and walk down the hall.  Even though I knew what John said was right, I went against the advice.  I couldn't help myself.

"George?" I asked.  "Can I talk to you?" 

He pulled on his coat as he talked.  "I'm going on a date now, Elle.  I have no interest in spending the night with you."

"That's not what I wanted to ask," I said quietly.  I pulled a piece of hair back behind my ear, and swallowed hard.  Please, I thought.  Just give me one last chance.  "I just wanted to try to...make a peace.  I want us to be friends again."

The youngest Beatle almost looked amused at my plead.  "I think it's a bit too late for that, considering you've been with almost every single one of my friends.  I can't believe myself, Elle.  I can't believe that I ever thought you were flawless, perfect, beautiful.  You're not."

His words hurt, but I couldn't let it show.  "I'm not going to be hear for so long-"

"Good." He snapped, before leaving.

A few moments later, John slipped out of his room.  "I heard," he spoke before I could say anything, "I'm sorry, Elle."

I turned back into my room.  

One of their last nights in America, the lads had a quick chance to go out.  George, however, stayed home, and I assumed he was with another girl.  

While I was writing my report that night, I began to feel dizzy once more.  But instead of just the dizziness, breathing began to get difficult.  I felt as though I was not taking in any air at all.  I hurried up, which made me blind with nausea, and I stumbled over to George's room.  Banging on his door, I felt like my lungs were deflating.  "George!"

A few moments later he opened the door, obviously very irritated.  "I'm busy, Elle."

"George, please, I can't-"

"I'm done with you." He slammed the door.  I hit the door as hard as I could, but ended up falling to the floor, gasping for breath.  

He came back out, completely furious.  "What the hell-"

"I...can't...breathe!" I cried.  Only until I started to choke a bit did his face change to one of sheer concern.  George told the girl who was with him to leave, and she did, flustered and confused beyond belief.  I let out a sob, and George told me not to cry, for it would only make it worse.  He picked me up and grabbed my coat.  As we ran down the hall, George kicked Brian's door.  When he opened it and saw us, George told him to call an ambulence.  

My vision started to blur and I gasped for breath, only to find nothing to breathe.  "Elle...Elle, look at me.  Focus.  Just breathe."

"Please, Elle.  Just breathe."