i believe in yesterday ☽ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒 [𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞

two months later

just as the sun met her side of the surface of the earth, she felt herself being awoken. her room was filled with the scent of tea and warmth.

did warmth have a scent? she thought so.

molly shifted in her bed, feeling well slept and energized. the only bad part about this perfect fall morning was that she had a pounding headache from being hungover.

she slowly opened her eyes and stretched her legs out, quickly wincing when it affected her headache for the worst. any sudden movement felt like a punch to the head.

molly closed her eyes again and squeezed them tightly, scrunching her nose up as she did so. she inhaled sharply and yawned.

"oh... my lord," she whispered.

"you're finally awake,"

her eyes shot open. she looked straight ahead of her and saw a man sitting on her countertop. at first, she didn't recognize him, but the memories quickly began to flood back.

"stick?" she managed to squeak out. she vaguely recognized the circumstances. didn't this happen before?

he hopped off her counter and smiled at her. "good morning,"

molly's mouth was hung open. she couldn't believe it... she slept with stick, the cocky, stuck-up man who was devilishly handsome.

"we didn't-"

"oh, no," he chuckled. "you were as drunk as one could be."

molly let out a sigh of relief and smiled widely. "thanks for not taking advantage of me, then."

stick pursed his lips in a flat line as a way of saying "you're welcome".

"i brought you back home after you got pissed," he explained to her, sitting on the edge of her bed in her small room that faced the kitchen. "it started pouring rain last night, so i just slept on your... erm..."

"you slept on my loveseat? that tiny thing? how did you fit on there?" molly tried to sit up but decided against it when her head began pounding again.

"really, it wasn't a problem."

                                               *

the cool november air brushed against her face as she walked into the tiny flower shop. it was first thing monday morning.

"god, you're here," she looked up and saw the one and only george harrison.

he was sitting there, right in front of the door. he looked like he'd been crying all night. "geor-" before she could get much more out, he bound into her arms. "why aren't you in hamburg?" she mumbled into him.

"i got deported," she felt him sniffle into the side of her head. "they sent me back home."

"you're... you're not mad at me anymore?" molly nervously asked. "i thought you never wanted to talk to me again!" she said into his shoulder.

"you know i can't stay mad at you, molly," george laughed. "you're the best."

molly blinked a few times before finally closing her eyes and fully becoming one with george. she hugged him tighter, pulling away after a few moments.

george sighed and wiped a single tear away from his eye. "the boys miss you so much," he said to her while she made her way behind the counter.

"how's paul?" molly questioned. "pete? stuart?"

george shrugged. "they're okay, i guess," he nonchalantly said. "john's the one who's really losing his marbles," he laughed as if it was a joke.

"don't talk to me about john," molly warned. "we don't talk about him anymore."

george squinted his eyes at her from over the counter as she put her apron on. "am i supposed to know what you're talking about?"

"only if john's an absolute..." she contemplated on saying something quite mean, but refrained. "he probably told you, anyways."

"trust me, i've tried to get it out of him for a while now, but he won't budge!" george proclaimed.

molly turned around and turned the open sign-on.

"so, he hasn't told you?"

"no," he said confusedly. "can i know?"

she bit her bottom lip and reached around to fix her shortened blonde hair so it wasn't in her face. she gritted her teeth and sighed.

"he read some of my letters," molly told him, leaning over the counter to face him better. "in the letters, i basically gushed about how in love i was with him,"

"yikes..." george clicked his tongue. "that's not good."

"and now he knows how i used to feel."

"used? you don't like him anymore?" george raised his eyebrows.

"he knew exactly what he was doing when he was reading those! he didn't stop and he didn't tell me until weeks later! he didn't ask to read them!"

george nodded his head with every sentence molly said. "he's heartbroken because you won't talk to him anymore,"

"i bet he is!" molly smiled without feeling happy. "he's called my mother's house thirty times—and that's not even how many times he's called since i've moved."

george shook his head. "he talks about you a lot,"

molly furrowed her eyebrows and pursed her lips, feeling a blush creep onto her cheeks. "he does?"

"anytime we bring you up, you can see the excitement in his eyes. any way he can, he finds a way to relate whatever we talk or sing about to you,"

she bit her lower lip again. why would he talk about her? why not his girlfriend? why her?

"why does he talk about me?"

"i... i think he might be in love with you."