My whole body was throbbing when I woke up. I pushed my blonde hair out of my eyes when I felt my hand brush something on my neck.

I was wearing a necklace when I went back in time.

How could I not have noticed it?

It was a tiny, gold heart-shaped locket on a matching chain. My mom gave it to me when I was little. It was too small for a picture to fit in it, so sometimes I slipped tiny notes inside. I toyed with it for a few minutes. 

 And then I realized I wasn't alone in the room. 

John was laying right next to me, his hands behind his head, eyes closed. His chest rose and fell slowly. 

Five minutes, right, John?

"John, wake up."

"John."

I shook his shoulder, and he just rolled over in response. Annoyed, I grabbed my pillow and smacked him with it. He shot up immediately. 

"Elle, stop it!" He groaned. He sat up rubbing his eyes, and I smirked at his expression. 

"I need some help moving. Can you help me?"

"I'll help you." He stood up, stretched, and yelled: "Paul, get in here and help Elle!" 

I swear it took about twenty seconds for him to appear in the doorway. John left. 

"Morning, Elle."

"Morning, Paul." 

"We're catching the train soon," He said, helping me up. "You best get ready soon. Brian wants to talk to all of us too."

He stopped walking for a moment, and turned to face me. As much as I hated to admit it, the look in his hazel eyes made my heart flutter. "I wish I could have done something." He brushed my cheek with a calloused hand. I gently pushed his hand away, feeling weird being touched. 

"No one could have done anything. We were lucky to get out of there in one piece." I said, no humor in my voice. His gaze fell from my eyes to my neck. "Elle, your neck looks horrible..."

Paul was correct. My whole neck was purple and black. He reached out to touch me, but I pushed his hand away again. It was almost like a game. How many times will it take for him to be able to touch me?

"I'm not going to hurt you." He whispered. His fingers brushed the damaged skin. The fact that he was so close made my heart race. I winced, and he stopped. 

For a moment I thought he was going to kiss me (and the thought was very appealing), but then he said, "Let's keep going. We haven't made it down the hall yet."

All of the lads were in the living room, including George. He was worse off than I was. He had a black eye and a split lip. It was good he had a shirt on, because he probably was covered in bruises. 

Brian yelled for a few minutes, about being responsible. They had an image and a reputation to keep. They couldn't be wandering around late at night. They couldn't being putting themselves in danger.

It was bad publicity.

And it wasn't safe.

He sighed. "Do I have to keep you from going out, is that what I have to do?"

Paul and John looked like they were ready to fight when I stood up.

"It was my fault. I wanted to go out last night, and George offered to take me. We went to a pub down the way, and he had a few drinks. While we were coming back, I realized that there were people following us, but by then it was too late..." I explained. "So don't take it out on them. It was my fault. And I'm really sorry."

Brian looked really angry at first, and was about to speak, but then he just swallowed his words. 

"All of you get ready. Turns out our train is coming tomorrow. You have another interview in two hours. Elle, you're staying here and working on my files."

All of the lads mumbled responses, and Brian left. I hurried and got dressed as fast as I could manage. I tried to tend to George as much as I could. 

He held to rags full of ice up his lip and eye. 

"You didn't have to do that, you know." He groaned. 

"You've already got enough on your mind, George. You don't need Brian on your case." I shifted my position on the couch, and accidentally bumped his leg. He whimpered a faint "Ow."

"I'm sorry." I winced too. Getting up, I asked him,"Should I make you some tea?"

"That would be nice."

And, so, for the rest of that day, I nursed George until he had to leave, filled out papers, filed those same papers, argued with Paul about the appearance of his hair (It looked fine. He was being overdramatic.), and made more tea. 

My hands were cramping by the time the Beatles came back. John thought it was a good idea to break out the alcohol. 

"No." I stated, when he was about to hand a glass to George. "That's not good for his health."

"Of course it is. It'll sooth his nerves. Relax him. You should try some, Elle."

"I'm underage."

"So? You're only in trouble if you get caught."

"No, thanks."

While they sat around drinking, I put all of the papers back in the box, walked over to Brian's room and knocked on his door. I handed him the box wordlessly. 

"Thank you, Elle."

"You're welcome."

I walked back into our room as the lads laughed and talked. John pushed a glass that was filled with a clear liquid towards me. "Have some. You look thirsty."

"What is it?"

"Water."

"What did you do to it?"

"Nothing! For God's sake's, Elle, who hurt you so much you couldn't trust?"

Watching him the entire time, I took the glass, and raised it to my lips. I took the tiniest sip of it, and my entire mouth burned. It stung my throat and my eyes watered. I rushed to the kitchen sink and spit it out.

The lads laughed. John looked very pleased with himself. "So you're not a big fan of whiskey, love?"

"I hate you."

Paul interjected. "John, that was mean." I filled a glass of water to get the taste out of my mouth.

He sighed. "You're right, Macca." He turned to me. "Will you let me say I'm sorry with a kiss?" His eyes glimmered mischievously. 

"Um...no." I crossed my arms. 

"At least a hug?"

"Why do you need to have physical contact with me in order to apologize?"

"So that you know I am truly sincere."

I snorted. "Oh, please. You? Sincere?"

He pouted. "Please?"

I sighed, and gave in. As he got up, I asked, "What are you going to stick on my back?"

"Nothing."

And he wrapped his arms around me. It was a bit awkward at first, but then I got used to it. The lads started singing some song about true love, and Ringo laughed. 

But then John's hands started to wander and ended up squeezing my bum. I gasped out of surprise, and pushed him away from me.

I said something that was not lady-like at all, picked up my glass of water, and splashed it all over his laughing face. It was then my turn to smirk. All of the lads laughed at John's wet face. 

Then he screamed, "Get her!" and all of the Beatles were after me.

I ran down the hall and into one of the bedrooms. I jumped on the bed, grabbing one of the pillows. 

I started one of history's most epic pillow fights. 

It lasted for twenty minutes. Several people banged on the door in the hall, telling us to be quiet. But we didn't care. 

Once one of the lads tripped me and I fell on my back, and then Paul fell on top of me. 

"Are you alright, love?" He asked. If eyes could smile, his could. His brown hair was playfully messy. This was the Paul that no camera ever saw.

I nodded, and proceeded to hit him with my pillow. 

Ringo whistled. "Love on the battlefield!" He tackled Paul and they attempted to tie each other up with the blankets. 

Eventually we all collapsed with exhaustion (Especially George and I. We probably shouldn't have done the fight in the first place, but, hey, it was fun!), and George and Ringo headed to their shared room. I got up and went back into the living room. Paul followed me back like a puppy that wanted attention.

"You can have the bed tonight, Elle." He said, almost crashing into me.

"Um, Paul, how much have you drank tonight?" I asked, holding his shoulders to steady him.

He just giggled in response. 

"Go to bed, Paul. We're traveling tomorrow, and you don't want to be sick."

Paul laid down on the opposite couch, and I threw one of the blankets at him. We quickly fell asleep, until I felt something tickle me.

"Paul," I giggled. "Stop it!" I opened my eyes, and I saw his silhouette in the darkness. I felt him crawl onto the couch next to me. It was small and we were practically nose to nose. 

"What are you doing?" I asked, trying to put some distance between us. Our lips were inches apart, begging to feel each other. 

I wanted to kiss Paul, um, well, a lot. But that's not the point. I knew these boys' reputation. They would leave me for someone else in the end. Someone their age. And from their time.

"I got lonely." He said, with a childish innocence. 

I wasn't comfortable, and started to get up, but then he said, "Stay?" I could see his hazel eyes in the darkness, and this time I couldn't resist. 

I laid back down again, my head on his chest. I felt him play with my hair as I fell asleep.

"WAKE UP LOVEBIRDS!"

I shot up on the couch, my heart pounding. John was leaning against the arm, smirking. "I always know that you two would end up together."

I involuntarily blushed, which is exactly what he wanted.

Paul was not pleased. His hair was tousled and his eyes were anger.

"Bloody hell, John! Would you do something a more subtle next time? Like splash us with freezing cold water?" He snapped, rubbing his eyes. He got up, and pushed John out of the way in order to get to his room. 

"So, you're not dating him, but then that happened?" He asked, motioning to the couch. I blushed harder, even though I didn't want to.

"He laid next to me. I didn't want him to."

He raised an eyebrow. 

"I'm serious."

"In order to make your lie seem more believable to Epstein, you slept next to Paul?"

"Yeah. That was the plan."

He smirked (Why couldn't I say something to get him to quit that?), and sat down on the couch next to me. 

"You're not dating Paul."

"Correct! What do we have for him, Tommy?"

A hint of a smile played on his lips. "So since I don't have anything better to do, would you like to go on a date with me?"

"Ah ah. No." I snapped my fingers. "Go into the hallway. Ask me out properly."

"You're joking."

I said nothing, crossing my arms. 

"You're not joking." He sighed. "Fine." He smiled, and went back into the hallway. I pretended to read the newspaper when he walked in again.

"Oh, hello, John."

"Hello, Elle. Would you be so kind as to join me on a date this afternoon?"

I raised an eyebrow, mocking him. He laughed humorlessly.

"Please?" He said, through gritted teeth. 

"What makes you think I would want to go on a date with you?" I said, wiping the fake smile off his face.

"You made me go into the hallway..." He began. But then he was in no mood for arguing. "You're going on that date with me. Get ready." He kissed my cheek roughly and left the room. 

One thought continued to go through my mind:

What had I gotten myself into?

I wore a blouse and a skirt that day, and pulled my hair back in a braid. I was glad that my jacket covered up the bruises. I didn't want John seeing them. A part of me was worried that he would tease me. 

John knocked on the open bathroom door. "Ready to go?" 

He looked like the younger version of John Lennon. Leather jacket. Plain white t-shirt and dark pants. The only thing that was missing was the quiff. I wonder if the lads and Brian knew he was wearing that. He didn't look like a member of The Beatles.

He looked a teddy boy. Trouble with a capital 'T'. He was someone my dad would never let me date.

"Um...I think so." I was suddenly quite shy around him. I wasn't normally this nervous around guys.

"Well, then. Let's head out before Brian catches us." I followed him out of the bathroom and down the hall. 

"Wait, Brian doesn't know we're leaving?"

"Brian doesn't know a lot of things. And what he doesn't know, won't kill him."

"What if we get into trouble?"

He shrugged. "Don't think. Just have fun!" 

We snuck out of the hotel room, hurried through the hallway, and down the stairs (which reminded me of the one scene in A Hard Day's Night). It made me blush at the fact that he kept glancing at me, like he was nervous about me being here.

Once we got to the lobby, John said, "Can I hold your hand, love?" I nodded, and he laced his fingers into mine. 

It was a gloomy London day and people bustled about. Whenever someone walked passed us, which was often, he looked down at the ground to try and keep a low profile. 

"Someone's going to recognize you, John."

He dismissed my words. "Do you know how to run?"

"Yes."

"Then we are prepared if someone spots us." He said. He gave my hand the faintest of a squeeze, as if to reassure me that a tiny part of him didn't completely hate me.

Thumber rumbled in the distance and a few minutes later it started to rain. John pulled me into this tiny diner on the street. The waitress that seated us flirted with John, but the amazing part was the fact that he never took his eyes off me. 

I kept finding myself staring out the window at the people running in the streets, using anything to cover their heads from the downpour. 

John muttered a few things about the weather. 

"I like the rain. It's nice. I just wish that others would notice its beauty."

"It's just a nuisance, Elle. Nothing more." 

"No, really. Just look at it. It's really beautiful."

"I already see one beautiful thing." He said, looking at me. 

I held up my menu so that he couldn't see me blush. 

We ordered our drinks, and I made sure he ordered a non-alcoholic drink. No more drunk Beatles on my watch.

I was suddenly very shy while sitting with John. And even though he tried to meet my gaze, I pretended to be interested in their dessert specials. 

"Elle?" He asked. 

"Yes, John?" I replied, still inspecting the menu.

I felt fingers lift up my ching so that I could meet his eyes. His beautiful brown eyes that were the color of milky coffee. He looked so flippin' perfect it made my heart flutter just to think about him. 

"Why won't you look at me, love?"

I was too lost in his eyes to respond.

"Am I that ugly?" He mimicked Paul's voice.

"No, no. You look great."

John continued to poke fun at Paul. "Elle, please. I don't look great. I look fabulous!"

We both laughed. The time we stopped laughing was when the waitress brought us our drinks. A few minutes later, John excused himself to use the restroom. And I was looking out at the rain again when I heard a voice say, "Is this seat taken?"

A boy with black hair and piercing blue eyes stood by the table. He was dressed a lot like John, with the dangerous teddy boy look. 

"Um...yes. I'm here with my...friend." 

He pulled up a chair. "What's your name, love?"

"Elle. Elle Sullivan. And you?"

"Thomas Jameson." He said, running a hand through his hair. "From America, are you? I don't mean to pry, but how'd you end up in London?"

Polite for a teddy boy.

"I'm visiting friends. Of my parents. Well, I'm with one of their sons."

He nodded. As much as I hated to admit it, he was quite attractive.

We talked for awhile, until another voice growled from behind me: "Leave her alone."

John stepped protectively between Thomas and I. "What gives you the right to chat up my girl?"

"Your girl?" I scoffed. Thomas looked confused. 

"I didn't mean anything by it." He turned to me. "Sorry, Elle. I know that I should go."

John gave him a menacing glare as he left. I punched his arm.

"What was that for?"

"I was just talking to him! You aren't my dad. Why do you care if I talk to other guys? I thought we were just friends."

"I care about you, Elle. And he's one of those guys."

"What guys?"

"The guys who will just toy around with you until they find someone else. He would have hurt you, Elle."

I sat back down in my chair. "Since when do you care if someone hurts me?" I snapped. "That seems like all you ever want to do! You're one of those guys if I've ever seen one! What are doing right now? You're toying with me!"

John's tone quieted, and I felt him take my hand underneath the table. He looked me in the eyes when he said, "I would never toy with your feelings, Elle. Because as much as you hate to admit it, you're delicate underneath that hard exterior. I would never try to hurt you on purpose."

Oh, really now, John, I wanted to say. Remember the shower incident? Remember all the times you called me 'animal'?

But I didn't. Because he was absolutely, positively right.

I let go of his hand. "Will you excuse me for a moment?"

I hurried into the bathroom, wiping away tears that threatened to fall. A few girls who wearing doing their make-up snickered. 

"Date stood you up, love? How tragic." One smirked. Her friends whispered and giggled. 

I normally would have said something snarky back, but I wasn't in the mood. I wiped my eyes again and again, wishing they weren't so red and puffy. Finally the girls left, and I could cry in peace. 

Once I was convinced that I looked fine, I went back out to see John. He automatically knew that I had been crying.

"Elle, I'm-"

"Can we go back, please? Brian's probably furious with us." I practically whispered.

We hurried and paid, and then made our way back out into the rain. About halfway down the street, John stopped. 

"Elle, I'm sorry about what happened back there."

"It's fine." I said, and began to keep walking. He grabbed my hand. 

"No, it's not fine. I care too much about you to see you cry. No one should make you cry."

"I've cried a lot, John. It's not the most horrible thing in the world."

"Well, it is for me to see you so sad. I just want to make you happy." 

He put his hands on my cheeks gently, closed his eyes, and leaned in. I panicked, and pulled away from him. 

"Hey, look! It's a record shop. Let's go look at the vinyl." I pulled him along, trying to make the awkward moment less awkward.

John smiled. "I thought you said Brian would be mad at us."

"What Brian doesn't know won't kill him." I said, quickly. 

And so we looked at the records for awhile, and we pointed out our favorites to each other. It was almost 15:00 when John said, "(Insert swear word here)! We need to get home!"

We hurried out of the shop, and down the road, running into several people at occasion.

And then something really bad happened. 

It started as a murmur but then it grew fast.

"Is that...?"

"It is!"

"John Lennon!"

John grabbed my hand and we started running in the direction of the hotel. I was terrified as a bunch of screaming teenagers scrambled after us. John was laughing. How could he think that this was funny?

We made it up the stairs as the fans poured into the lobby, and when we entered the hotel room we discovered a heated shouting match.

"I don't know where they are! He's not my responsibility!" Paul bellowed. 

"You're supposed to look out for each other! God knows where-" Brian then noticed us.

"Where have you two been?!" He exclaimed. "We've been worried sick about you!" 

John and Brian were then going at it, and they were talking so fast that I couldn't understand what they were saying. I probably didn't want to, though. 

George stumbled out into the living room, groaning. "What's going on?"

Brian was fuming. "Why don't I show you?" He marched over to the balcony doors, and threw them open. The room was filed with the screams of girls several levels below. I looked at the ground. Meanwhile, John continued to stand defiantly. 

George's eyes widened. "John, what did you do?"

"Oh, so everything's my fault now, is it!"

Then all four of them started arguing loudly, their words mixing with the screams of pure Beatlemania. 

"Stop it!" I shouted, finally catching their attention. I walked over and slammed the balcony doors shut, silencing the room. I turned to Brian.

"Look, Brian. I'm sorry about everything. And I'm apologizing again for when it happens in the future, because it most likely will. I know you probably think I'm a nuisance and a bad influence, but I can't leave. I'm sorry for that." I ranted, sitting down on the couch.

"You're not a nuisance." Paul reassured. "John's a bad influence on himself." 

I practically felt the heat in the glare those two shared.

Brian rubbed his forehead. He spoke in a calm voice. "I'm going back in my hotel room to calm...a little. Elle, there's a few more files on the table. Come get me if there's anything you need." He turned to all of us and said, "And, please, for the love of all good things, do not leave this hotel!"

And with that, he turned on his heel and left. 

I got to work on the files. John sat and talked with me for awhile, until he got bored and left to retire to one of the bedrooms. 

I was finished with my work, and laid down on the couch, exhausted. I almost drifted into sleep when I heard some guitar chords coming from one of the bedrooms. 

I wandered through the hallway, pausing by an open door to one of the bedrooms. There sat Paul, playing his guitar with sheets of paper covering the bed. Occasionally he would scratch something onto the paper, furiously scribble something out, or toss it across the room into a reject pile.

Creeping in soundlessly, I sat down behind him on the bed. I took one of his discarded pieces of crumpled paper and tossed it at him. He jumped when it landed in his lap. 

"Well, how long have you been there?" He said, turning to face me. 

I smiled. "What's that you're working on?"

Paul set his guitar down quickly and took the piece of paper. It had names of chords and finger positions on it, because he couldn't read music. 

I should teach him some time.

"Oh, um, it's just a idea. Completely useless. I was just going to toss it into the rubbish." He began to crumple it when I stopped him. 

"Play it for me. Please." I asked, quietly.

He picked up his guitar again. He looked me in the eyes before looking down at his paper. "I've just been fiddling with the lyrics, so..."

"I'm not going to judge, Paul. Just play it."

He smiled slightly as he fingers began to pick at the keys. I immediately recognized the song, and was very pleased that I stopped him from throwing it away. 

I give her all my love,

That's what I do, 

And if you saw my love,

You'd love her too.

I love her.

I smiled at him when he looked up at me. Was this the first time Paul was ever nervous to play a song?

She gives me everything,

And tenderly,

The kiss my lover brings,

She brings to me.

And I love her.

A love like ours could never die.

I was so entranced that I didn't realize that he stopped playing until a few moments later. 

"That was beautiful, Paul." I said. 

Paul looked down at the bed and his paper, blushing.

Paul blushed.

That was the cutest thing ever! Do it again, I wanted to say. 

Look it out. Look up Paul McCartney blushing. I'm serious. I'll wait. It will delight you.

"Thank you, Elle." He got closer to me, and I was lost in his alluring eyes. He caressed my cheek, being careful not to touch my neck. His eyes scanned my face as if he was looking for something. I felt scared for a moment, but also very curious about what he was going to do. But Paul seemed unsure of what he was going to do. 

"Can I...can I kiss you?" He whispered. 

I didn't know what to do. I wanted him to kiss me, but I knew that it would just lead to trouble. 

Because that's all these lads were. Heart-breakers.

"I'm-I'm sorry, Paul." I said, pulling away from him. He looked slightly hurt, but he bounced back quickly. 

"Well, I feel starved. Are you hungry?"

I nodded. After all, we didn't eat on the date. 

As if he read my mind, he asked me how the date went while we walked down the hallway. I looked down at the ground.

"Um...I don't think we'll be going on another one any time soon." I said, pushing a strand of my hair behind my ear. 

"What happened?" We sat down at the kitchen table. 

"Nothing bad. John's a perfect gentleman." I tried to reassure him. "We're just not right for each other."

John's POV

I was coming out to get a glass of water when I heard Elle and Paul talking the kitchen. I couldn't help but listen. 

"-don't think we'll be going on another one any time soon." She said. 

"What happened?" Paul said, being the sympathetic fellow he was. 

"Nothing bad. John's a perfect gentleman." She said, perking my ears. "We're just not right for each other." 

For some reason, this broke through a barrier and hit my heart. It was small; they were just words. But it stung. 

I didn't know how I felt about Elle. She was a fine, beautiful bird, but there was something different about her. If I messed with her, she didn't blush and shy away like most girls. She didn't flirt. 

She stood up for herself. She was as tough as the lads. And I actually liked that. 

"That's too bad." Paul said. He didn't sound like he felt bad at all. 

She didn't reply.

Macca was normally easy to read when it came to girls. But I couldn't tell if he fancied Elle or not. I'm not saying that we were impolite when it came to girls, but we weren't saints either. I would be worried for her. Paul would hurt her, even though he wouldn't mean to. 

But would I?

I don't know. 

When I tried to kiss her today, I drove me out of my head when pulled away from me. No girl had ever done that to me before. And whenever Elle told me that she hated me or called me an arse just made me want to kiss her even more. 

It was even worse when I made her cry. I felt horrible. I had never felt so...bad. 

 Maybe that's why she hated me. She thought I was bad.

Bad John Lennon.

Bad John Lennon.

Stay away from bad John Lennon.

Elle's POV

Paul and I began to cook dinner for the lads that night. He said that they eat a ton, so we had to make a lot of food. 

We decided to make pasta, because it was easiest. Brian went shopping for us the day before. He really did like to take care of the lads, but unfortunately they didn't always want him around. 

While I was getting water for the tea, Paul flicked a noodle at my hair. I pulled it out and glared at him.

"What did I do?" He asked, innocently.

"You know what you did."

When he had his back turned, an evil idea crossed my mind. I grabbed a dishrag, wound it up, and then slapped his butt with it. 

He whipped around to face me with wide eyes. "I'm going to get you!"

And so, we whipped each other for about five minutes, laughing and shouting. Once he had me pinned against the counter, our faces inches apart.

"Surrender, Elle!"

"Not on your life, McCartney!"

He smiled, his eyes glittering. "Give us a kiss and I'll let you go."

"Paul, the pasta is bubbling over."

"Oh, no!"

He let go of me and turned to face the pot, only to figure out that it was perfectly fine. I whipped him again, and he chased me around the living room. He caught me on the couch.

Looming over me, he said, "There's only one thing to do to someone like you." He smiled evilly, and began to tickle me. And he somehow knew the exact spot on my stomach that drove me crazy. I could barely speak I was laughing so hard.

Someone pounded on our door, and Paul got up to answer it. I gasped for breath.

It was the man from the front desk. He looked very displeased. 

"Is everything fine up here, sir? We had several noise complaints from the levels above and below. It sounded as though someone was screaming." He droned, very annoyed.

"Oh, I...we...I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again." He tried to smile, but it was forced. 

"Well, then. Good evening." He nodded curtly and left. Paul shut the door behind him. 

We both laughed for a minute at Mr. Personality, until we realized that the pasta was actually boiling over.

As soon as I had cleaned up dinner, and the lads retired to the living room, I changed into my sweatshirt so I could go to bed. I made the other Beatles get off my couch. John looked displeased that he had to sit on the floor. 

And because I was laying there, minding my own business, they just had to mess with me. 

By the fifth time my neck was flicked, I sat up, pushed beyond my limit. 

"Whoever did that is going to get their ass kicked!" I exclaimed. All of the lads pointed at John. He gave them looks as if to say, "You traitors."

I normally would have been calm about this, but I was completely fed up with John. He said that Thomas would hurt me, but yet this is the man who had been toying with me the entire time. 

I went crazy. I had never gotten this furious before, not even at Dad. I beat him as hard as I could with my pillow.

"I am so sick of you pushing me around, and driving me insane! What if I did the same to you, John Lennon? I am going to take this pillow and shove it right up your-" I shouted.

"Elle!" I felt hands grab me and yank me off of John. It was Ringo. "Stop it!"

John just smirked at me. "Oh, that's the sweet voice of my darling Elle."

Paul was by my side, meanwhile George and John were arguing. I muttered so many vulgar words under my breath that even I made Paul's face redden. "Elle, it's alright. Let's just go back into the other room to calm down."

But John wasn't finished. He intended to hit me hard. And he did.

"No wonder that boy talked to you. He must have taken pity." He snorted. "Either that or he felt like he didn't have a chance with women who have class. And are better-looking." I felt tears sting my eyes, but I wouldn't allow them to fall. That's what John wanted. He wanted to see me cry.

"John!" Paul exclaimed. "You're such a-" I didn't feel the desire to repeat his words. I wormed out of Paul's grip and stormed down the hall, locking myself in the bathroom by tying the doorknob to the towel rack with a towel. No one could get in, and that's exactly what I wanted. 

I could hear John and George going at it in the living room. I heard George shout: "She has feelings too, John! You're heartless!"

Someone knocked on the door gently. "Elle, please open up." Paul.

"No. I want to be alone." I tried to hide the fact that I was crying. I had shed more tears in 1963 than I ever had in my actual time. And for once in that entire time I was there, I wanted to go home.

"You don't want to be alone. You're just thinking that way. Please open the door, love." Ringo said. 

"Go away." I whimpered. As much as I tried, I couldn't block out the sound of the two men yelling. It reminded me so much of my parents. Cold nostalgia knocked me off my feet. Literally. I fell, hitting my head on the bathtub. I was suddenly blinded by pain. 

The lads must have heard the noise, because they pounded on the door. 

"Elle! Please open the door! Please!"

"Please, Elle!" 

I tugged on the towel, and it fell. The boys burst in. In a matter of moments, I was in Paul's arms. My tears stained his shirt. 

"I shouldn't be crying." I sobbed. "Everything he said was true." Ringo shook his head.

"No, it's not. He wasn't right to talk to you that way. All of us are extremely tired and we just want to get back to Liverpool, John most of all. But he still was horrible to you, and I don't think George is going to let him get off so easily on it." He said, his bright blue eyes tinged with sadness. "If you don't mind, I think I might go keep him from strangling John."

I kissed his forehead, and then he left. 

I looked down at the ground, trying to avoid Paul's eyes. I felt like I had cried too much in front of him. He tilted my chin up to meet his eyes. They were surprisingly sad.

"Do you want to stay with me tonight? It's alright if you don't, I just thought-"

"Sure, Paul." I sniffled, wiping away my tears. 

When I stood up, I almost ended up falling again, because I was blinded by dizziness. 

"Let me help, Elle."

Once we made it to his room, I collapsed on the bed, exhausted. The lads had finally stopped screaming at each other, but they were still having a heated discussion. 

When Paul laid down next to me, I whispered, "I don't know what came over me. I was just so frustrated with him. I mean, the date was a absolute disaster, but then he..." I felt wrong saying it when Paul was here. I don't know why.

"What did he do, Elle?" He asked. I pulled the covers tighter around me. 

"He...tried to kiss me. But...but I didn't let him." I stuttered out. 

"Oh." Paul sounded disheartened. 

Tears filled my eyes again. "Why does he hate me, Paul?"

"No, Elle." Paul said, turning to face me. "He doesn't hate you. He's just...fatigued. And frustrated. I don't think he truly meant to snap at you."

I didn't replied. I just laid my head on his chest, and his steady heartbeat put me to sleep.

Paul's POV

It took me until that night to realize how beautiful Elle was. And not just on the outside, but also on the inside.

I watched her sleep. Her blonde hair was playfully messy, and it glowed like a halo around her head. I wished her eyes were open. She had the most beautiful blue eyes, even bluer than Ringo's. I could stare at them all day if she'd let me. And her lips.

Was it horrible that I was furious with John that he tried to kiss her?

I kissed her forehead, thinking about the lads who were most likely still in the living room. How dare John insult her like that. I had never been more angry with him. 

Elle Sullivan was the most beautiful and strong girl I had ever met, and he still continued to tease and taunt her. 

If only he knew what she had told me. If only he knew about her family. 

He would never know Elle the way I did. 

But there was still so much to learn about her. 

Like the taste of her lips, and the smell of her hair. Why she always was so honest.

But if only she would let me touch her. It was like she was afraid I would hurt her. I would never. Not in my life.

John would. 

John did. 

I made myself a promise that I would be the one that she would turn to when she needed someone. I needed to be there for her. 

"I'm never going to hurt you, Elle. I promise."

I promise.