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."

I couldn't remember the last time I saw Dad smile.

When I was about ten, I found an old tin box that I could hid things in, things even my mother never knew about. After I heard the kitchen door slam and my mom shout, I cried out and scribbled 'Never to me' on the paper.

What I meant was never fall in love. Never get hurt. How was I to know that there were families that weren't like mine? What if every man was like this?

At the age of ten, I was determined to be forever alone.

I was ten.

Then, I began to feel faint, but not like I was about to pass out, but like I was being pulled forward in time. Pulled back home.

Clinging to the counter, I bit my lip not to cry out. I didn't want to wake George up again. Fighting back tears was a challenge. I cried too much.

In the distance, I could hear my father shouting, and it was like he was getting closer. I swore I heard footsteps in the hall. Shaking with fear, a single tear dripped down my cheek. This wasn't real, was it?

The footfalls became closer, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I needed to run, but it was light enough in the apartment that he could see me. I was trapped, and I couldn't feel my hands. The knuckles were white I was clinging onto the counter so tight.

The sound of my father's footsteps grew louder and faster, but then everything stopped. The entire apartment was silent. Even the late-night Liverpool sounds, people walking and talking and cars driving down the road, were nowhere to be found. Shadows seemed to grow longer. I didn't dare breathe.

A minute felt like an hour. You're just dreaming, my mind said. You're fast asleep. It's a nightmare. Why couldn't I wake up?

Ever so slightly, I turned my head in the darkness to look into the living room. I was the first movement I had made in awhile, and I felt like I couldn't control my body properly.

Hands emerged from the darkness and wrapped themselves around my neck. I only had time to scream. The whole port city probably could hear me. "GEORGE!"

"Elle!"

"Elle, wake up!"

The lights were on. They were so bright. I was lying on the kitchen floor, and my head burned. George was leaning over me, and he held my hands. His were so warm compared to mine. Helping me up, he said, "I heard you shout. You were passed out on the floor."

"I heard footsteps. My dad...he was here. He was choking me..." My knees felt like they were about to give out underneath me. George lifted me up so I could sit on the counter. "He's going to hurt her, George. I'm not there so he could...take it out on me instead." I was trying so hard not cry. I had shed so many tears in front of George it was shameful.

George took my shaking hands. Looking into my eyes, he said, with steel in his voice, "He's not here. You've got to stop this."

For some reason I felt like shouting. "You think I haven't tried? What person wants to see her father beat her mother? Who wants to have her teachers ask her why she has a bruise on her cheek? Who wants to have her mother come in to see her counselor with a matching slap mark? Why would she want a scar on my back from a time that he burned her with a cigarette?" I cried out. Then I said something I immediately regretted. "Why does she wonder if she's in Hell? That she had died a long time ago when her father showed no mercy? Well, I know I wasn't in Hell, George. Because I could feel the beatings, and that's all I had to live for."

The youngest Beatle let go of my hands, and turned his back on me. After a minute of complete silence, which I feared more than anything, I wanted to shout again. But what came out was a faint and hoarse. "Say something," I whimpered. "Anything."

He whipped around, and kissed me, holding me close. It took me a moment to realize he was crying. And, at the time, I didn't know why.

"I won't let it happen to you. He won't hit you again," He whispered. I brushed some of the tears from his cheek.

"You don't have to leave, you know.  You don't have to ever go back.  You can stay right here with me," he said, still holding me.  He was so close that when he spoke his lips brushed my hair.  

"But," I said, and he pulled away, "don't you think, in a few years, you might want to get married to someone?  Raise a family?  I couldn't-"  George looked up at me, and I had never seen his dark eyes so sad.  There was so much he wanted to say, but didn't have the words.  

He was so close our foreheads were touching.  This would have been a wonderful moment if I hadn't been so frightened.  

There was a noise in the hall, which made me nearly die of a heart attack.  George took my trembling hands in his and kissed them.  "It's fine, love.  Just the old creaky floorboards."  He nodded towards his room.  "Want to get some rest?"  I nodded.  

George helped me down from the counter, even though I was fully capable.  He didn't want me to lose my balance again.  He held my waist for a moment to long as he aided me, and I could see that he tried to hide his blush.  

As I sat on his bed, I adjusted my stiff nightgown.  It kept riding up into my underarms, and it was an incredible bother.  George noticed.  

"I don't mean to sound odd, but you look quite uncomfortable.  Do you want to borrow something of mine?"

I felt the ghost of a smile upon my lips.  "Thank you."

He left the room so I could change into his sweatpants.  He knew I liked them, and he always set them aside for when I came over.  Along with the sweatpants, he loaned me one of his shirts, but I was so warm I couldn't wear it.  

I thanked him again when he came back in.  He stared at me for a moment too long, and then blushed.  I smiled.  "It's no problem."

After he kissed me goodnight and fell asleep, it was like the temperature in the room dropped thirty degrees.  I shivered underneath the covers.  The shadows on the walls began to grow, my ears rang and the cold seemed to seep into my skin.  Afraid I would have another hallucinaton, I began to kick off the blankets to try to get away from George.  I didn't want to wake him, or worse, hurt him like I had Paul.  

Though, I was about to crawl out of bed when George rolled on top of me and snored comically loud.  It was then I knew he was never asleep.  

"George, you're crushing me," I breathed.

He laughed, and wrapped his arms around me.  "Where do you think you're going?" George purred.  Already, in his arms, I felt the heat return to my body.  The noises and shadows were gone.  

"I...I keep hearing things." I told him.  

"What do you hear?"

"Nothing nice."

He opened his eyes to look at me, and kissed my nose.  "Do you want me to stay up until you fall asleep?"

"It's alright."

He did anyway.  

This is story is so dramatic.  My sister thinks it should be a horror novel.

But I like it anyway. 

P.S. I'm going to start dedicating chapters to all of you, so make sure to check out the dedications for upcoming chapters!  

~Luna