Paul knocked on the bedroom door a few minutes after I made my grand exit. I was sitting on the bed, clutching a pillow to my chest, thinking about how John touched me. 

He poked his head in. "Are you alright, love?"

"Fine. I'm getting a bit tired though."

I got up off the bed, leaving Paul standing there. 

"Um, if you don't mind, I think I'll sleep downstairs tonight." I said. I wanted to stay away from men at that time. I felt uncomfortable around Paul, even though he didn't do anything wrong. 

"Are you sure that you're fine? You seem nervous." Paul reached out to touch my hand, and I tried to back away as nonchalantly as possible. 

"Really, Paul. I'm fine."

I grabbed my sweatshirt from my bag and was headed for the bathroom when Paul stopped me. 

"I'm sorry about John. He normally knows when to stop. I don't know what had got into him." 

I just wanted to get past him. "It's alright." I pushed him aside and left the room. He didn't follow. 

Once I had slid my sweatshirt on, I laid down on the couch and shivered. I was about to go up and get a blanket, but Paul came down to offer me one. 

"Thanks." I said, laying back down. He kneeled down next to me on the floor. "Are you sure you're alright, love?"

"Yes, Paul. Now, go on. It's late. You're going to be tired in the morning." I said, trying to get him to leave me alone. I wasn't trying to sound mean, I just needed time to think. And it was impossible to think with him staring at me with those big brown eyes.

"Good night, Elle."

"Good night, Paul."

As he went upstairs, I buried my face in my pillow. John was the overriding thought in my mind. The boy was incredibly....everything. One minute he was nice and the next he was calling you ugly. And then he would apologize by insulting you again.

I had just about had enough with boys. 

When I had manage to fall asleep, I dreamt that I was being chased by dogs down one of Liverpool's streets. I was calling for help, but no one heard me.  While running across a bridge, I slipped and fell into the Mersey river.  But instead of hitting the water, I continued to fall. And fall, and fall...

I woke with a start, and I almost shouted, but I covered my mouth so I wouldn't wake Paul. I was sweating, and I went into the bathroom to splash my face with water.  When I went to wipe my face with a towel, I saw another reflection in the mirror.  It was my dad. He reached out to grab me but I backed away before he could. Anger flashed in his eyes before he disappeared.

Breathing hard and frightened of my overactive imagination, I went back up to Paul's room and crawled in bed next to him.

"Elle, what are you doing?" He groaned, shifting his position in bed. 

"I had a nightmare." I whispered, laying my head on his chest. 

"Good night, Elle."

"Good night, Paul."

"Elle, wake up."

"Elle."

I sat up when Paul shook my shoulder. "Elle, I don't feel good. My stomach hurts." The twenty-one-year-old sounded like a five-year-old. 

"Do you feel nauseous or does it just hurt?"

"It just hurts."

"I'll get some medicine." I got up out of bed, and went into the bathroom.  Rummaging through the cabinets, I heard Paul groan and wiggle around in bed. 

"One moment, Paul," I said, finding some pain medication.  "It's says it shouldn't be taken on an empty stomach.  Do you think you could eat some toast?" 

"Maybe."

I led Paul downstairs so I could make him breakfast.  I knew he would feel better once he ate. As he laid down on the couch, he said, "What was your nightmare about?"

"Oh, nothing, really." The nightmare wasn't the most frightening thing.  It was what I saw in the mirror when I was awake that was scary.  I wondered if my father knew I was gone, and what he was doing to my mother because of it. 

I almost burnt Paul's toast while lost in thoughts. 

Paul looked like he wanted to question me more, but resisted.  When I brought him toast drizzled in honey, he said, "You don't need to baby me, Elle.  I'm a grown man."

"You babied me when I was hurt in London." I said. 

I was washing some of the dishes we used when Paul asked, "Where did you learn to make this?"

"Well, it's rather simple, really.  My mom used to make it for me when I was sick."  I dropped the spoon I was cleaning in the sink when the painful memory of Mom taking care of me emerged in my mind.  I wished that she was there with me.  Dad would never find us.

"Do you miss your mum, Elle?" Paul asked.  My heart felt kicked and battered. 

I nodded, wiping my eye and hoping I wouldn't start crying. 

After a moment, I gave Paul his medicine and said, "You should go get dressed.  You'll feel better in a clean pair of clothes.  Even if they're pajamas." 

Paul groaned.  The idea of getting up wasn't pleasant to him.  The bedroom was just so far away.

"Paul, be a good little Beatle and go change."  I said, turning back to the dishes.  I heard him get up and walk up the stairs.  I washed off a spoon and smiled.  I found it funny at the fact that he would do what I told him, because I was the one who said so.

When he came back downstairs, I shielded my eyes.  Paul had walked down naked except for his underwear. 

"I told you to put on pajamas." I said, covering my eyes and turning away.

"These are my pajamas."

"Will you at least put on some pants?"

Paul sighed and went back upstairs.  He came down with a bathrobe wrapped around himself.  I had to hold back my laughter.

"That's only slightly better." I said, as he laid back down on the couch.  The poor Beatle seemed to be straining his voice as he talked to me.  I warned him that he shouldn't speak, and gave him a spoonful of honey to coat his sore throat.  

I didn't necessarily mind babying Paul, and I could tell that he appreciated it too.  And for the rest of that day and into the night, we talked, played piano and guitar, and drank tea.  I couldn't help but notice the way he so effortlessly smiled and chatted, as if he actually wanted to talk to me.  

While he was playing guitar, I asked, "Can you show me how to play?" 

He showed me a few simple chords, guiding my unsteady hands.  He was sitting behind me, and I could feel his breath on my neck.  I couldn't help but look into his big brown eyes.  

"Paul?"

"Yes?"

"Have you...have you ever been in love?" I leaned the guitar next to the couch, and looked back at him.  

"Yes." His voice was sore; he winced when he spoke. "Have you ever been in love, Elle?"

"I'm afraid of falling in love."

"I can't imagine why."  He said, looking me in the eye.  I felt my heart beat faster.  

Paul cupped my face in his hands, and leaned in to my lips.  And for once, I let him.  I had dreamed about this moment for a long time.  

He didn't know where to hold me, afraid he would do something wrong and I would leave him.  I took his hands and let them rest on my waist.  Paul's robe shrugged off his shoulders, revealing seemingly miles of bare skin.  I let my finger trace down his arm and onto his chest.  At my action, he kissed me harder.  

He laid back on the couch, and I laid on top of him, running my hands through his hair.  I felt like I was sparking with electricity.  Paul gave me this feeling that no one, not even John, could.

But what about John?

What did I think of him?

I thought of our almost-kiss on the balcony in London.  There had to be something there, otherwise he wouldn't have done it.  

I immediately broke away from our kiss, and Paul looked hurt.  

"I should probably get you your, um, medicine.  I'll-I'll be back." Almost stumbling back into the coffee table, I ran up the stairs, leaving Paul in a daze.  

Leaning against the sink in the bathroom, I realized I had done two stupid things that night.  One, I had obviously kissed a man who had the flu and I was most likely going to get it, and two, I didn't just kiss him, I snogged him.  

What was I thinking?  I could be gone any day now.  I can't get to attached to Paul or any of the lads, for that manner.  Imagine how heart-broken I would be if tomorrow I woke up in my own bed, and I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye.  

I would hurt myself by falling in love.  And even worse, I could hurt Paul.

There was another thing that nagged at the back of my mind.  I tried to ignore the thought as I rummaged through the cabinet for some medicine, but it kept bugging me.

When Paul said that he had fallen in love before, did he mean me?