Paul lead me upstairs after that heartbreaking kiss on the couch.  Though I couldn't remember when he had found another girl, I was not brave enough to ask him.  But a part of me broke inside.  What had happened to 'I'm the only man you'll need' and 'You're the only girl I see?'

I just forced a smile when he told me about her.  

"Eleanor would have came tonight.  She had a family party though.  You've met her before, you just don't..." 

"Remember." I answered.  He nodded.  

Paul pulled off a box from the dresser and held it out to me.  "These are all your photographs and postcards.  You've also written some journal entries.  You said I couldn't read them."  It almost felt like he was talking about another person, in another lifetime.  

I sat down on the bed and opened the lid of the violet, flowered box.  I pulled out some of the photographs.  They were all absolutely wonderful. 

"Oh, Paul," I sighed, "how could I possibly forget this?"  I looked through some of the postcards from all over England and some in Ireland and Scotland.  Some of the photos were blurry, others were like windows to a memory.  There was one where Paul and I were sitting in a traincar, and he was kissing my cheek.  I turned it over quickly so he couldn't see.  

"What does Eleanor look like, Paul?"  I asked, trying to divert his attention.  

"She's got dark hair, fair skin.  She's absolutely lovely.  I'll have to reintroduce you."  My heart was ravaged at the look of pure love on his face.  

I nodded, trying so hard not to get upset.  I bit my tongue to keep from crying out.  

I guess it took me until then to realize that I had fallen in love with Paul.  

But he obviously never loved me.  

"Paul?"

I had changed into my pajamas, and gone back downstairs where he was playing his piano.  

"Yes?"

"I, um...I...do I sleep on the couch now?" I asked.  This memory loss was dreadful.  It could have been the worst thing to happen yet here.

He stopped playing and smiled.  "We switch around.  When I'm working late the next night I take the bed.  If not, you do." He got up and brushed off his suit.  He still hadn't changed from the party.  "You can have the bed tonight, Elle.  It could help your memory."  Paul kissed my cheek, but without any feeling or emotion at all.  

"Goodnight, Paul."

"Goodnight, Elle."

I didn't come to work with Paul the next day.  I was so embarrassed I couldn't stand to see any of them.  When Paul woke me up to tell me he was leaving, I stuck my face in the pillow and told him to have a nice day.  

I cried for thirty minutes straight afterwards.  

What did I do to displease him?  What had he wanted that wasn't me?  I didn't know.  But I just couldn't help but think of what he thought of her.  Was she so much more beautiful than I?  Was she the definition of perfection?

Did he simply love her because she wasn't me?

My heart felt like it was being torn to pieces and I couldn't do anything about it.  

And for the first time during the entire time I was with the Beatles, I wanted nothing more than to just go back home.

Paul's POV

Last night I had dreamt of kissing.

But it wasn't Eleanor.  

Ringo's POV

The first thing Paul said to me when he walked in was, "Elle's lost her memory.  The only thing that she can recall was having a falling out with me last May."  He sat down and began to tune his guitar.

 "But she's been with us the whole time.  Why lose her memories now?"  I thought out loud.

 "What's that?" George asked.  

Paul explained everything once again.  John then walked into the room and he had to summarize once more.  

"Does she know about Eleanor?" George said timidly.  

Paul nodded, and lit a cigarette.  

"Well, that's a fine thing to realize." He muttered, before making his grand exit out of the room.  The door clanged shut behind him, making me wince.  John had just entered the room, rubbing his temples like he had a massive headache.  

He nodded to where George originally stood.  "What's he gone off about?"

Paul shrugged, but I knew.  The poor lad fancied Elle.  Seeing her so sad, for she was still in love with Paul, was tearing him apart.  And though Eleanor was quite pretty, Elle was just geniunely nice and friendly.  At the party, she danced with George and me because she wanted to, not because we were the Beatles.  I had a feeling that Eleanor was with Paul because he had a handsome face.

George wanted Elle to be happy, even if it meant she wouldn't end up with him.  The lad had good intentions, I had to give him that.  

We played on for most of the day.  George was even quieter than usual, even around Paul.  At the end of the work day, Paul took his arm and asked him something, and after a moment he nodded and walked out the door.  

Elle's POV

I had cleaned up the house by the time Paul got home.  He hurried upstairs without saying another word to me.  He came downstairs from his room in a fresh suit as he combed his hair.  

"I've made plans, Elle.  For both of us." He made the final touches on his hair.  "Would you mind staying with George tonight?  I've got a date with Eleanor." 

Biting back all of the cruel things I could have said, I replied with a smile, "Of course.  I hope you two have fun."  I was about to hurry up the stairs when he said, "Elle, are you alright?"

"Just...swell." I replied.  

Paul dropped me off at George's house so quickly he didn't even say goodbye.  I wasn't even sure of what to say even if he did.  

"Love?" George asked.  "Let's get inside before you catch cold."

His apartment was small but cozy, and it kept out the winter chill.  On the table which he had just recently cleared off lay a bundle of flowers colored red, pink and white.  "Oh, George, these are lovely." I said.  

"They're for you." He told me.  

"You're so kind.  This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has given me since I..." I couldn't bring myself to say it.  Though he knew, and he didn't need me to upset myself.  

I had settled down on the couch when he said, "I hope you don't mind.  I invited Ringo over for a little while tonight."

I smiled.  "That's absolutely fine."

Considering the fact that I was emotionally and physically exhausted after cleaning all day, I didn't hesitate to change into my nightgown.  George certainly didn't mind.  I put some of the flowers in a vase he left out for me, and put a few of the petals on the suit he planned to wear tomorrow so it would smell like roses.  I hoped he wouldn't mind.  

I was braiding my hair as I read one of George's books when he sat down next to me, and tucked a flower into one of the braids.  It reminded me of the night Paul said I had the nightmare, but only George was gentler, and didn't say a word.  

Smiling, I said to him, "Thank you.  For letting me stay."

"It's no bother."

Ringo arrived a few minutes later.  "Good evening, Aubrey."  He remembered my nickname from London.  

"Ritchie." I gave him a quick hug.

He stayed for awhile, and we talked around the kitchen table.  They exchanged stories with me as if I was just another one of the lads.  George and Ringo made me smile so hard my face hurt at the end of the night.  

It was just past midnight when Ringo decided he best head home.  Before he left he patted George on the back and gave me a hug, wishing me farewell and goodnight.  

I washed my face before I went to bed, feeling tired, but happy.  And that was an emotion I hadn't felt for so long.  It was wonderful.  

But then George walked in.  

"Elle, I...what happened to your neck?  Did...did Paul...?" He looked horrified.  

"No, no, George.  That isn't what happened."

"Then what did?"

I felt tears trickle down my cheeks.  It wasn't shame I felt; it was embarrassment.  "Please.  Please don't tell anyone.  Only Paul knows..." I cried.  

"It's alright," he said, giving me a sweet hug, "I'm sorry for sounding angry.  I just want to know what happened." 

Trying hard to swallow back more tears, I said, "There's a reason why I want to return home, George.  He's...he could hurt my mother.  If I'm not there to stop him."

"Does...does it hurt?  Do they still hurt?"

"No," I replied, "not badly.  But please don't tell anyone.  No one can know."

"I want to help."

"You can't."

Because I'm supposed to help you.  It's my job to save you.

I pulled away from him.  "I'm really tired, George.  I-I think I should go."

"Take the bed tonight.  I can take the couch." 

"No, it's alright."

I fell asleep on the couch, but I ended up in George's room with some more red and pink flower petals on the pillow and the blanket.  It smelt like roses.  I still had some tucked in my braid, and on the sleeves of my nightgown.  

Roses reminded me of George from then on.