"Elle?"

"Elle?  Are you in there?  Please, I really need to talk to you."

I had been alone for almost an hour when there were some panicked knocks on the door.  I wasn't sure whether I should let him in or not.  Though I ended up opening it.  

It was Paul, and he bit his lip nervously.  His fingers were sore and red.  He couldn't speak, though he tried multiple times to.  "Elle...I-I..."

Then without warning, he kissed me, holding my face gently.  I was so overcome by his passion my knees threatened to give out underneath me.  He held my waist to keep me balanced and I touched his cheek.  I couldn't remember the last time he kissed me like that.

He was breathless when he pulled away, but still held me close enough so that it was definitely not just friendly anymore.  

"What was that for?" I whispered.  I felt like I couldn't find the right words to say to describe how wonderful that felt, but there was major guilt involved also.  What about George?  I had just broke up with him, and now I was snogging his best friend within the next hour.  

"I've needed to say so many things to you.  So I'm saying them now," He told me, smiling shyly.  

"Can we do this somewhere else?" I asked him, and he looked guilty and confused.  "At least not in the doorway?" I added, and then he understood.  

Taking my hands, he pulled me onto the bed next to him.  In between kisses, Paul kept saying the sweetest things.  Not that I believed half of them.  

"You're so pretty."

"I've missed you so much."

"I need you."

"I love you."

Though I could tell he wanted more, I had to stop him there.  It was all I could handle after what had happened between George and me.  He laid down next to me, arms wrapped around my waist and fell asleep, for it had been a tiring day for him.  But it had been one for me too emotionally, so I did too.  

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"Darling, wake up." Paul nuzzled into my neck.  I smiled shyly, and yawned.  

"It's so early, Paul," I sighed, examining the clock on the bedside table.  He pulled me close, and I jumped, because he was so cold.  His arms were bare.  "Did you take off your shirt in the middle of the night?" I accused.  

He smirked.  "It got too hot in here."  Then he added: "But I know you love it."

"You are self-absorbed, Mr. McCartney." I jabbed a finger into his chest to make my point.  "I've never met a person who is more acutely aware of his good looks as you are."

A small blush appeared on his cheeks.  "You think I'm handsome?"

"Who doesn't?" I leaned back on my pillow and watched him as he struggled to free himself from the entanglement of blankets.  I laughed as he got his arm stuck, and pretended to cry for help.  Gently, I slid the blanket off of him, which revealed something that surprised me even more.  

"Now, Paul," I laid my hands on my lap, and spoke quietly, "why did you feel the need to take off your pants?" 

Once again he blushed, but didn't answer.  Instead he just laid back down on his pillows, and looked up to me with happy hazel eyes.  "Maybe everybody does think I'm handsome, but there is only one person who's opinion matters to me." He whispered, touching a strand of my hair.  His hand wandered down to my neck, and he brought me close to him.  But in the middle of our kiss, there was a knock on the door.  I motioned for Paul to put on some clothes and kicked off my covers.  It would have been almost funny to watch him hurrying to get dressed.  The young Beatle was struggling so hard to get his trousers on he fell back on the bed.  

The next knock on the door was more impatient, and I motioned for Paul to hurry.  But he was still struggling, so I threw the blanket over him as a cover and both of us laughed.  I opened the door.  

It was John and Ringo in the nightshirts and boxers.  In truth, Paul didn't really need to change at all. 

"We request your presence at this early morning rehearsal." John told me.  Peering over my shoulder, he crept into my room, looking at the breathing blanket on my bed.  Ringo hid his laughter.  

"Well, Dick," John shouted, "let's see what's behind curtain number one!"  He flipped the blanket off the bed, revealing a completely dressed and blushing Paul.  Thank the Lord.

Both Beatles looked amused at Paul, but they didn't say a word.  "So a morning rehearsal, then?" He said, adjusting his shirt accordingly.  

Ringo nodded.  "Now hurry.  It's unofficial.  Brian doesn't know."

So I watched the lads sing, argue and smile early that morning while I wrote a letter.  I had been writing plenty of letters those days.  It was a sort of long term project I had been working on.  I would address them to newspapers that were in the area as notes to the editor and they would usually publish them.  However, I would most likely be in a bit of trouble if people knew it was actually me, so I signed all my letters with the first name I could think of: Lucy Diamonds.  

I touched upon a variety of subjects.  Apartheid in South Africa, and other effects of the partitioning.  The Civil Rights movement in the United States.  The law that states it is illegal to be "queer" in England.  

Though sometimes I wrote letters that could never be sent.  To my mother, grandmother and even to Kirby.  

And once to my father.  I hid that letter.  

It was the only one signed Elle Sullivan. 

That day I was writing a short letter to the editor about the Beatles' success during their stay in Paris.  I informed the readers to believe the hype that the lads were getting (even if they were from England), because they were true talent at its best.  

If Brian were to somehow read the column in the newspaper, I tried not to make it obvious that I was with them, because I knew that he would find it too revealing.  The article on the English law was something that would be a dead giveaway if he read the Beatles article.  

The Beatles were rehearsing She Loves You  as I finished my letter, signing it with my meaningful pen name.  Was this how John would find inspiration for Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds?  

George refused to look at me the entire hour.  He knew that Paul had stayed with me the night before, and I was afraid this was something he just couldn't forgive me for.  

I wished that I could have taken some of the weight off of all of them.  They'd go on feeling freer, walking lighter, but, of course, I'd collapse with the load.  George would forget about his feelings for me, so would Paul, and they would all feel better about performing on the Ed Sullivan show.  

I clapped for them when they were done.  It was fabulous.  All of the lads smiled, except for George.  He looked at me for a split second, and then looked down at the ground, rolling his eyes, a cigarette dangling from his lips.  It was as though my heart fell to my knees.  Though I had renewed feelings for Paul, there was something strong there for George.  And seeing him annoyed with me, completely disgusted, I didn't know what to feel, or how to feel at all.  

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"Hello?"

The knock on my door startled me from my thoughts.  I hurried to answer it, for I recognized the voice.  

"Doctor Baudine..." I let him in. "I didn't know that you were coming today.  Otherwise I would have made some tea."  Out of habit, I brushed my skirt off, even though there was nothing on it.  

Soon Paul was at the doctor's side.  "We're going to try something different today, Elle.  As long as you are comfortable with it."

Those words instantly made me uncomfortable.  

Doctor Baudine and Paul agreed that even though I had made much progress, there was still something hidden: the key to my breakthrough.  There was still something hidden deep within my mind that, according to them, must be revealed.  

I would have been completely alright with the idea, if it had not been for George.  I could start spewing a ton of our secrets with Paul in the room, and I would have no power to stop it.  

But Paul was so sure that it would work.  How could I say no when I put the man through so much? 

They had me relax in one of my chairs, but it took me ages to get my heart to slow.  In truth, I could barely remember what happened before everything went dark; what he said and told me to do.  All I remember was Paul telling me to calm down, clasping his hands in mine.  I wanted to tell him to leave the room before I said anything that would hurt him, but I didn't get the chance.  

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Third-person POV

Elle shuddered, but then her breathing slowed.  Paul let go of her hands slowly, not wanting to wake her.  Doctor Baudine sat down in a chair silently and took out his notepad.  "Can you hear me, Elle?"

After a moment of silence, she said, eerily, "Yes."  Paul almost jumped in the air.  It sounded like some spirit had possessed her.  Out of worry, he reached out to take her hand again, but Doctor Baudine pointed sharply away from her, and Paul complied.  

"Tell me about your childhood, Elle," Doctor Baudine's voice was as soft and sweet as caramel.  

Elle took in a deep breath before responding.  "Very...quiet.  When Dad was around.  But when he left, Mom would turn on music.  That is where I learned about the Beatles."  Paul's eyes went wide as he remembered that Elle was not from this time.  Doctor Baudine looked a bit puzzled at her answer, but then continued to scribble down notes.  

The sleeping girl continued after a moment, as if she was waiting for him to finish writing.  "When I was eleven, he came into my room at night and said he wanted to make sure that I fell asleep alright.  I was scared, because Mom wasn't home, but I thought that he had good intentions.  I woke up later with his hands wrapped around my neck, but as soon as my eyes opened he left.  I don't know if that's all he ever did, but I thought that he was going to throttle me in my sleep."  Paul bit his nails.  He wanted to tell Doctor Baudine to stop, and to bring her back.  Indeed these were things that she had never spoken of, but things that she obviously did not want the lads to know.  

"Shh..." She whispered.  "Don't tell Paul."

Doctor Baudine and Paul looked at each other, and both men were a bit frightened, though they would never admit it.  

"Would you tell me what compelled you to attempt that night on the bridge?" 

"I don't belong here.  Even if I wear the same clothes and talk with the same accent and slang as other girls in England, I'll never belong in the sixties.  But I have to stay.  It's the only way for John and George to..." Elle stopped, which Paul momentarily thanked, but then he grew curious.  What did she want to say about John and George?

"I can say no more." She whispered.  Doctor Baudine looked confused, but did not question her further.  Her hands twitched nervously.  "He's going to kill me."

The doctor snapped to attention.  He was sitting on the edge of his chair.  Leaning up on his knees, he said in the calmest tone he could manage, "Who is going to hurt you?"

"My dad.  He knows I'm gone.  He's going to kill my mother if I don't come back soon.  I love her, but how do I go back after I've experienced everything here?  And how do I get back in the first place?  There is no way for me to win.  If I stay here, I spend my life chasing after the lads and watching over them, and who knows what they'll think of me in five years.  I haven't aged a day, but they will.  I'll stay here for over half of my life, waiting.  Waiting for the day that could either make all my efforts worthwhile, or completely destroy them.  And that's only for one man."  Elle's voice seemed to be breaking.  "And if I went back home before then, my father will kill me.  I'll either die at the hands of my father, or live forever at the age of sixteen, outlasting every single one of my family members and friends.  I was destined for this life.  But I never even got to say goodbye." 

She began to tremble, and it seemed like she would cry in her hypnotic state.  Paul strode over to Doctor Baudine.  "Stop it.  This would embarrass her if she was awake."

Paul went to calm Elle, but Doctor Baudine snapped his fingers and pointed away again.  "We must wake her up gently." he advised, standing up from his chair.  "Elle," he cooed, "can you hear me?"

"Yes," she shivered.  

"I need you to relax.  As soon as you do that, I will count to five.  After five, I will snap my fingers and you will awaken.  Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

And so the doctor did as he instructed, and Elle snapped awake.  "What happened?" She asked Paul.  He bit his lip.  Doctor Baudine excused himself, saying he must have a word with Paul.

As soon as they had shut the door to the hallway, the doctor said, "In my years of experience, I've never had this much difficulty breaking through to a patient.  I'm afraid that I will only make things worse if I continue to work with her."

Paul looked down at the ground, running a hand through his hair.  "She's not insane.  You can still work."

"She was talking as though she didn't belong in the present time.  She was saying that she will live forever at her age, while you grow older.  Miss Sullivan may have some type of mental or social disability or disorder-"

"She is not  insane!" Paul shouted.  As soon as he calmed himself, he apologized.  

"I am so very sorry, monsieur.  I'm afraid that this is all I can do."  He put on his cap, and hefted his briefcase before walking down the hall, leaving Paul alone.  

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That was quite eventful.  

I am so very excited because next weekend I'll be seeing the Beatles tribute band Rubber Soul when they come to my state.  It will be so fun!

I have a question for all of you lovely people.  I know that I have asked about your favorite tribute bands before, so I will ask a different one.  If you could go anywhere with your favorite Beatle, where would you go?

Peace and love, 

Luna <3

P.S. I messed up horribly.  Paul's eyes are hazel, not brown.  *sigh* So much editing will need to be done...

Congratulations, Paul.  Your eyes have successfully evolved from brown to hazel.  Yay.