I knew George had slept well that night, because we both ended up falling asleep in the living room and when I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, he was passed out on the sofa, snoring.  

That morning, I shook his shoulder to wake him up.  "George, if you don't get up, we'll be late and John will be angry."

"George, move your ass."

"George!"

"I'm awake," he sighed into his pillow.  "I'm hungry.  What's there to eat?"

"I'm not sure.  It's your house.  But I made tea." I offered him a cup.  He rubbed his forehead, and looked at the clock.  

"Elle?"

"Yes?"

"It's Sunday.  We get the day off."

"Oh, I'm sorry, George.  I was stupid."

I think he was going to reply, but fell asleep in mid-sentence.  I laughed, and set his teacup down on the coffee table.  

Because of the realization of the date, I stayed in my comfortable pajamas for another hour as George slept.  I read through some of the diary entries, and blushed many times at some of the embarrassing things I had said.  It was smart of me to bring them to his house, for this would be something that Eleanor would just die to get her hands on.  

One of them said this:

We got some of the film developed today after going to the Strawberry Field gardens.  I look rather silly in most of them, but the lads look amazing.  There's one of Paul singing in one of  the London shows, and he looks so handsome.  I could only imagine what it's like being up on stage.  It must be so nerve-racking.  I told him that.  He said it isn't so bad.  

The screaming girls must be a great confidence booster.  Of course they would shout for them, they're amazing, afterall.  Paul could see many girls in that crowd.  But tonight, he told me that I was the only girl he wanted to see.  I told him he was awfully silly.  He just smiled.

I folded the note and set it in the bottom of the stack, my stomach churning.  The only girl he was seeing at the present time was Eleanor, and that was hard news to digest.  Selecting another one, I found one of my complete fan-girl moments, which I had long since gotten over.  

Today Paul took me to see a film at one of the theaters in Glasgow.  He was so silly.  We barely paid attention to the movie.  He kept telling me jokes and tried to get me to laugh so hard people would glare at us.  For being someone of his age, he is quite immature.  I wished things could always be like that.

It was so nice, just sitting there in the darkness.  He was so incredibly handsome, and his eyes were so cute and bright I could still see them even as the movie played.  I was thankful it was dim enough that he couldn't see all the times I blushed.  It makes me feel like a princess in a fairytale, that someone like me could end up with a boy like him.

What a complete waste of perfectly good paper.  I crumpled up the diary entry and tossed it behind me.  I scanned over a few more pictures before I felt something behind me.  

George was looking over my shoulder, and he was so close I could faintly smell his cologne.  Or was it roses...

"I didn't mean to frighten you." He said.  

"Oh, you didn't."

He reached around me and dangled the piece of crumpled paper before my eyes.  "What's this, eh?  A secret little note?"

My eyes went wide.  "Give it here!"

"I think I might have to read it first, you know." He scooted away from me so I couldn't snatch it away from him.  

"George!"

"Elle!"

"George, it's embarrassing."  I pleaded.

"It can't be that bad."  He said, as his eyes began to follow the words on the page.  Knowing there wasn't anything else I could do, I buried myself in the blanket on the floor and hoped that I would disappear.  

After a moment, George poked the blanket where he assumed my head was.  "Anyone home?"

"No, unfortunately." I sighed from under the covers.

"That's a pity, because I feel like I need to speak to Elle about her innermost opinions about herself." He explained.  

I popped my head out from underneath the blanket.  "What on earth are you talking about?" 

He pointed out the last line in the second paragraph, and I felt my face go completely red.  I buried my face in the covers again, feeling like a shy turtle.  

For some reason George seemed genuinely concerned.  "Why are you so embarrassed?  I just want to know what you mean by someone like you.  What is different about you and Paul?"

"I don't understand..." I began to speak, but then my thoughts took over.  Realizing what he meant, I felt even more exposed to him.  Why couldn't I have just stuck the stupid piece of paper back in the pile and forgotten about it?

 "Well, you know what I'm like, George.  I'm quite shy around people I don't know, and I'm rubbish at flirting.  Paul...he's perfect at things like that.  Eleanor is obviously the match for Paul.  She's beautiful and intelligent." I tried to explain, feeling like I was being dissected.  This was so embarrassing.

"And you aren't?" He replied.  "She's using Paul, and all of us know it.  Though, Paul doesn't realize it." 

The wall suddenly got very interesting.  "He talks about her like she's the greatest thing.  I want him to be happy."

"But what about you?  Are you happy?"

"Not with myself."

"Why?"

I didn't know what to say.  All my life I had basically made myself think that someone would have to make their own happiness, and never find it in others.  I had never fallen in love before I came here.  The only love I had ever known was from my mother and grandmother.  I found comfort in music, and learned how to take beatings.  The thought of happiness was never prominent in my mind; survival was first.

How could I ever go back to living like that after everything that had happened here?  

Would I ever go back home?

"I've just never really found ways to be happy.  I've heard people say that enough though their lives are crazy, they've found absolute bliss in love.  I'm starting to believe I don't know what love is.  Or what it feels like.  My feelings for Paul are more like a childish want than an actually need," I laughed bitterly.  George looked down at the blanket that was showered with black-and-white photographs.  It took me a moment to realize that he was looking at what people would remember him for in the future.  

Oh, George, I'm so sorry.

He studied some of the photographs for a moment in silence.   Then he looked up at me, his brown eyes looking sad, but calm.  "I could show you how love feels."

My throat went dry.  I felt like I was choking on cotton balls.  "George, I..."

"No girl has ever loved me, but I know what love is, Elle." He got up and I meant to say something, but then there was a knock on the door.

It was his neighbor asking to borrow his copy of the newspaper.  After he had left, George didn't speak to me the rest of the morning.  

So stupid.

It was late in the afternoon, and I hadn't eaten all day, so I decided to make tea.  George had only spoken a little to me, though it wasn't rude.  He was still polite, but I could tell he was upset.  How could I have been so stupid and self-centered?

I had cleaned up around the living room, and made sure to keep the box of photographs and my little bag in one corner so it would be out of his way.  The entire afternoon I played housemaid, which wasn't too bad.  It gave me time to clear my mind, but only to have my thoughts come rushing back at me like a tidal wave.  

Because I was too lost in thought, though, I accidentally leaned against the stove where the kettle of water was boiling.  And just before my hand touched the burner, George arrived in the kitchen, grabbed my arm and pulled me backwards.  I stood there frightened for a moment in his arms, before pulling away sheepishly.  "Thank you," I said.  "You always seem like you're saving me."  My thoughts ran wild of that night in London when we were being chased by the two drunkards.

He just shrugged, and went to sit down at the table.  

"Do they still hurt?" I asked him.

"What hurts?"

"The bruises on your stomach.  From the night in London." I motioned to my abdomen.  "I saw them through your shirt last night."

George shook his head.  "That's not what hurts."

The water in the kettle began to whistle.  I hurried up to make him his tea.

That night I insisted I slept on the couch because George had to work the next day.  I fell asleep with tears in my eyes.  Why couldn't I just let him in?  Was I really too afraid to be hurt?  

I dreamt that was outside the Dakota gates again, and John and George were on the opposite side of the street, walking to John's apartment.  I shouted out for them to hurry, because I couldn't see Mark David Chapman anywhere, but I could somehow feel his presence.  Though they couldn't hear me.

But then I started hearing thoughts.  And they were not my own.  

They were his.

They were loud, pulsing and chaotic, screaming inside my head like a rowdy rock singer.  The killer's voice soon entertwined with another.

My father's.

I ran towards the two oblivious men, crying and shouting for them to get away.  They just kept talking quietly and walking, not realizing their next breath could be their last.  

Then the pounding and screaming inside my head stopped, and Mark David Chapman was right next to me, gun raised at John and George.  

Bullets rang out, and I woke up screaming.

"GEORGE!  NO!  PLEASE!  NO!" 

"Elle!"

Lights flicked on, and George was by my side, hair tousled and stick up in different places.  He stuggled to keep me from kicking around.  I was crying so hard I could barely see.  I thought I was about to have a heart attack and die right then and there.

"Quiet down, now." He whispered.  "Take a deep breath.  It's alright.  Tell me what happened."

"He was going to kill you.  I'm sorry.  I can't do this.  I can't save you both!  I don't know how!" I sobbed into his chest.  I was sweating so hard my hair stuck to my back.  "I'm so sorry."

"Elle, please, calm down.  It's alright.  No one is going to hurt anyone."  He cooed, holding me even closer.  

My sobs subsided to pitiful whimpers.  "He was going to kill you.  You and John.  I couldn't do anything to stop it.  I'm sorry.  You were...you were dead."

George's lips met my forehead, and they brushed the skin as he spoke.  "It's alright.  I'm safe.  You're safe.  I'm not leaving you."

But you have.  In a different time.

He held me for about five more minutes, and soon my tears became sniffles.  I was so close to him I swear I could feel his heart beating.  He gently rubbed my back and I couldn't help but wonder if he knew how sweet he smelled right then.  I pulled away for a moment to wipe my eyes, and noticed the tear stain in his t-shirt.  "Oh, I'm sorry, I-"

George smirked, but it wasn't condescending.  "I'm not sorry.  There's no harm done."

"George?" I asked.  

"Yes, Elle?"

"Can you, um...can you...?"

He raised his eyebrows and sat up straighter.  "You were saying?"

"Come closer." My voice was barely audible.  

George's calloused hands caressed my cheek, and my eyelids fell shut, knowing this moment wasn't one that needed to be seen.  I lifted my hand up to touch him, but he took it in his before I could reach him.  

He kissed me softly, and cautiously, though I didn't want him to be afraid.  I pulled him even closer, which gave him more confidence.  The youngest Beatle was nervous, but I found that sweet.

After a moment, he pulled away, and said, "You best be getting to sleep.  If you want I could ring Paul and tell him that you can stay here in the morning to catch up on rest."

"No, that alright." I said, pulling up my covers around me.  "Goodnight, George."

"Goodnight, Elle."  He turned away to flick off the lamp light until I stopped him.  

"George?  Will you stay with me?" I asked.  "Please?"

"Of course."